No, definitely footsteps, carrying their owner closer to his huddled mess on the kitchen floor with each stride. His heart picks up in tempo; they’ll see him, see the disaster that is Sam Winchester, the ex-blood junkie who isn’t even (will never even be) an ex-anything.****
Thump. Thump. Thump. Is it Dean? No, his snores still echo through the house; he’s still asleep. The footsteps have stopped and Sam can practically feel the presence looming over him.
Oh God, no. Please no, not now.
“Sam.”
Cas. He wants to croak out: yep, it’s me! But when he opens his mouth, no sound comes out. He wants to cry out at the injustice of the angel having to see him like this. Except, it isn’t injustice, is it? This is justice, for the world he broke. If …show more content…
A hand is placed over Sam’s, gently pulling them away from his scalp. Sam tries to fight it – he deserves this pain, after all. How can he learn to be good if he doesn’t have this?
Sam knows what he must look like. The spectacle he must make. He imagines the sneer that must be on Castiel’s face, the look of disgust and disappointment. How pathetic, the angel will say, how weak. You can’t even control yourself when there isn’t a drop of red in sight.
I know, he whimpers in his mind. And he does; he really does know. He knows how pitiful he is, how repulsive he is for craving it. He knows how lucky he is that Dean even trusts him again to have his back during hunts.
Sam supposes that it’s all over now, though, that tentative peace between himself and Dean. Surely Cas will go and tell Dean exactly what is going on in the kitchen, tell him where his little brother is hiding instead of facing his problems like a man.
Will they lock him in the panic room again, or will they skip that step altogether? After all, monsters only get so many chances.
And judging by the gnawing in his stomach and the sweat beading along his forehead, he is as monstrous as they come. He sits, head still between his knees as he waits for Cas’ inevitable ridicule, smiting, lecture,
Thump. Thump. Thump. Is it Dean? No, his snores still echo through the house; he’s still asleep. The footsteps have stopped and Sam can practically feel the presence looming over him.
Oh God, no. Please no, not now.
“Sam.”
Cas. He wants to croak out: yep, it’s me! But when he opens his mouth, no sound comes out. He wants to cry out at the injustice of the angel having to see him like this. Except, it isn’t injustice, is it? This is justice, for the world he broke. If …show more content…
A hand is placed over Sam’s, gently pulling them away from his scalp. Sam tries to fight it – he deserves this pain, after all. How can he learn to be good if he doesn’t have this?
Sam knows what he must look like. The spectacle he must make. He imagines the sneer that must be on Castiel’s face, the look of disgust and disappointment. How pathetic, the angel will say, how weak. You can’t even control yourself when there isn’t a drop of red in sight.
I know, he whimpers in his mind. And he does; he really does know. He knows how pitiful he is, how repulsive he is for craving it. He knows how lucky he is that Dean even trusts him again to have his back during hunts.
Sam supposes that it’s all over now, though, that tentative peace between himself and Dean. Surely Cas will go and tell Dean exactly what is going on in the kitchen, tell him where his little brother is hiding instead of facing his problems like a man.
Will they lock him in the panic room again, or will they skip that step altogether? After all, monsters only get so many chances.
And judging by the gnawing in his stomach and the sweat beading along his forehead, he is as monstrous as they come. He sits, head still between his knees as he waits for Cas’ inevitable ridicule, smiting, lecture,