inspired by this post. couldn’t stop thinking about it so i had to write this <3 ends abruptly but i could be persuaded into writing more 🫢
sam winchester was cursed to be an abomination before he was even born. the fates, or perhaps god himself, decided long ago that the youngest winchester brother would be lucifer's perfect vessel. sure, it was mary who made the deal with azazel — her youngest for john's life — but azazel would have wound up in little sammy's nursery, dripping his rancid blood into the baby's mouth.
somewhere down the line, sam accepted this about himself. he was an abomination, only a slight step away from the demons he hunted. when he drank from ruby, he believed it was worth it, that it was the right thing to do. he was saving lives here! but then, ruby was dead, and lilith was dead, and lucifer rose from hell. all because of *him*. he had let himself grow blind enough to be manipulated by the lowest of the low, all because she told him it would make him powerful. and if he was powerful, then he could do anything, save anyone.
how stupid he had been. he had let everyone down. dean, bobby... castiel. castiel, who should have killed him the moment they met. who forgave him each time he fell. who picked him back up, rescued him from the cage, and took on the burden of his memories. like sam was something worth saving, or protecting.
it's well past midnight when sam wanders into the main room of the bunker, rubbing at his dark-circled eyes, unaware of the angel sitting at the table who is leafing through old men of letter's records.
"sam. you look unwell."
sam blinks, though he isn't startled by castiel's presence. if anything, he is grateful for it. grateful and undeserving.
"shouldn't you be sleeping?" comes castiel's voice again, his brow furrowed as it usually is. his blue eyes are sharp and curious as sam walks his way, soon sitting down in the chair across from his.
"probably. doesn't mean i can," sam replies, peeking over to see what castiel is reading, but the angel closes the book before he gets a chance to. when sam looks up with a raised brow, the expression on castiel's face is unreadable. "what?"
"why is it that you still torture yourself, sam?" castiel questions suddenly, leaning forward as he rests his arms on the table, lacing his fingers together in front of him. when the only response he gets is a confused look from sam, he tilts his head and continues. "you have such a low opinion of yourself. even after all the good you have done, all the lives you have saved, you still think of yourself as the boy with the demon blood."
sam's face falls flat, and he stiffens in his chair. why did castiel have to be so perceptive, and so straightforward? "i dunno, man. we don't need to get into that right now," he mumbles eventually, averting his eyes from the blue ones that see right through him. he runs a hand through his hair, trying not to think about the last time his insomnia kept him up for so long.
"yes, we do. if it will ease your troubles and allow you to heal, then yes. we do."
sam thinks about that response for several seconds before he finally looks at castiel again, heaving a sigh. "why do you even care, cas? you said it yourself, the day we met. i'm the boy with the demon blood. that's what i am, above being a hunter, above being dean's brother, above everything." something about castiel's eyes urge him to spill his guts, and he suddenly can't stop talking. "i'm unclean. unholy. even after all this time, i still feel it in me. every time i kill a demon, i think about how good it would feel to drink it's blood, and then i hate myself a little more. i'm a monster, cas. i'm no better than them."
their eye contact is unwavering, and as sam falls silent, they are both still. castiel, who has become as precious to sam as dean, stares at him with a profound sadness in his eyes. sam deserves none of it.
"you could fix me," sam says suddenly, the idea hardly formed in his mind before he's latching on to it, leaning forward suddenly so he's closer to castiel. "you, you're the opposite of me. you're pure and just and perfect."
castiel blinks owlishly, his head cocked to the side in a way that makes sam want to weep. how can an angel sit before him like this and not feel anything but revulsion?
"sam, if i could heal you, i would. but there is nothing to heal. there is nothing wrong with you." castiel frowns as sam scoffs at his words, almost pouting. "there isn't. the demon blood within you is just a part of you. there is nothing to be done about it. you can fight your urges, and you can do the right thing. that's all that matters, in the end."
perhaps he means to sound reassuring, but sam just feels sick. he's shaking his head before castiel even finishes his sentence. "you're wrong. i’m wrong, on a molecular level. but you can help me!" without thinking, sam reaches out, grapsing castiel's hand in his own. he's surprised to find that castiel's skin is much cooler than that of a normal human. he's also surprised that castiel doesn't recoil from the touch. instead, their hands twine together like they have done this before. like their hands belong together.
"i want to help you," castiel says in a quiet tone, briefly looking down at their hands, feeling an unusual flutter in his chest. "what can i do for you, sam? i will do anything in my power." devotion is clear in his tone, but sam doesn't notice. he's too far gone into hating himself and trying to fix himself.
"it's angel blood. it's your blood — don't you see? you're the only one who can save me and make me right. because, despite everything, you're still here. you let me hold your hand and you heal me after hunts, even though i'm... me. but if you let me have your blood... it would cleanse me." sam isn't sure, really, where the idea came from. if he's been thinking about it for awhile, or if it all just clicked rather suddenly. but he is without a doubt that it will work. that castiel can save him.
castiel looks up from their joined hands and meets sam's eyes again. he takes in the human before him, tainted but lovely, cursed yet trying his hardest. perhaps he is right. demon blood is what ruined sam in the first place, so why shouldn't angel blood be the antidote? and even though castiel tries to rationalize it in his mind, he knows there is no point. because either way, he would say yes.
"of course, sam," he agrees quietly, an angel blade suddenly appearing in his hand.
"wait — not here. i don't want dean to..." sam trails off, because the thought of his brother walking in on this is simply too terrible to speak.
with a ruffle of invisible feathers, they are suddenly seated on sam's bed, in his simple room, devoid of personal touches that would make it truly his. castiel casts his eyes around, noting the differences between this room and dean's, who filled his with memories and mementos the moment they claimed this as their home. he returns his gaze to sam, sitting beside him so their shoulders brush. "it'll be okay, sam," he promises as he begins rolling up the sleeve of his trenchcoat, and then his white shirt, exposing his pale forearm.
sam stares at the soft flesh — unmarked unlike his own which is covered with scars — with a strange feeling in his stomach. he watches with apt interest as castiel drags the silver blade across his skin, a red line of blood following. the angel and the boy with the demon blood lock eyes again for a lingering glance, before sam takes castiel's arm in his hands and pulls it up to his lips.
