Sam looked up, a glint of confirmation flickering in his eyes. So they knew. He wasn't normal anymore and they knew it. He had hoped, for more than his own sake, that he would be able to keep it in the quiet for a while. If not just for him to find the time to accept the fact that that blood was pumping through his veins again. Then he could have prepared himself for a better approach. He could have sat them all down and explained the situation in a way that didn't make him seem bitter and angry. That way they wouldn't have to worry about him and they could all just forget that the pits ever happened. He didn't picture that conversation happening for a long while, but now it felt like it didn't even need to happen at all. He just hoped that they would all let it lie for a while. Sam was far from ready to embrace the fact that he was no longer a normal person. He was different. Unique. A freak, he reminded himself.
That played a big part into all of this, didn't it? His failure to accept that he was not just some regular guy. Sam wasn't that fourteen year old boy, standing in a classroom with wide eyes, heart filling with hope as he quietly listened to a concerned teacher tell him tales of a life that he could control, not anyone else. Hopes and dreams, the brilliant idea of becoming someone important, someone who was going to do great things. A person who, at the end of the day, could prove to his father that he wasn't just another kid. The man who had raised him up into the world, who had taught him every damn thing that he knew, who had bought him his first computer, encouraged his intelligence, saved his life constantly, raised him and his brother up all by himself in a world that was bitter and cold. He'd have been able to look off at that man, head held high, eyes proudly meeting his own. And then he'd tell him, without hesitation, "Look at me, Dad. I'm someone."
God, he wanted that so badly. Sam would have given anything to be that person. He wasn't though. Sam was, in short, nothing more than that bitter reminder of what had been inflicted upon the Winchester family. He was Azazel. He was a demon. He was the thing that had pinned his mother up to that ceiling and burned her alive. It was all that he saw when he looked in the mirror. Maybe it was all that he'd ever see.
He didn't acknowledge his father's statement about what was inside of him. Sam didn't have it in him to do as much. Instead he lowered his head, knuckles going white from the iron grip that he had on the mug.
"I want to make her happy." That was what he was supposed to do. A husband was supposed to take care of his wife. Just like John himself had said, back when he had taken off upon discovering the news about Heather's pregnancy. He wasn't supposed to hurt her or give her things that she didn't deserve. And Heather, as horrible as her history had been, deserved something normal. Silent Hill was over. She wasn't a Hunter or a Slayer or anything like they were. Her life didn't have to be that way. "I can't do that if I'm honest, Dad. I can't. I can't tell her that I'm not...I'm not perfect. I can't be for her. And she needs that."