A/N Hey guys! I'm sick as hell, and my voice sounds so weird. Think chain smoker crossed with batman. Anyway, I'm sick, feverish, and somehow I thought that writing would be a god idea. So this is the fever-addled ramblings of a girl who felt like being angsty. Anyway, this started out as a season four fic, but I changed it to a season five fic because it seemed more appropriate. So, blah. Enjoy! :) ~Sammy
(It's not a high horse) It's more of a really low pedestal.
It would've been easier, in the long run, to deal with it. It would've been better, when he thought about it, that he'd come to terms with his loss. Maybe then, he wouldn't have been where he was at this point.
Lost.
Addicted.
Lying.
Self-loathing.
Different.
Unforgivable.
Estranged from his brother, his home.
Maybe then, he wouldn't have been staring at his hands, seeing tiny flecks of sulfur-tainted blood, even when there was none. Maybe then, he wouldn't be able to smell the poison- nectar- that reeked of demon, three doors down from the rag-tag motel room he was holed up in. Maybe then, every time he twitched his fingers, the lights wouldn't flicker, and the windows wouldn't shudder in their frames.
Maybe then, his brother wouldn't be facing away from him, even in his sleep, his back rigid and tensed. Waiting. Waiting for another betrayal.
And maybe he should be. Maybe the blood sang too loudly one time too many. Maybe he'd fallen off the wagon for the last time, never bothering with clambering back on. Maybe Sam had finally broken the infallible camel's back.
But if he'd been given the chance to do over those four months, he'd do the same thing all over again. It didn't matter what Dean thought of it. Because those four months gave him purpose.
It wasn't the lure of tainted-blood.
It wasn't the power coursing through his veins.
It wasn't the messed up sense of love for that demoness.
It was worth it, because even after all the harsh words and disappointed glares, he was doing this, all of it, for Dean.
For that brother, that savior, that righteous man, who was nothing more than human, but was somehow otherworldly. For the brother he'd admired since he was a kid. For the person he'd spent an entire lifetime trying to impress. For the one person, that he'd worshipped with all his heart. For Dean.
That first drop of blood changed him. It was simultaneously disgusting and appealing. It pushed him away as much as it called to him. It made him feel weaker than it made him powerful. It pushed him down to his knees even as he stood up straighter. It was a betrayal and a salvation.
With that first taste of blood, he was hooked, and he never hated himself more.
With that first surge of strength, he never was more cowardly.
With that first lie slipping off of his tongue, he never deserved his brother less.
With that first ray of Devil-Light shooting through the chapel, his brother by his side, he was never surer that he was a disease.
So he'd stop the apocalypse. He'd clean up this whole mess that he'd caused. He'd accept the angels that daren't touch him; he'd accept the distrust emanating from his family's every word. He never really expected anything less.
But he'd stop this Armageddon anyway.
And if he died along the way, what did it matter?
He wasn't sure he wanted to survive anyway.
Because, if- when- he died, then there would be one less blood-sucking waste-of-space psychic for his brother to hunt down and kill.
And what more could the boy-king even want, when he was drowning in blood?
A/N I don't even know anymore... Oh gosh. I'm sorry. Damn. Maybe leave a review? ~Sammy
