Chapter 18


When they boys arrived back at Bobby's neither of them said a word. Bobby had been waiting in the living room wearing a much more comfortable attire when he heard the Impala roll up.

When Bobby saw the doorknob turn and Sam walk through the door a mixture of very clear emotion played across his face. First was happiness/relief for Sam's wellbeing, second was shock/fear for the blood that was caked on his face and his hands and the grime that stained his clothes. His heart broke for the kid. What had happened? Sam had so much control over this, and then all of a sudden on a night that it wasn't even a full moon, he loses control.

It didn't really make any sense.

Sam gave Bobby a miserable look, and then ran up the stairs, not saying anything to him. Dean then walked in the house, and Bobby's attention was on him, and he let the boy have it.

As Dean closed the door behind him, Bobby stalked up to him and asked angrily, "What the hell is goin' on?"

Dean whirled around to face Bobby. His face was sunken in, and his eyes held tears that he was trying desperately to keep from falling.

"S-Sammy fed." Dean said in a voice that was just above a whisper.

Bobby's eyes widened. "He killed someone?"

Dean nodded simply, and then took a deep breath. He looked Bobby in the eye, and then started to tell the story word for word how Sam had told him.

xXx

Sam was doing worse than they were. He stood in the upstairs bathroom staring into the mirror above the sink. His hands were grasping the sides of the porcelain basin for dear life as he stared at his own reflection.

One word came to mind as he stared at the blood around his mouth; Monster.

How could he have lost control like that? After days of pushing himself, how could he do that?

More tears spilled down his face, making the crimson blood on his cheek run pink. He was no better than anything else he's hunted. Why wouldn't Dean kill him?

Sam pulled in a deep breath, and then turned the faucet on, letting the hot water run down the drain. He slipped his cupped hands into the running blistering liquid without even wincing, and then tossed it on his face.

He looked back up at his reflection and then rubbed his face hard, watching with little relief as some of the blood washed clean.

He grabbed at the white bar of soap that was in a tray above the sink and began to scrub his hands. He scrubbed frantically trying desperately to get the girls' blood off of him.

Then the blood was gone, leaving his slightly scarred smooth skin, but he continued to scrub. Even though he couldn't see the blood he still smelled and felt it. It made him feel dirty, tainted.

He scrubbed his hands raw, when he suddenly dropped the soap into the sink. The smell was albeit gone, and the feeling wasn't relieved but he knew it was no use torturing himself.

Sam sighed sadly, he turned the spigot off, and then started stripping his grime stained clothes until he stood in the bathroom in the nude.

He tore his face from the mirror, and then stepped into the tub. He turned the hot water on, and then the cold until it ran warm. He turned the shower on, and let the water run down his beaten, and scarred body.

xXx

When Dean had finished telling Bobby everything that happened with Sam and Azezel, they were both sitting on the sofa in the living room looking solemn and worn.

Bobby rubbed his chin, and then turned to Dean apprehensively. He sighed deeply, "What does this mean for us Dean?"

Dean looked up at him, the bags under his eyes giving away his exhaustion, "What do you mean?"

Bobby took in a deep breath, "I hate to say this, I really do. You know how I feel about you boys, and this just breaks my heart…but we can't let him carry on…killin' people."

Dean took in a sharp breath, and then stood to face Bobby, "So what, you wanna just give up on him? The Demon does something to his mind and you wanna put him down like a dog? Well I'm not giving up that easily!"

Bobby rolled his eyes, "You know that's not what I mean! He made us promise, remember? He told us to kill him if he killed anybody!"

"The hell with it! I don't care about some stupid promise! We gotta help him!" Dean declared desperately.

"Killin' him would help him!" Bobby shouted as he too stood.

"How?" Dean asked with disbelief.

"Do you really expect Sam to get over this? That kind of guilt is gonna eat him up and you know it!"

Dean rolled his eyes, "I can help him there too!"

Bobby shook his head, "And if you can't? Sam won't be the same."

Dean took a deep relaxing breath, and his eyes filled with tears again as he stared at Bobby soulfully. "He has to pull through this, Bobby." He said sadly. If he doesn't live through this, then neither will I. Dean finished in his mind.

Bobby nodded in understanding, and then walked over to the staircase to see Sam coming down in a light blue t-shirt and grey sweatpants. He looked as sad as he did upon entering the house, but much better now that he was clean.

Bobby nodded at him as he passed him on the staircase heading up. Sam didn't say anything.

As Sam entered the living room his eyes fell on Dean who was setting a makeshift bed on the floor, in front of the couch, out of blankets and his jacket.

Sam cleared his throat, and then stepped up to Dean reluctantly, "Want me to sleep on the floor?" Sam asked in a hoarse whisper.

Dean looked up at him as he sat down and covered himself with a blanket. "Nah, you take the couch Sammy…I'll see you in the morning." With that, Dean lay down, and shut his eyes.

Sam sighed and then reached for the lamp that was on the table next to the couch and flipped it off. The room was overtaken with darkness, but with Sam's keener eyesight he was able to avoid stepping on his brother as he sat down on the couch.

Sam wondered if tonight is what the Demon was talking about. Did the Demon do this to him? Mess with his mind, take his control? It seemed absurd, but then again what in their world wasn't weird to most people?

A shiver ran up Sam's spine as he thought about it more. If the Demon had done this to him, then why did it feel so right?

Sam looked down at his brother and then shook his head to clear it. He knew that if his brother knew he was thinking these things, he would tell him not to blame himself. Blame the Demon.

But Sam couldn't help but think, Azezel didn't kill that girl. I did.

Sam took in a deep breath and then let his head hit the arm of the couch as his pillow. His eyes never leaving Dean's lightly snoring form.

"I'm so sorry Dean." Sam whispered, as another tear fell from his eye and rolled down his cheek.