Who: Sam Winchester and YOU. What: Sam dealing with some backlash from the damage he caused during his demon days. When: Early evening. Where: Some random corner. Rating: TBD.
"You killed her!"
Those very words echoed loudly in the back of Sam's head as he staggered out of a small bookstore, one hand pressed over the side of his face while the other grabbed at the wall beside him. He took a few steady steps forward, his ears taking in bits of the shouting that had erupted from within the store, before he pushed ahead and broke off into a run. Feet pounding against the sidewalk below him, Sam quickly rounded a corner, dashed across a parking lot, and skidded to a halt as soon as he found himself within good distance from the store that he had just escaped from. Fingers threading through his hair, Sam doubled over and dropped down onto the curb, his stomach twisting painfully at the recent memory of the man hurling himself at him with both words and fists.
You killed her!
Sam didn't know who she was. Not really. Now that his abilities had grown, Sam was a lot more capable of remembering the bits and pieces of his possession than the average person generally would have been. But even he couldn't determine as to which person had belonged to that man. Was it the small girl, playing in the street? The woman looking for someone to talk to in an empty bar? Burying his face into his hands, Sam drew in a few breaths and squeezed his eyes shut.
You killed her!
If only he hadn't gotten himself possessed. He could have let the damned demon take Claire that day. It was who he was originally going for. Sam was protected. He was safe. But he had to be noble, didn't he? One hand reached upward and Sam pressed his palm flat against the spot on his chest where the devil's trap was embedded onto his flesh. Safe. Protected. And yet he destroyed the damn thing anyway, just so that she wouldn't have to go through the terrifying experience. Catching glimpses of yourself, but not knowing where you are. Not knowing how or why your body was doing things that you didn't want for it to do. Wondering, in a panicked state, how in the hell there were words coming out of your mouth that didn't quite belong to you. That would never belong to you because they were so sick and twisted and wrong. Sam knew how that felt. He knew because, as soon as he had destroyed that tattoo, he became possessed for the second time in his life. And he did terrible things. Terrible, terrible things.
"I'm sorry," he choked out. "God, I'm so sorry."
It was his fault. He could have stopped all of the deaths that had taken place during his possession. Instead he chose to dip his hands into the blood of innocent people and now, after all this time, someone had vowed to make him pay for it. The man had promised to kill him.
And Sam, sitting in the dark with his face covered by his hands, found himself hoping that the man got his revenge.