Weak. Dangerous. Killer.

   I, Dean Winchester, know I am weak. All the times Dad barked orders at me, I obeyed. Even if it meant I was putting Sammy in a bad situation, I obeyed. All the times I let myself get close to anyone other than Sam and they got ripped away from me, I cried like a child. And after 30 years of telling Alastair no, that I wouldn't torture those souls, I gave in. I am weak.

   I am dangerous. Anyone who gets near me usually ends up dying. Sometimes more than once. And if they don't die, they are hurt, physically and emotionally. No one should ever want to be around me.

   I am a killer. Many innocent lives have been taken either because of me or by me. But I don't just take people's lives. To kill someone can also be to ruin their life to the point of them wanting to die, and I have done that to more people than I want to think about.

   Idiot. Worthless.

   I am an idiot. The decisions I have made have always led me to bad destinations. Trade my soul for Sam's life? Get ripped to shreds by hellhounds. Defy Heaven and archangels? Brother throws himself in the pit with Michael and Lucifer. Try to close the gates of hell? Brother gets so damaged that he almost dies. Again. Take on the Mark of Cain? A lot of people get hurt when they shouldn't have. The list in endless.

   I am worthless. No one really needs me, even if they say they do. Sam included. I don't really help anyone either. It seems that all I am capable of is causing pain and destruction. Who needs that?

   Hunter. Monster.

   I am a hunter. Most would say that this is honorable, that I'm a hero, but when you think about it, I'm no better than the things I kill.

   I am a monster. I always have been, and I always will be. The amount of people I save can't change that.

   Each night, as I'm sitting on the edge of my bed, head in my hands, these words play on repeat through my mind, a constant loop.

   And each night, the same thing happens. I will be shaking from the words in my head, fear taking over my whole body. I will be at my breaking point, ready to grab the closest gun and end it all.

   Then I'll feel it. A brush of fingertips against my spine, a set of lips and warm breath on the back of my neck. Hear a whispered, "Dean?"

   Suddenly, nothing else matters except his touch, and all the things I was thinking before are replaced with one simple word.

   Cas.