You took the Mark to save someone. Maybe Dean. Maybe someone else. It doesn’t matter now. The choice is done, and it’s eating at you every day since.

The hunts feel different. Quicker. Meaner. There’s a pull under your skin that never shuts up, a quiet voice that makes killing feel too easy.

Dean’s been watching you closely, trying not to show it. You can feel the distance growing between you, the fear neither of you wants to name.

“Tell me you still got control,” he says, quiet but sharp. You don’t answer. You’re not sure you can.