2Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. I do not own the lyrics to Call Me by Shinedown.
Warnings: Massive amounts of angst, allusions to rape, torture, and murder, self-loathing by the bucketful.
Song of Inspiration: Call Me, by Shinedown.
Call me a sinner, call me a saint...
Sam Winchester was staring at the face of the Devil. Most would say he was merely looking at himself - it was a mirror he was glancing in - but Sam knew better. He knew what lay behind the hazel eyes he was looking at now. He could remember how Lucifer had felt, slipping into his skin (he'd taken a thousand showers and still felt it), could remember how the other had looked when he was wearing him (like a tux to prom, huh, Sammy?). He shivered in the warm room and looked down into the sink, trying to put his focus anywhere else, on anything else. But there wasn't anything else, nothing to think about, because he would always see the Devil when he looked at himself...
M.F.E.O. Literally.
It scared him, so much, sometimes. To know that he had been worn like that. To know that he had given in. Even for the good of the world, he had let something inside of him and now...now he felt dirty. Used. Worn. Disgusting in his own body. Horrified when he looked at his hands because he knew the things they had been used to do...His hands had never been clean. He had been bathed in blood since he was six months old. There was no power on Earth that could make him clean, make up for the things he'd done, for the people he'd killed - innocents, who'd had no part in this war against the supernatural. People who hadn't even known what was coming to them. Humans, who had no idea the Apocalypse was coming.
Sam had killed people. Sam had saved the world. Sam was a hero. Sam was a villain. Sam was a saint. Sam was a sinner.
Sam was Sam. But, somewhere deep inside, Sam was the Devil. And he hated himself for it.
Call me the favorite or call me the worst...
Dean Winchester didn't know what to do. His little brother had been worn by Satan like an old sock and now...well. Now...things were...wrong. Or not wrong. Different. After all, Sam had given into the Archangel who had Chosen him. Even though it was for the plan, a part of Dean couldn't help but feel like his little brother had let him down. He had said yes and Dean had held out. Dean hadn't accepted, and that made him feel almost better than his little brother.
That thought made him sick. That he thought he was better than his brother. It was something that plagued him often, because somewhere deep inside, he was jealous. He always had been. Sam got to be normal. Sam had gotten the chance to have the apple pie life. Dean had never even had that chance. Never would. He knew that he was a freak, deep down inside - he wasn't ever going to be normal. But now, in this world, with what was going on...for once, Dean felt better than Sam. He felt like he was more deserving. Because, well, he had to face it: he'd been Chosen by Angels. Even if it wasn't for the purpose he'd thought, he'd been Chosen for Good. Sam...Sam hadn't. He had been thrown into the Angelic part by Fate. Sam hadn't been Chosen, and Dean had.
And it had felt good. All those jealous little stares, and tiny barbs in his words - Dean had enjoyed having Sam look at him with envy for once. It had given his ego a kind of boost he'd never thought it would've gotten. And that made him hate himself. Sam had gone through so much for him - he'd drunk demon blood, he'd gotten his ribs squeegeed off so Lucifer could find him, he'd walked around fucking soul-less...that last bit really got to him. Because that Sam hadn't been Sam. It'd never been Sam. And Dean knew that. Because that Sam - RoboSam - hadn't had his brother's heart. He hadn't...understood. He let Dean turn into a vampire. He had hurt people to get what he wanted. And that made his jealousy all the worse. Because he got to take a look at what Sam would've been like, if he'd never had his apple pie life. If he'd only ever been focused on the hunt.
Dean had been Chosen by the Angels. Sam had been Chosen by the Devil. Dean hadn't said yes. Sam had. Dean had been so jealous of Sam, had his jealousy quelled by being Chosen, and now he wished he'd never been Chosen at all. Because even if he'd been Heaven's favorite, all it had ever done was bring out the worst in him. And he hated himself for that.
It's all that I can say, so I'll be on my way...
Castiel understood very little about Sam and Dean Winchester, even after all the time he had spent with them together. Separately, he understood them; he understood Sam, how he hated the lingering taint of the Cage, of Hell, of Lucifer. He understood Dean, perhaps far better than he should - he understood his devotion to family, his desire to save the world, the inner workings of his heart. He had raised that man from Perdition - in more ways than one, he understood him. But he did not understand Sam-and-Dean as well as he would like. He did not understand the brothers when they were together.
In Heaven, everything was dictated by the Host. Missions were given, missions were carried out. There was no familial love between the ones who received the missions and the ones who handed them out - Angels were warriors. Emotions like love did not cross to them, not in the way humans thought of them. Love was simply supposed to be when it came to Angels. There was no question about it. But after being with the Winchesters, Castiel couldn't see that anymore. He had seen what love could do now, he understood love. It was love for Dean that had let him rebel against Heaven. It was love for Sam that had let him fight for the boy, instead of just writing him off as a hopeless case. But...but. Castiel didn't understand. He didn't understand this type of love, he didn't understand the Winchesters' type of love. The kind of love that made you risk everything for them. The kind of love that made them risk everything for each other. All-encompassing and true and pure...
Castiel didn't understand this kind of love. He probably never would, and he knew it. Because this type of love was rare. Or perhaps not. Perhaps this was what love was supposed to be, and the love Castiel remembered was merely love of Duty. Of knowing your place. That didn't apply to him anymore. Because he had gotten a taste of what love really was in his years spent with the Winchester boys and their rag-tag family...and he knew, no matter what, if he was ever called to defend them, he would always be on his way.