Sam Winchester’s Journal – Entry #20
After vanishing for days, Cas made a surprise appearance in front of the church and asked for our help to deal with Metatron and the army of angels on his trail.
I convinced my brother to leave, I think it’s better that way as I prefer Dean to be away while I perform the purification ritual: he would have slowed me down anyway, maybe stopped me if he saw any sign of weakness on my behalf. I know him, his big brother’s heart would have talked at one moment or another and it’s the last thing I need right now. Furthermore, if giving Cas a helping hand can rid us of the angels and lock them up in Heaven once and for all, and if I can take care of the Gates of Hell, it’s a chance we can’t miss, two birds one stone.
I can’t even imagine what it would be like: no more demons, no more angels, only some ghosts and wendigos here and there which, in comparison to everything we had to deal with in the past few years will be like taking a vacation in Hawaii. Too bad I won’t be here to see all this, but I’m not going to ramble about the last hours I have to live again, I already spoke about this far too much.
I’m now on my own with Crowley. I started the ritual but saying things are going as planned would be a complete and utter lie: this bastard’s still looking at me with this smirk at the corner of his mouth, joking, encouraging me to continue while whistling Beatles songs between one shot of blood and the next.
Hours have passed. Shot after shot, incantation after incantation, the King of Hell didn’t change at bit. He’s still the same son of a bitch he ever was and even bit me like a rabid dog. The only good news is that he must be feeling desperate to reach this level of rage.
I’m persisting, planting the needle for the third time in his neck but I’m not sure it’s actually working. All the confidence I managed to gather after capturing him is crumbling down like a house of cards and the fact I’m more dead than alive isn’t helping. I’m hardly standing, my vision’s blurred. The world seems to have stopped resonating around me, now I can only focus on the deafening sound of the blood pumping in my veins. It’s loud, so loud I can barely hear Crowley’s voice laughing at my desperate attempts to cure him.
I had no regret so far for being the one undergoing these Trials but for the first time, I have the feeling that Dean would have been the better man for this part of the job. Even if my brother recognized that after the year he spent in Purgatory he’s not an example of virtue anymore, he’ll always be the Righteous Man, the True Servant of Heaven and not some sort of demon freak that The Power That Be chose as Lucifer’s meat suit. I’m not even sure that I, of all people can cure a demon. I mean, can an abomination cure another abomination? Can my blood, this blood Azazel fed with his own thirty years ago, be any good for purifying anybody? I’m starting to wonder if I’m not making Crowley stronger in the process either.
There’s no time anymore for all these questions; I can’t give up now, and I won’t. As Dean joked in the car, we can’t lose because we’re like the Blues Brothers, “we are on a mission from God”. He’s maybe right but at this precise moment, I couldn’t care less about God.
I’m not doing this for him.
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