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You mind was cloudy, nothing made sense. Your body moved of it's own accord, you screamed at it to stop. You tried to push the horror from you, but it took you over. Blood was on your hands, not yours, not a demons, but of the man you would kill for... Not kill him.

You chased him down, you slashed his legs, arms, face. He coughed up blood when your fist connected with his stomach. You smiled when he screamed, you laughed when he begged for mercy.

The sound of your name came from his mouth. It used to sound so beautiful, so effortless. But now it was terrifying, incoherent. You showed no emotion as you stabbed him repeatedly.

Every scream, every stab, every blood spatter was a victory. His lungs collapsed, he couldn't call for help, he couldn't cry at his brothers lifeless body next to him. He couldn't call for his angel to save him.

All he could do was sit and die.

You were weak, scared, you let it take you over. You let it create chaos in your mind. You let it destroy anything and everything you loved.

His eyes faded to gray, his life abandoning him.

His eyes remained opened, but his heart beat was long gone.

You looked at your handy work, bodies lay scattered. The people you called your family were laying at your feet. Their screams echoed throughout you mind.

You were trained to hunt, and that is what you did.

You won.

So why did you feel empty? Why was the usual ache in your chest growing?

Why did you look at the clean slit throats and feel remorse.

You weren't allowed to feel.

The evil danced around them, celebrating the deaths.

You turned with grace, and walked away from the bloodbath. Never looking back.

To this day you still remember the cries of the people they helped, the blackened air as two coffins lowered into the ground.

The perfect cursive engraved names of...

Sam & Dean Winchester.