He could feel it.

The dirt.

The impurity.

The unholiness.

The evil.

No matter how hard he tried he couldn't scrub it out. The closest thing he had to purity was going through the trials. But then again, he couldn't even get that right.

Everyone acts like they can't see it. As if they can't look into his very soul and see the fingerprints of the devil himself.

See the ways his eyes darken when angry. Or when his eyes look almost yellow in the sun.

Almost.

On days when he can't help but reminisce, he remembers the power, the feeling of being able to kill with just a single thought. Being able to kill the ones once said to be "untouchable".

He hates those days.

When he looks in the mirror he can't help but see the worst of himself and those caught in the crossfire.

He sees Lucifer.

He sees Gadreel.

He sees Azazel.

He sees Ruby.

He sees John.

He sees Mary.

He sees Jessica.

He sees . . .

Dean.

God. He prays that he could be as clean as his brother. The so-called "righteous man". The one the angels and possibly God wanted out of hell. Not him though.

At least he had Cas, he just wishes someone higher saw worth in him being freed. Maybe God himself saw him more than "The True Vessel of Lucifer".

More than an 'Abomination'

'Boy King'

'Anti-Christ'

'Blood Sucker'

'Azazel's Favorite'

'The Boy with the Demon Blood . . .'

Yeah right.

It's funny really. His soul is over centuries old and he's 6'4 but they still call him a boy.

"Sam!"

What was he doing again?

"Sam! Sammy!"

He sounds… familiar.

"Sammy! Sammy!"

Oh right, Dean.

Wait, why is he yelling?

Is he okay? He should probably. . .

Gasp!

Sam wakes up with a gasp to a pair of worried green eyes looking down at him and shaking his shoulders. "Sam? Sammy?! It's okay, it's okay just breath". He obliges, and once he's successfully slowed his breathing he can't help but wonder.

'What happened to me?'

"We were ambushed by Abaddon and her minions, remember?"

'Oh. I didn't know I said that out loud.'

"Why do I feel so... " He breaks off there and realization dawns at him, and Deans' solemn look confirms his suspicions.

That's why he felt it.

He looks around and takes in the atmosphere of the worn-out factory. The wrecked pipes, the drip-drip of falling water. Walls dwindled by age and slimy floors. He remembers now, they had been on a case involving a vampire's nest. They had supposedly tracked them to this factory and Abaddon had…

NOT LONG BEFORE:

A group of a dozen or more demons - most likely more - surrounds them. They separate and once Sam is able to decapitate some demons, he sees Dean being outnumbered. He starts to go toward him to assist but is soon stopped in his tracks by an unseen force, quickly he is forced to the wall behind him. Next thing he knows Dean is being restrained by the low-level demons and he is unable to move his limbs from the walls deteriorating surface. Abaddon walks toward him, a wicked smile tucking at her blood-red lips.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't the Boy with the Demon Blood," she speaks with false admiration.

He's unable to suppress a small flinch from those words. She seems to revel in his reaction.

"Wish you would've told me about your reputation, seeing as you are made specifically for our God himself, … for Lucifer". She walks closer to him and grips the bottom of his jaw. Her now black eyes looking directly into his.

"DON'T TOUCH HIM YOU BITCH OR I SWEAR I'LL KILL YOU" Dean growls at her.

She turns to him, her face filled with amusement. Then quickly faces the younger Winchester again and continues as if Dean hadn't spoken.

"Now, where were we? Right. You should've told me, Sam. It's better to learn through the individual than through gossip" she says conversationally.

"Screw… you." he retorts through gritted teeth and flaring nostrils. She scowls in response. Then reaches into her pocket for a small silver dagger. Sam eyes it, his angry and defiant facade faltering a bit. Only a little bit.

"Oh calm down. I'm not gonna hurt you". She turns her head to Dean. "Him… well he's expendable". At this panic fills Sam's eyes, his attempts to fight against her hold increasing.

She continues looking back at Sam's eyes, however not acknowledging his attempt. "I wonder what the blood from a Knight of Hell would do to a specimen like you." She wonders while playfully stroking his cheek as if he were her lover. He cringes at the feel of her cold, dead fingers. His mind then begins picking up on the intent of her statement.

Upon his realization, his body fills with trepidation and his blood runs cold. In the background, Dean continues to fight and curse against the demon's strong grips. She brings the blade to her wrist and slices very slowly as if attempting to tease him. Right away he can smell it, the strong aroma of sulfur. The scent of evil, poison, of … of…

'Power.'

He blinks and attempts to shake his head against her grip when that thought appears. He can't become that.

'I, you, we could.'

She starts bringing her wrist to his mouth. He tries to take his face out of her hand, but she has a fucking strong grip. She pulls at his bottom jaw opening just enough. Dean's curses, protests, and threats fade into the background as Sam gets a look at the blood on her wrist. His tongue waters. And he hates it. He should be over it. Centuries of the cage (of redemption) should dim his craving, his temptation.

Guess he was wrong.

The next thing he knows the taste of metal and sulfur is on his tongue then fills his mouth. He attempts to spit it out, but she has her hand over his mouth and nose. He doesn't want it.

'I DON'T WANT IT. (I, YOU, WE NEED IT)'

It goes down his throat as he attempts to take a breath, it burns going down but it feels so damn good.

She takes her hand away from his mouth and nose. Her other wrist still fixed to his mouth. He can't find it in himself to fight it anymore. To fight this once dull animalistic craving and desire.

'Once an addict, always an addict'

Pure instinct takes over and he's practically licking the cut trying to get as much blood as possible. Making sure that none is wasted. He's pretty sure Dean is eyeing him with disgust and disappointment, but he can't bring himself to care. He could feel the power and energy building up. It builds behind his eyes, in his gut, it consumes every inch of him. What were once whispers in the back of his mind have now turned to shouts. ('MOREMOREMOREMOREMORE')

Then it stops. Everything comes to a standstill, the shouts, and energy dull, his body numbs.

She pulls away and he opens his eyes, he didn't even realize he had closed them.

Abaddon is smiling wickedly at him. And Dean is… Well, he can't find the courage to meet his eyes. Can't bring himself to see the hate, detest, the. . . the . . . 'fear'.

'He should be afraid of me, you, us. I'm, you're, we're, way stronger than him than all of them. All I, you, we need is more blood', his mind whispers.

The pressure builds between his eyes. Blood is rushing in his ears. Abaddon seems to be speaking, but all he could focus on is the beating of her heart. ('KILLKILLKILL') The sound of her and the other demons' blood rushing. ('MOREMOREMORE')

His lips start forming into a grin. He could already feel the cool blood falling from his nose, the blood drying around his mouth. His hands slowly begin to loosen from their fixed point on the wall. The last thing he sees is Abaddon's once satisfied smile falter. Then black begins to fill the edges of his vision, then soon everything follows suit.

NOW:

Sam takes into account the number of bodies that surround them, some encompassed in pools of blood. He looks down at his hands, and they're covered in blood ('not mine') that hasn't quite dried yet.

"Did I . . . did I d-do this?" he asks, but deep down he already knows the answer. He just doesn't want to believe it. Sure, things have been really bad between them lately. Well, bad would be an extreme understatement. But despite that, he just needs some form of assurance.

"Sam . . ." Dean begins, his hands still having a tight clutch on Sam's shoulders. The younger Winchester looks up at him avoiding eye contact. Though attempting to listen to what else he's saying. Soon his lips are just moving and his voice is drowned out by the growing whispers.

'He's going to lock me, you, us up. Lock the door and throw away the key. He doesn't need me, need you, need us. I, you, we, need more.

All he sees is a monster…

'It's not what you're doing it's what you are'

'Sam, it means you're a monster'

'I'm done trying to save you. You're a monster Sam — a vampire. You're not you anymore. And there's no going back'

and when is a monster not a monster?'

TBC