The first time Sam knows for sure he’s a monster, he’s standing in a grimy alley in Seattle. It’s raining. A splash of light filters in from the street behind him, but it’s not nearly bright enough to illuminate the ground this far in. But Sam can see more clearly than he ever has before.
At his feet, lies a man.
The man is old and greying, the tip of a tattoo peaks out from the sleeve of his dress shirt. His throat is dark with blood. The sweet taste of it still lingers on Sam’s tongue.
“What have I done?” he whispers, heart pounding hard in his ears. But there’s nobody here to hear it. Nobody to tell him this was wrong, or right, nobody snatch the demon blade from his fingers and sink it into his own throat.
There’s a dead guy and a hint of sulphur. Even that is fading.
He turns to the street, thinking someone must have seen this, or otherwise heard the commotion and called it in. But there, too, there is nobody. Suddenly, he understands how all the horrible things humans do go unnoticed, all the muggings and murders and rapes. Just step into a back alley late at night an the only judge you’ll ever have to face is God himself.
Not that it matters for Sam. He’s been destined for hell since he was six months old. Since his mother burned on the ceiling and Azazel drip-drip-dripped the world’s doom down screaming baby lips.
Sam turns back to the body on the ground. He’s vibrating with power from the demon blood. Power he stole from a dead man.
The irony is that he could have saved the guy if he’d met up with Ruby, earlier. He’d have been able to exorcise the demon from the human and send him to the deepest pit of hell. Instead, he drank their blood like a vampire, then stabbed them through the heart.
It’s Ruby’s fault, he thinks, for not being at the meet-point. No. She’s out looking for Lilith, doing more than her fair share of the work in their plan. It’s Azazel’s fault for infecting him, Mom’s for not saving him, Dad’s for pushing him into a life that could only ever end badly, Lilith’s for sending Dean to hell and Dean’s for-
Well, Dean’s fault for leaving him.
Sam bites back bitter tears, clenches a white-knuckled fist around the hilt of his blade and looks up into an empty sky. No stars in Seattle. The rain washes blood from his lips and plasters his hair against his skin.
A little voice in head head, one that sounds suspiciously like Bobby, whispers at him not to misplace the blame.
He looks back down. Noone forced him to drink that blood before he killed the demon. Noone made him enjoy it. But he did. Remnants of exhilaration are still tingling up and down his spine, crashing sulphury-metallic over his tongue.
He chose murder. He chose hell with no way back.
Dad said I might have to kill you.
Maybe Dean should have done that after all. It doesn’t matter. Nothing really does, anymore. There’s just Lilith and Ruby and blood. He drops to his knees next to the body and wipes his blade on the man’s jacket. One more look at the slack face, at open eyes that might once have been kind.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. He is, though not nearly sorry enough.
With a creaking of knees, Sam gets to his feet. By tomorrow, the rain will have washed away all traces of him. The local police will find the body, somebody will mourn the man. In a day or two he’ll get a call from Bobby, asking him if he’s still in the area of Seattle, and if he can swing by to check out a strange murder. Vampire, most likely.
Sam will lie through his teeth and ‘solve’ the case. He turns to the street again.
The next step he takes is down a road paved with good intentions. It’s by no means his first, but this is the first time he can see where it’s heading.
Just taking the highway would have been a lot easier.
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carisma_sensei
Filled: Self-awareness is a Sin
Date: 2019-11-15 07:43 pm (UTC)The first time Sam knows for sure he’s a monster, he’s standing in a grimy alley in Seattle. It’s raining. A splash of light filters in from the street behind him, but it’s not nearly bright enough to illuminate the ground this far in. But Sam can see more clearly than he ever has before.
At his feet, lies a man.
The man is old and greying, the tip of a tattoo peaks out from the sleeve of his dress shirt. His throat is dark with blood. The sweet taste of it still lingers on Sam’s tongue.
“What have I done?” he whispers, heart pounding hard in his ears. But there’s nobody here to hear it. Nobody to tell him this was wrong, or right, nobody snatch the demon blade from his fingers and sink it into his own throat.
There’s a dead guy and a hint of sulphur. Even that is fading.
He turns to the street, thinking someone must have seen this, or otherwise heard the commotion and called it in. But there, too, there is nobody. Suddenly, he understands how all the horrible things humans do go unnoticed, all the muggings and murders and rapes. Just step into a back alley late at night an the only judge you’ll ever have to face is God himself.
Not that it matters for Sam. He’s been destined for hell since he was six months old. Since his mother burned on the ceiling and Azazel drip-drip-dripped the world’s doom down screaming baby lips.
Sam turns back to the body on the ground. He’s vibrating with power from the demon blood. Power he stole from a dead man.
The irony is that he could have saved the guy if he’d met up with Ruby, earlier. He’d have been able to exorcise the demon from the human and send him to the deepest pit of hell. Instead, he drank their blood like a vampire, then stabbed them through the heart.
It’s Ruby’s fault, he thinks, for not being at the meet-point. No. She’s out looking for Lilith, doing more than her fair share of the work in their plan. It’s Azazel’s fault for infecting him, Mom’s for not saving him, Dad’s for pushing him into a life that could only ever end badly, Lilith’s for sending Dean to hell and Dean’s for-
Well, Dean’s fault for leaving him.
Sam bites back bitter tears, clenches a white-knuckled fist around the hilt of his blade and looks up into an empty sky. No stars in Seattle. The rain washes blood from his lips and plasters his hair against his skin.
A little voice in head head, one that sounds suspiciously like Bobby, whispers at him not to misplace the blame.
He looks back down. Noone forced him to drink that blood before he killed the demon. Noone made him enjoy it. But he did. Remnants of exhilaration are still tingling up and down his spine, crashing sulphury-metallic over his tongue.
He chose murder. He chose hell with no way back.
Dad said I might have to kill you.
Maybe Dean should have done that after all. It doesn’t matter. Nothing really does, anymore. There’s just Lilith and Ruby and blood. He drops to his knees next to the body and wipes his blade on the man’s jacket. One more look at the slack face, at open eyes that might once have been kind.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. He is, though not nearly sorry enough.
With a creaking of knees, Sam gets to his feet. By tomorrow, the rain will have washed away all traces of him. The local police will find the body, somebody will mourn the man. In a day or two he’ll get a call from Bobby, asking him if he’s still in the area of Seattle, and if he can swing by to check out a strange murder. Vampire, most likely.
Sam will lie through his teeth and ‘solve’ the case. He turns to the street again.
The next step he takes is down a road paved with good intentions. It’s by no means his first, but this is the first time he can see where it’s heading.
Just taking the highway would have been a lot easier.
Fin
Hope that made any sense at all! xx