Scarred.

(A/N : So this is a small spn imagine I whipped up today. It's set somewhere in the middle of season 10. Dean still has his mark and Sam's secretly dealing with Rowena. Anne and Daryl are my new characters on the show. Anne is like Dean and Sam's really close friend and hunting partner and Daryl would be the new Garth (or the new new Bobby XD ). I've not changed any big facts as I'm new to playing with characters. Hope you guys like it! :) Reviews make me happy!)

It was almost 6 am. Dean sat in the bunker’s kitchen, clutching a glass of Bobby’s favourite whiskey. Swirling the contents, he stared at the amber liquid as it whirl pooled in the crystal glass. His mind wandered over to the events of the last couple of months.

Taking up the Mark of Cain had been necessary. To kill Abaddon. To save the world, yet again. And he knew it. That didn't stop him from regretting and resenting it though. The Mark was supposed to be the end of something foul and terrible. Not the beginning of something even worse.

Sighing, he downed the glass and poured himself another peg out of the bottle.

The incident with Charlie had really gotten to him. He hated himself for doing what he had done. But there was a part of him - a part growing more potent with everyday that passed, a part he was trying to keep dormant with gallons of alcohol - that had enjoyed it. That had craved the blood. The scream of terror and pain. The death.

Dean suppressed a shudder as he thought of what might happen if he ever gave in to it. If he ever let that wretched darkness consume him…..

He could almost taste it. The peace, the freedom,...

“Dean, what the hell!”

Sam’s voice brought Dean back from his terrifying cogitation.

“Rise and shine, Sammy.” he said, plastering his trademark smirk on his face.

“dude, put that away. It's like… 6 in the morning,” Sam said, reaching for his morning coffee.

“it's a free world, brother mine,” said Dean as he downed another peg.

Sam now turned to face Dean, leaning against the counter.

“Look, Dean, turning into an alcoholic isn't going to solve anything.”

Dean just shook his head at that and proceeded to pour himself some more alcohol.

Sighing, Sam walked over to the table and grabbed his bottle.

“Heeey!”

“Dean, you need to stop acting like a child and start facing your problems.”

“And you need to stop acting like a douchebag and put that back,” he said, frustrated.

His thoughts wouldn't leave him alone. And his brother wouldn't let him suffer in peace. Was it really too much to ask for?

Sam just glared at him and he deflated a little. “Look, Sam, we've tried everything. We've combed the men of letters’ bookshelves. Hell, we've even taken help from Crowley. The Book of the Damned is gone, too, and for good, too. So why don't you just leave me alone with my spirits until…”

“Until what Dean? Alcohol poisoning?” Sam cut him off, angrily. “Just because we haven't found anything yet doesn't mean there isn't something out there. We will find a way. I promise,” he said earnestly, holding his brother's gaze.

Dean nodded, but deep down he knew there was nothing anyone could do. He knew what his life would soon become. He knew what he would become. And he felt that maybe, just maybe, alcohol poisoning wasn't such a bad idea.

He got up from the table not wanting to have this conversation anymore. He was only slightly drunk and he wanted to humour Sam for a while. So he headed for the men of letters’ lobby, grabbing a book he'd been researching a while ago from his room.

Sam stared at where Dean had been sitting moments ago. It was killing him, lying to his brother and watching him sabotage his entire existence. He was itching to tell Dean that there was a way and that he would find it soon enough and everything would be alright. That they'd be back on the road, the two of them (or maybe the three of them this time) and back to hunting monsters like they used to before the Mark.

But if Dean found out that he hadn't burned the book of the damned and was taking help from Rowena, he wasn't sure what he would do. He'd kill Rowena and then probably never look his way. Yeah. So he wasn't going to tell him. Not until he had a decent answer at least. And then maybe he could make him understand.

Everyone had been warning him about the consequences of using a spell from the book of the damned. But it didn't matter. They were the Winchesters, for fuck’s sake. They would deal with it. They would cross that bridge when they came to it. Just like they had every time until now.

There was no price in the world that he wouldn't be willing to pay to save his brother. There was nothing he wouldn't do to help Dean. And if he did have to lie to him for a while for his own good, then so be it.

Squaring his shoulders, Sam finished his coffee and headed for the door to check up on Rowena.

When Dean entered the lobby he wasn't surprised to find the centre table piled with books. Some were opened to a specific page. Some were closed. And some looked like they were there just for the ambience. Shaking his head, Dean proceeded to his chair when a slouched figure emerged into his line of sight from behind a mountain of books.

Anne, their new found partner in crime, had fallen asleep on an ancient weapons report of the men of letters. Chuckling, Dean walked over to Anne and slowly started to pull the ledger from underneath her arms. Maybe he should put her in bed…

The moment he touched her she let out a small shriek and jabbed the back of her hand hard into his face. Dean jumped back, swallowing the anger that had bubbled inside him.

No. This is Anne, he told himself.

Anne jumped up, terrified for a moment. “oh my gosh! I'm so sorry! Dean are you okay?!”

Dean backed up a little as she moved towards him. He didn't want to hurt her and he really didn't want his dark side to be revealed.

“I'm fine. But damn, woman! Most people just say thank you”

“I was researching all night and I was reading about some curse where the demons got you in your sleep and I must've been dreaming about it or something-’ she spoke really fast like she was always in a hurry and when she saw Dean giving her the look she shut up and mumbled “sorry”, her face red from embarrassment.

Shaking his head, a small smile on his face, Dean went to sit at his usual spot on the table.

Anne mentally banged her head against the wall as she settled herself behind the heap again, and resumed combing through the ledger.

After a while, Anne let out a sigh, closing the book contemptuously. Nothing here either. If this was how it was going to be…..

She glanced over at Dean. He was staring at the book in his hand, but his mind seemed to be elsewhere. It had been almost an hour and Dean hadn't said a word. No complaints about how boring these books were. No sly actions trying to hide the vintage ‘busty asian beauties’ magazines in the books, no demand for food and no comment on how monotonous the men of letters’ records were. It didn't feel like she was with Dean. It felt different. Wrong.

“Stop staring at me like that or I'm going to get the wrong idea,” he said, still not looking up from his books. Her eyes widened and she reddened, embarrassed for the second time in the hour.

“I… no.. Dean?”

“Yes..?” he looked up to find her face all concerned and worried. And he didn't like that. It was bad enough that Sam played Dr.Phil all the time. And now Anne? It was times like these when he really missed Bobby. Man was an emotional wreck but at least he'd say , “Just because it kills your liver, doesn't mean it ain't medicine” and hand him his frigging whiskey.

She could almost hear him groan on the inside. His eyes were so easy to read, she sometimes wondered how people didn't see through him. She had made up her mind for this conversation days ago so she let out a measured breath and went on.

“Dean what is going on?”

“we're researching the Mark of Cain,” he said enunciating each word like he was talking to a toddler.

Gosh, this wasn't going to be easy.

“you know what I mean,” she said, a little on the edge.

Dean shut his book with a snap and she jumped, a little scared.

“What do you want me to say, huh? That I'm falling apart? That I feel like the freaking  incredible hulk trapped inside a mouse trap?! That I dream about waking up soaked in blood with a blade in my hand and bodies all over and having no recollection of what I'd done? WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO TELL YOU?!”

“Dean!” she screamed, her eyes welling up. She was pushed against the pillar with her arms pinned to her sides, his fingers digging into her shoulders and his face mere inches from hers.  

He blinked, pulling himself back and Anne gasped, as he let her go, sharp pain shooting up her arms and shoulders. His grip was going to leave bruises. Hugging herself, she tried to step towards him but he held his hand up, motioning her to not do so. So she didn't move. She stayed where she was, searching his face. When he had lost control, Anne could swear there was a moment when he wasn’t himself. When there was something dark and terrifying behind those emerald green eyes of his. Gulping, she tried to clear that image from her head. The Mark must be getting worse than they had anticipated.

Neither of them moved for a while and when it seemed like too long, Anne finally broke the silence. “Dean, are… ?”

“I need to get outta here.”

And cutting her off like that he pushed past her towards the door.

Sam walked down the steps of the abandoned factory. He hated this place, just as much as he hated the person he kept in it. It felt like he was betraying his family every time he climbed down those stairs.

Castiel was sitting at a table a little far from Rowena, his eyes closed and his face screwed up. Maybe if he tried hard enough, he’d be out of this dimension.
As Sam entered the room, Rowena’s sweet and rich voice echoed through the empty space. “Ah, here comes my master, the tall one of the Winchesters,” she said, her thick scottish accent dripping with contempt. She dropped into a mocking bow, and then stood back up shooting him a venomous glare.
“And you’re a sight for the sore eyes, as always,” said Sam, his temper slowly rising.

Cas seemed to have noticed Sam at last and opened his eyes to greet him warily.  

“Hello, Sam,” he said, nodding.
“Cas,” he said, nodding back. “She hasn’t tried to… ?”
“Apart from driving me to brink of my sanity, no, she hasn’t done much harm,” replied Cas.
Sam sighed. This better be over soon. He turned to Rowena.
“It’s been weeks, Rowena. How much longer?!”

“The codex is really complex, laddie. It’s not as easy as I might make it look”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Right.”

“If you could maybe un cuff me..?”
“NO!” Sam and Cas yelled together. The last thing they needed was the most powerful witch there was running loose with a book of spells that could turn the world  upside down.

Rowena grunted and bent over her notes. She would have loved to be joking about what she had just said. It was amazingly fun to mess with the Winchesters. But she wasn’t lying. The codex was really complicated and she wasn’t sure she would be able to crack it in time. That is, before Dean completely transformed into a Knight of Hell. She wouldn’t have minded seeing him like that. Might actually put some fun into his existence. But she was chained to a desk in a smelly basement and she wasn’t exactly in a place to let amusement take first priority. Besides, if she helped Sam Winchester, he had promised to end her son, the King of Hell, Crowley. She would then be able to take over hell. She would give that grand coven hell..no, something worse… for doing what they had done to her. She would start her own coven then. She would freely practise the dark arts and the ancient spells. With the codex cracked and the book of the damned in her clutches, she could take over heaven, hell and earth with a snap of her fingers.

She couldn’t help herself as she burst out laughing as she imagined what it might be like to be the Queen of Everything there is, was and shall be.

Sam snapped his fingers in front of her face. “Yo. Mommy from scotland? What’s so funny?”

Rowena blinked, as she forced her fantasies to vanish and reality to focus. “Nothing...nothing. I was just wondering how blue eyes would hold up under my torture,” she said, throwing a wink Cas’ way. Cas blinked and Sam shifted his weight, both uncomfortable and grossed out.

“Focus on what you have to do, Rowena! The longer you take to decode this, the longer you’ll be in those chains. And if you don’t work like your life depends on it, I’ll be sure to remind you in ways that will stick!” he hissed at her.
Her smile faltered and she gulped, visibly shaken.

“I’m going to need more help, Moose-boy,” she said regaining her cool composure. “The codex is more complex than I had imagined. I’m going to need all the help and time I can get.”

Rowena maybe a devious little bitch, but she was also really smart and full of pride. And if she was admitting the fact that she did, in fact, need help, it probably meant that she actually kind of did. And this meant that Sam would have no choice but to speak to Anne now.

“You have to tell her the truth some day,” said Cas, giving him a meaningful look as if he’d just read his mind. Sam breathed in deeply, running a hand through his hair.
“Yes,” he nodded, his mind dreading the conversation already. “Yes, I do.”

Anne was still shaking a little from what had happened. She sat huddled in one of the chairs, hugging her knees. Try as she might, she didn’t seem to be able to forget the dark shadow that had passed Dean’s eyes and had taken over them. She knew it was the Mark and not him, but would it really matter if and when the Mark takes over him completely? Would there be any trace of her Winchester left by then? Was the Mark consuming his soul like a hungry demon?

The fact that they knew jack about the Mark added to her frustration and fear. They knew what it was and who had borne it. They knew what Cain had done and what weapon he had used. But there was nothing in this huge library about why the Mark was really there and what could be done to remove it. Apparently, the Men of Letters hadn’t really expected one of their legacies to bear the mythical symbol in the future. How naïve of them!

Sighing, she dropped her head in between her knees, wondering who on earth might contain the bizarre piece of information that they needed.  

And then it struck her. Her head snapped up and she darted across the lobby to her room. She dug through her stuff until her age old phone book fell out of her duffel bag. She hadn’t used that thing in months. Picking up her phone, she flipped through the pages until she found what she was looking for and dialled the number.

There was no answer for a minute and she held her breath, praying to whoever might listen that he hadn’t changed his number. You never knew with hunters.

She almost jumped with joy when she heard the familiar deep voice answering from the other side. “Hello”
“Daryl! Thank God!” she gasped.

“Annie? Oh my God! How have you been?! I was afraid that rugaru had gotten to you! I tried to contact you but you just disappeared off the radar! Are you alright?!”

She almost laughed in response. Oh, how she missed that accent! Too bad, now it reminded her of Crowley. But it was different somehow. It felt like..home. Daryl, Cas and her Winchester boys. That’s all she had in this world now.

“Daryl…. Daryl, slow down buddy! I’m fine. I’m with the Winchesters,” she said.

“You’re with the WHO?!” he asked. She could almost see his face, his eyes popping out of his sockets and his mouth hanging slightly open.

“Yes. The Winchesters. Get over it, Daryl.”

“They could get you killed!” he said, disapproval ringing in his tone.

“They could...but they haven’t. Technically, anyone could get me killed.”

Daryl began to protest but she cut him off.

“Look Daryl… Crowley sent a bunch of demons after me. Because of what I knew about him and the angel. I would’ve been roasting on a spit in hell had it not been for the Winchesters. Now I know how everyone feels about them back home, but I owe them everything. I owe them my life. They’re… They’re family, Daryl.”

There was a pause for a moment, and she was almost sure he’d hung up on her when she heard a resigned sigh and smiled to herself.

“Alright, but you keep checking in every now and then, now. Don’t go MIA on me like last time.” He sounded like a parent. She smiled wider.

“Sure!” she said, and then added, “Listen… Daryl… I need you help.”

“Of course you do,” and she was pretty sure he was shaking his head, “ What is it, Annie?”

“It’s… What do you know about the Mark of Cain?” her voice had changed and Daryl could tell it was for something important. He didn’t feel the need to ask her. She’d tell him if there was anything that he did have to know. He trusted her enough to let her have the information without worrying about it.

He clicked away at his computer, looking through his online library- it might be hard to believe but he had a HUGE one- for anything that he could find about the Mark of Cain.

“Wait...stay on the line,” he told her as he sorted through book after book, folder after folder.

“Annie….there isn’t much here..” he said, his voice a little twitchy, and her insides deflated. Maybe there really was nothing on this goddamned Mark…

“Just….tell me what you’ve got,” she said. It wouldn’t hurt to try.

“The Mark is supposed to some kind of ancient curse…..,” he said, as he read through. She sighed inwardly. They knew that. “Alright. And…?” she was almost sure he wouldn’t be able to find anything else. When…

“It’s supposed to be some kind of safety lock,” he said. He sounded a bit unsure but that didn’t matter. A safety lock?
“What?” she asked, her interest piquing.

“Okay this is some really, really old lore. Someone got it off an angel when fell and landed somewhere near Finland. They asked for its stories…”

“Daryl spare me the history lesson, please,” she said in her no-nonsense tone. Daryl frowned but went on.

“Okay. Alright. Yes...So... It basically says that God cast some kind of darkness out and locked it with the Mark. I don’t know. None of this makes much sense. Half of it is badly translated Enochian. But the jest is this. Yes. ‘A lock to keep the darkness out and a key to release the same’,” he said. There was a heavy silence in between them for a moment and then he added, “Whatever this is, doesn’t sound like good business Annie,” he said, his voice grave.

Anne sat still as she turned over the words in her mind. ‘A key to release the same..’

She shuddered as the words slowly started to make some kind of sense to her.

“No...No it doesn’t,” she replied shakily.

She ended the conversation with Daryl soon after promising to check in with him frequently. Replaying the words in her head, she wandered over to the Men of Letters’ library again seeing if she could find something about what this darkness might be. She had been so deep in thought that when Sam opened the door, she almost jumped, reaching for her pocket knife.

“Whoa… easy there Anne, it’s just me,” he said, walking over to where she was.

“Sam....Hi! Sorry…. I was just….distracted,” she said, grabbing an old edition about Hell and Demons(Darkness and Hell would have to be connected somehow...right?) off the shelf and settling herself down in one of the chairs. Sam plopped himself down in the one next to her and turned to face her. He looked around uncomfortably for a second. How on earth was he going to tell her this..!
Finally he asked, “Um...Where’s Dean?”

Anne looked up and let out a sigh. She dropped her head into her hands and started explaining to Sam what had happened after he had left. By the time she finished, her eyes were teary again and Sam looked terrified.

“And he just....left. Didn’t say a word. He took the Impala though. I think he’s drinking his consciousness away somewhere, probably, yeah. The Mark....It’s getting worse, Sam. We need to find something!”

Sam cleared his throat, and rubbing his hands together leaned towards her and said, “Yes...and there is a way.”

“There...is..? What??”

“The Book of the Damned.”

“But….but we burned it..” she said, a little confused for a moment before it struck her. “You...you didn’t burn it, did you?”

Sam didn’t say anything. Lips pressed together, he just shook his head.
“Sam!” she stood up, dropping her book on the table with a loud thud. “Remember what Dean told you? About the book? Nothing good is going to come off of it! It’s not like we can read it, anyway!!”

Sam stood up, too and held his hands out trying to calm her down. “Just...please...just hear me out, okay? It is our only shot! And… and I know we can’t read it. But...there is someone who can.”

Anne frowned at him for a moment. “Who…….no!” she gasped. Ancient book of spells. Dark frigging magic on every page. Of course. “Rowena? You want us to talk to Rowena? Dean will never agree to this…”

But before she could finish she caught the look on his face. She could’ve slapped him in that moment when she realized what he had done. She fell into her chair dropping her face in her hands again. “Sam! What did you do?! What kind of a deal did you make, now?!”

She could feel the tears running down her face now. These freaking Winchesters…..

He kneeled down in front of her and pulled her hands away from her face. “Anne...he’s....he’s my brother. I had to do it. I had no choice. And….the deal...it doesn’t matter. I… I need your help.”

She gulped, wiping her tears from her face. Before she could say anything, the door to the bunker swung open and in fell a totally intoxicated Dean Winchester.

“Dean!” they both screamed, getting up and running to his aid.

He was barely able to stand on his feet and so they hauled him up on their shoulders and brought him down to the lobby. Anne scrunched up her face against the stink as she and Sam slowly lowered him down on the couch.

“I’ll….I’ll go get some water,” said Sam, shooting a worried glance at his brother.

Anne nodded and proceeded to tug at his shoes. Dean was mumbling something drunkenly and Anne wasn’t sure if she was more mad or worried. So she concentrated on pulling out his shoes and then his socks and putting them away. When she returned to the couch, Dean was sitting up, his shoulders slouching forward and his head lolling about. She hurried over to him, and kneeling in front, she took his face in her hands and shook it slightly.

“Hey.....Hey, hey, hey. Eyes open and on me, cowboy,” she said, slapping him slightly to consciousness.

Dean grunted a little but blinked his eyes open, nonetheless.

Sam walked in with the glass then and handed it over to her. He then held Dean’s head steady and she poured the water down his throat. He drank deeply without complaining and when he was finished, belched loudly. For a moment she was scared he was going to puke on her face, but he didn’t. She let out a relieved sigh and collapsed on the ground leaning against the couch.

“What are we going to do with him?” she said, her voice so low, it could’ve been a whisper.

“We should probably carry him to his room,” Sam was saying, trying to catch hold of Dean’s attention.

Despite herself, Anne chuckled. “Not now, Sam. you know what I mean…”

She turned and looked up at him. He abandoned his futile attempts and met her gaze.

“I don’t know….I… I need your help,” he said, his eyes pleading, “Please...He needs us.”

Hauling him up on their shoulders yet again, Sam and Anne carried Dean to his bedroom. He kept mumbling weird things about TV shows and Sam and Anne answered him best as they could with carrying his weight taking up most of their breathing capacity. They finally threw him on his neatly made bed(How this messy eater and lazy ass person kept a room so clean and organized, she would never know).

“My God, he stinks,” breathed Sam, running out of the room as soon as they’d dropped him. Chuckling, Anne pulled up his covers and slowly tucked him in with her nose scrunched up ( he did stink. terribly). She then stood there for a moment. His face was far from peaceful and he was still mumbling something ( she could’ve sworn she even heard her name and Sam’s somewhere in the middle). She couldn’t remember the last time Dean had slept peacefully. Or without the aid of alcohol. It wasn’t completely the Mark, yes, but it was definitely making him worse. And she wasn’t sure she was strong enough to lose him, too.

Dean felt the world around him wobble as two terribly unmatched supports led him towards him room. Anne and Sam. Had to be them. He was pretty sure he’d come to the bunker. He kept trying to tell Sam how he’d lost it and exploded on Anne today. And he kept trying to apologize to her. But words were tumbling out of his mouth and his senses were too sludgy to make out anything properly. He hoped they heard him though. Deep down, he was still Dean. Their Dean. And he loved them. More than anything. They were family.

Sam was seated in the kitchen with a beer in his hand, staring at the floor. His brother hadn’t pulled a stunt like this in years. Almost never after their father had died. The Mark...The Mark must've been troubling him more than he let it show. He wasn’t surprised. His brother was always like that. Freaking hero and everything.

Anne walked in a moment later, her hands slightly shaking. She sat down on the seat next to him at the table, and grabbing his beer, downed it all in gulp.

“Whoa! Hey! Seriously, what the hell!!!” he screamed, snatching the bottle away from her, only a second too late. He shook it and it was empty.

“Great!” he huffed, chucking the bottle.

He would never have guessed that someone like Anne would be so much like Dean in so many ways. But she was. And here was some proof of it.

“What do you want me to do?” she said, her expression grave.

Sam blinked. “Are you really drunk? Or do you seriously want to do this?”

She gulped, then nodded, “Both.”

Sam shook his head. “Sounds about right. Umm….Rowena...she needs help decoding the codex for the Book of the Damned”

“Fine..” she said, her voice missing its usual chirpiness, “but there’s something I have to tell you..”

And then she proceeded to tell him all about the whole lock and key thing that Daryl had told her. If what he had translated was right, and she hardly doubted it wasn’t, breaking the curse might let out this darkness or whatever which had been locked away.

Sam listened to all she had to say and when she finished, he stared at the floor, lost. This seemed to be the case with them these days. They would try to do something good, try to end something bad and would end up jump starting the beginning of something worse. “The book of the damned….it always has a price….” he mumbled.

“Do you still want to do this?” she asked, reaching for his hand and squeezing it.
He looked down at their hands as he contemplated it for a moment.

They might’ve brought something bad upon the world. But they had been dealing with every single terrible thing they had brought upon it until now. He didn’t see how this would be any different. His eyes moved from their hands to meet hers and he nodded.

Whatever the hell this darkness was, it had the Winchesters coming.