You and Sam were both frozen in shock, watching as Dean kept hitting Abbadon's lifeless body, his eyes dark, and full of rage, his face and shirt splattered dark red with her blood. It was a gory, and scary scene in front of you, and neither of you were sure what to do, or if you even wanted to attempt to stop it. When the Mark turned Dean into a bloodthirsty killing machine it was almost impossible to bring him back.

"Well I'm out. Later Moose, Y/N." Crowley said. Without Abaddon holding him to the chair, he transported out, leaving you on your own.

"Dean." Sam said, loud enough that Dean could hear, but gentle enough to not startle him. It didn't garner his attention, but by then he had stopped mutilating the body, and he was sitting back on his haunches, exhausted.

"Dean, it's okay. You can drop the blade now." You told him, taking a careful step forward. Dean looked up at you, the look on his face stopping you in his tracks. It was a mixture of remorse, pride, and guilt, a unique combination.

"Y/N?" He finally spoke, his voice hoarse as if he had been screaming.

Sam whispered in your ear, "You try to calm him down, I'm going to the Impala to get stuff to deal with her. Be careful."

You nodded as Sam left, Dean's eyes following his movements until you could no longer see him. Dean seemed like a lost little puppy, unsure and confused. It broke your heart to see him like this, to know that a mark on his arm could turn your brave and fearless hunter into a brainless killing machine, void of all emotion.

"Dean, it's just me. I'm going to come over to you, make sure you're alright. Can you drop the blade? " You kept talking as you slowly moved closer, taking careful steps as your eyes never left Dean's. He stared at you, his beautiful green eyes almost vacant, surrounded by splattered blood. However, he never let go of the blade, and you tried again.

"Dean you did it, you killed Abbadon, I'm so proud of you. But it's over now, can you drop the blade? Please, for me?" You kept saying, and finally you were standing next to Dean, looking down at the love of your life, your heart sad for what he had been degraded too. Because he was such a hero, he had sacrificed his body for a weapon, never realizing the effect it would have on him.

The blade still clutched tightly in his hand, so tight the knuckles were white, his arm shaking from the strain, you gently laid your hand on his shoulder, hoping the familiar contact would break him out of this state, and your old Dean would come back.

You got a result, just not the kind you were ready for, or even wanted. As soon as your hand touched him, he shot up off the floor, breathing heavily as he held the blade to your neck. Fear froze you to the spot, you were afraid that Dean would accidentally kill you while still in this daze.

"Dean, please, it's me Y/N, you don't want to do this. Put the blade down." You whimpered.

He didn't listen, but your voice seemed to spur him on, because soon he was slamming you against the wall, the blade digging in to your neck painfully.

"Ouch!" You cried out, the wrong thing to do, because Dean still seemed to be lost in a blood lust, and the sound of someone suffering seemed to excite him, because he smiled and pressed the blade closer.

"Y/N?" He said again.

With the pressure of the blade you weren't able to talk so you stood there, your body shaking, pressed against the wall. He took the blade from your neck, before slicing your cheek with it. Wishing Sam would hurry up, you withstood the pain, but the sight of blood seemed to spur Dean on, and soon he was using the blade to slice all over your body.

"Dean stop!" You begged. "This isn't you! I love you." You said, hoping those three words would kick him out of this state. They seemed to do the opposite, because he leaned forward, his eyes level with yours, and you could see how empty and dark they seemed, nothing like the usual green orbs that you loved.

"Love?" He spat. "Love is a stupid feeling, it doesn't matter. What matters is blood, and revenge. Killing, that's what matters to me. Not you, you're just pathetic, a waste of air. I'll be doing the world a favor, getting rid of someone as weak as you. I don't know what I saw in you in the first place. " He growled.

You tried reminding yourself this wasn't Dean, this was the mark talking, but it was hard. It was Dean's lean, but sturdy body holding you to the wall, his callused hand wielding the blade, his usually loving eyes staring at you, uncaring. Your Dean was long gone, and this Dean was going to kill you.

"No!" You screamed. "This isn't you, it's the mark. Snap out of it!" But he just laughed at you.

"No, it's both of us, and I like it." He stated, before shoving the blade into your shoulder, and you screamed out in pain. Just then you heard footsteps running up, and Sam's frightened voice from behind Dean.

"Dean, stop it! He yelled, yanking his arm back, which pulled the blade from your shoulder.

Free from the wall, you didn't look back, you ran, your pain forgotten on a burst of adrenaline. Out of the house, down the walkway, turning left on the sidewalk, the Impala blurred in your vision as you kept running, away from everything. It was too much, the bloody scene of Abaddon, Dean's voided eyes, and his unapologetic violence towards you. It had always been directed towards you, never Sam, and you knew if you stayed, he would eventually kill you.

You were so occupied running away, that you didn't have a clue where you were. You were no longer in the nicer neighborhood of town, most of the houses were shabby, or unoccupied, an air of neglect and misuse throughout the whole neighborhood.

You slowed down to a walk, surveying your surroundings as you wiped your eyes. You knew the best thing would be to turn around and let Sam protect you until you could get away on your own. But you were stubborn, and afraid, and you kept walking, shivering as dusk started to settle in.

You turned a corner, hoping to find a Gas Station or store to ask for directions, when you saw a person walking your way. His head was down, his clothes ratted and torn, his dark blonde hair messy and unkempt. He looked like a homeless man, and you tried to quickly walk by him with your head down. As you passed by, he reached out and with a surprisingly strong grip he grasped your wrist.

Trying to yank your arm away, you stared in horror as the man's eyes turned black.

"Well, how did I get so lucky? The Winchester's woman falls right into my lap. Crowley's going to be so happy." He said, and that was the last thing you heard before darkness.