Cas was standing in front of the mirror, in the bathroom. He was shirtless and he held some kind of gun in his right hand. He put his arm behind his back and placed the gun against his shoulder blade. He shot and ink came out of the gun. He made some kind of mark and repeated the process over and over again until his back was covered with a repeat of the same tattoo.
He put his arm vers l'avant, vers l’avant and placed the gun against his chest. He repeated the process and small streams of blood ran over his thorax.
When his chest was tattooed as well, he put on his shirt, not caring about the blood. So what if anyone saw it? Sure, it would freak the hell out of them, but wasn’t that exactly what Cas wanted? Fear is better than love, Cas convinced himself.
“No” Cas groaned and he held onto the lavatory. “What am I doing?” he frowned at the tattoo-gun.
You’re doing what you’re supposed to do. The people on your liste deserve to die.
“But after that it’s over” Cas told himself. “I’m not a psychopath”
toi should add one plus name to that list. Dean Winchester.
Cas frowned confused. “Why would I want to kill my best friend?”
Because he killed your unborn child.