You've never felt clean.
Even when you were little, it always felt as if the world was screaming 'you're wrong!' at you. It hurts to think about, even now, but it's still true.
You know now why you always felt that way.
You've got demon blood running through your veins and cruel taunts ringing in your ears.
Abomination. Demon. Blood-sucking freak. Failure. Monster.
You've got the people you've let down sketched in blood on your body.
Castiel. Dad. Dean. Mom. Bobby. Madison. Ellen. Jo. Sarah. Jess.
You can't do anything right, can you?
You scream at yourself, ugly, cruel things: 'Couldn't even stay dead properly, had to have Dean come save you- just like always.'
You only think of how many times you've failed to save the people you love, how many times you've let Dean down.
You think it's all your fault and you'll never believe it isn't.
You never count the all the good you've done, do you?
Heaven had a plan for you and you fell into it. You tell yourself that you should have fought harder, but how could you?
It's not your fault- you fought back harder than anyone ever thought you would.
You saved your brother from Lucifer, Sam.
You took control of your body away from an Archangel and saved your brother's life. You were willing to take an eternity of hell that you don't deserve to save a world that will never know of your sacrifice.
But you still think you're a disappointment, don't you?
You drank demon blood to get strong enough to fight Lilith, to save Dean from Hell. How could you have known that it was addictive? How could you know that Ruby was lying through her teeth to you the entire time?
It's not your fault.
You loved Jessica with the whole of your heart, you wanted only the best things for her, dreamed of giving her a good life, of being her husband.
You still blame yourself for her death, don't you?
It was Hell's plan, you couldn't have stopped it, no matter what you did.
It's not your fault.
I know you'll argue, saying things like 'the road to hell is paved with good intentions'.
Yeah, it is, but you don't see yourself clearly. You never have.
You don't see your pure heart, how you fight, even with all of your strength gone. You have prayed all of your life for forgiveness, for redemption. The few times you smile- you light up the room, Sam Winchester.
It's not your fault.
(But you'll never believe that, will you?)
Unbeta'd. Please review.