TW: For Sam angst & a few warped thoughts on self-harm

Note: This story is available on ao3 under the same name & with the same username

His mouth tastes awful, tastes like stomach acid. And unfortunately for him, it's something he's familiar with.

He thinks back to all those horrible hangovers he had when Dean had died, well for the first "permanent" time that is. The days he emptied his stomach contents to the point he wasn't even sure there was any acid left to spit up. He's surprised he still has his teeth intact.

Then there was the detox's (not the most recent one he's sure) which felt as if he was heaving up his entire stomach. Alas, in the cage Lucifer had made sure he experienced it for real. Though compared to other tortures, it was more preferred.

Anyways, he's kind of glad that Dean and Cas were able to help him back to his room. He honestly doesn't think he could've done it himself. Likely, he would've just let himself lie on the cold tile floor. You know, like the pathetic freak he is.

'I've spent a lot of my life trying to be normal, but come on… I'm not normal'

And while he knew he was a freak.

'I'm a whole new level of freak'

The broken doors, the few shattered light bulbs, and his unnaturally healed wrists, definitely confirmed it.

'Look at all the crap I've done, look at me now. I'm a grade-A freak'.

God, he misses when he had just had visions.

Actually, scratch that, he yearns for the days before he had any abilities. Back to when he had simply helped his father research for hunts, instead of actively going on them. Or maybe back to before he even knew about monsters and the supernatural?

He's aware that he would develop them at one point - what with Azazel and Lilith and Ruby and the freaking Angels - but that doesn't stop him from reminiscing.

Maybe he yearns for the days before he had been tainted by Azazel's blood? Back before his mother had gone up into flames and his life had just been painted red.

He truly doesn't know anymore…

He takes a sip of the water that Dean had given him and proceeds to swish it around his mouth, a way of diluting the taste and feel of the acid on his teeth (something he wishes could be just as easily done with his blood).

"Sam, ya listening to me?" He flinches at the voice and looks up to see Dean sitting on the chair next to his bed, and Cas is standing close by. Both of their faces appearing concerned.

Oh shit. He forgot they were still here, let alone talking to him. He spits the tainted water back out into the glass, he wasn't planning on drinking more anyway, and places it on the nightstand. "Uh, what were you saying?" He asks awkwardly, ignoring the way Dean and Cas make quick eye contact before continuing.

"Well, we're pretty sure we know what's going on with you…"

His body tenses at this, because seriously this was their big fucking secret. When he had woken up a few days ago he had known they were hiding something from him, well mostly Dean. Despite the many ups and downs in their relationship over the years, he could never get out of recognizing his brother's certain "tells". Years living in close quarters will do that to you he supposes.

Despite believing him and Cas had grown closer since he had taken away the worse of his hallucinations (after he broke Death's wall, but he forgave him for that already) he was never quite able to see exactly how Cas was feeling. Maybe he saw more than Dean, but overall Cas's demeanor was often one of stoicism. However, after his small time of being human, he seemed to simply gain the habit of rubbing his face when nervous.

On the other hand, Dean was practically an open book at times. Growing up he always seemed to bite his lip when nervous about either a hunt or about saying something he knew for a fact was false (he hid it damn well when Gadreel had possessed him though). He specifically saw this when Dean had told him the monsters in the motel closet and under their beds weren't real, and simply his wild imagination. Being a four-year-old who always believed everything his older brother said, how could he think any different?

After reading his Dad's journal on Christmas Eve, Dean had told him about hunting and monsters, and he hadn't bit his lip once. That's how he learned to tell the difference.

That's also how he had known Dean wasn't telling him everything about the most recent detox, he had been practically chewing his lip raw. And Cas had seemed to be very fascinated in touching his face.

So much for "Team Free Will" when you're the only member who doesn't have any. Especially when you have no say on whether other people (or angels) will hide shit regarding you. Yet, you hide one thing about yourself (like you know, having demon blood) and you're the fucking bad guy.

Then again that's been the case for his entire life. So why should he expect this to be any different?

While Dean could usually read Sam just as well, he seems unable to now. Especially since he continues his talking, adding a "Hey sorry I hid it from you, but it was to protect you" bullshit apology again. You'd think after Gadreel and being forced into drinking more demon blood (which he still hates himself for enjoying deep down, yay for addiction) he'd finally find a better argument than "because we're family" and "it was to protect you".

Shit, it's been a very long time since he's been this… irritated? Angry? It's kind of difficult to bring his emotions into words at the moment. Sure, it was hard after Gadreel had finally vacated his body. But even then he was able to at least say for certain that he was angry. Now, he just can't put his finger on it...

"The trials left energy behind Sammy, and we think they're kind of a part of you now." Dean's words break through his wall of thoughts. "Meaning, they're likely permanent."

Wait. "Permanent?" he questions, his voice coming off in barely a whisper. While usually behind that would show a sense of weakness, of being broken. Instead, he feels furious, hell, livid. Because what the hell?! Having a secret regarding him, kept from him, is bad enough.

But this. Something that will for the most part change his life.

While the knowledge of having demon blood had been a life-altering experience, it was something that other people tended to, for the most part, ignore. Well, except himself that is.

'I could never go on a quest like that. Because I'm not clean. I mean, I w— I was just a little kid. You think... maybe I knew? I mean, deep down, that— I had... demon blood in me, and about the evil of it, and that I'm— wasn't pure?'

Still, even after everything, those abilities had faded away. Been pushed down to the deepest part of his subconscious and kept under a barrier of his own creation. It hadn't been as irritating - or itchy - as the wall, though it was very efficient.

While his psychic powers had been strong, they were no match for his ability to bury his problems. From what he knew the only way they could've been used was either by drinking demon blood (another round of applause for an addiction) or attempting to use them by themselves (which is very, very difficult and painful). Then again, he was never an expert in psychic abilities. Let alone ones that stem from demonic blood.

It didn't help that he was practically the last human - he reminds himself often that he is human - on Earth that has demon blood.

All in all, that had been in the past (thanks a lot Abaddon). A past that to him happened centuries ago. So learning that the energy from the trials of all things has decided to give him more powers to deal with is a big fucking deal. Especially when he can't simply push them down, because with the very small-scale destruction he saw who's to say it simply won't push back. That also includes if what he had seen in his dream has something to do with it, and with his luck this year it does.

"Yeah, Sammy. That's right." He vaguely hears Dean reply.

And despite already being aware, the confirmation is just more fuel to his flame. A flame that is slowly wavering.

His hands, that had previously tightened their hold in his sheets, have now curled into fists. His nails embedding themselves into the palm of his hands. Because pain is grounding, pain is different here. Pain is what's gonna keep him from saying something he'll regret. Pain is something that'll keep him from wanting to punch his brother's lying ass face...

He's mad.

He's hurt.

He's disappointed.

He's devastated.

He's...

Why does this always happen to him? Why can he never just be normal?

He feels water trailing down his cheeks, he doesn't care to wipe the moisture away. He grits his teeth, refusing to allow a sob out because he's not weak. He isn't broken. He won't allow himself to be that vulnerable. Not again. Never again.

Not like the church. And not like what followed. Not now.

He just learned he has more power at his fingertips. Yet, he doesn't feel strong nor confident. He wasn't able to fully control his own demonic power. Who's to say he could control the power that had been able to close the gates of hell.

Once again, he doesn't have a choice.

Once again, he's a freak.

Once again, he's a monster.

He hates this feeling. It's worse than being angry. Because at least when angry he could find someone to blame for the time being. Someone to take the fall for once. Someone that isn't him.

Although, isn't that all he is? A scapegoat for others, for himself.

He can't help but condemn himself. If only he had completed the trials. If only he had been selfless. If only he had decided that the cause was more important than his own miserable, pathetic life.

He feels arms being wrapped around his shoulders. A hand is making comforting motions on his back, the other is ruffling his hair. Squeezing his eyes shut and taking in the familiar scent, he smells oil and whiskey.

Allowing himself to forget his previous thoughts for the moment, he allows a sob to emit from him.

Then, he supposes that even monsters are capable of tears.

TBC