Sam listened in silence as John elaborated on his earlier intimations about his own doomed soul. He didn’t recognise the demons name or even his description of some kind of hierarchy in Hell, which led Sam to conclude that John was not from the same universe that he was. He’d experienced it enough times at the institute to know it was possible, and while their versions of Hell were not the same that didn’t make them any less real - or any less dangerous.
“My brother sold his soul once.” He said after a while of sitting in silence. “He bargained it with a cross roads demon to bring me back to life after I was stabbed in the back.” Sam cleared his throat. “He got a year before the hellhounds came for him. Tried to sell mine to get him out of Hell but none of them would trade.”
In Johns last statement Sam recognised so much of himself. The knowing that a situation was practically hopeless but refusing to yield to it, to give up and accept the cards you’d been dealt. That had never been him. He’d squared up against Heaven and Hell and his supposed destiny that had been set in motion as far back as Cain and Abel. “You should keep fighting.” Sam said matter of factly. “ you shouldn’t let them win.” He found the bottle again and took a swig of the last drops of liquid. “But I think you give me too much credit if you think I’d know what’s good for me, makes me think you haven’t been paying much attention.” Sam smirked. “Thinking I might take my chances. Kinda wanna find out if your containment spell works.”