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The thought had been poison since Azazel planted it in his infantalized mind all those years ago. The day he lost his right to choose, to say no to fate. The small child in the crib, drinking the sweet— no, poisonous nectar as it fell like raindrops from the vein.
So what does one do with intrusive thoughts? Shove them down, deep into their core where their personal horrors could only define them as a monster. He was no ordinary beast, he knew that. How hard it had been, to watch his loved ones die time after time, knowing that if he just stuck with it they would be safe beside him today.
So what now, now that Ergoth had promised him what they really needed? Could he really step up to the plate and turn the tide? He imagined what he could do with Hell under his and Dean's influence.
'Or would it be Dean's influence alone?', the deadly thought seeped into his consciousness from the rebellious corner in his mind. The corner he crafted for the sake of his relationship with his beloved brother. It was one of Dean's talents, to rather fearlessly force himself on people; and Sam couldn't even fully blame it on Dean either... He was the one who let himself be defined. He made the monster.
Perhaps viewing his other half as a monster was in poor taste, but how dangerous could it be when the word the youngest was using had been inflicted by the oldest so many times before?
It was the stone-cold truth, binding him like he was hogtied. Ergoth's words rang like alarm bells in his ears, waking him up.
"Considering it's in your blood, did they ever accept you in the first place?"
That hurt, it hurt more than both Dean and his Dad saying he would not be allowed back. Even though they did allow him back, they granted him their mercy yet he was complaining. Why did he have the right to complain?
He was protected, most importantly from himself.
"The synonym for that you're thinking of is a cage." The voice in the rebellious corner of his mind.
"Who would you be, if you didn't have to mold yourself to please others for the sake of your survival?"
He wanted to punch himself, to tell the voice to shut its mouth. He would inevitably put these thoughts to rest and go to bed, like he did every other time the urges got to bad.
However, the darker part of him lured him in like a siren song, ot promised him gifts, especially the most important gift of all, freedom.
He'll has always been messy, and he would have to hush the louder resistances for there to be order, he had no problem killing demons. He had been killing for most of his life, and the shameful thought occurred to him, "What's a few more bodies?"
He couldn't, he couldn't, he couldn't.
All he had to do was convince himself he had a good life here, it didn't matter if he had to bury most of who he was to get it.
Dean was sleeping soundly in the other room, unaware of the monster down the hall.
"He's been aware the entire time. You let him put a leash on you." His inner self snapped.
Then he figured, there was no harm in thinking. In musing.
Dean was no psychic, Sam would be fine.
So he let his mind wander, he thought about the power he would hold as the one on the throne. He could control the demon deals, have enough power to put Michael down, he could give hunters safe passage to deal with the threats that needed to be dealt with—
Hunters, he thought bitterly. He knew what it was like to be on the other end of the blade he held so proudly. Even when his brother was holding the blade.
Why was he pretending to be something he wasn't? Why was he pretending to be... maybe this was to far, the enemy?
Not every hunter saw a villain in the Supernatural, for some, they wore it as shields. Allowing the help of witches, befriending werewolves. Dean had become that type of hunter, to some degree.
But Sam knew that as soon as he stepped out of line, Dean would wrangle him back in. And just now Sam was starting to realize, that's not a good thing.
He learnt from Amara that darkness isn't inherently bad, and from Michael, Lucifer, and the angels up above that light isn't inherently good.
The logic was simple, he could sit on the throne of hell and still he good, still be a Winchester.
Though his father's words were burnt into his head, the day he asked his father why witches were bad;
"Because they chose to be monsters, Sammy. They were human and they chose to be what they are. Freaks."
That night Sam threw away his deck of cards that he still did tricks with. It wasn't until college that Sam started messing around with magic again. Which, now that Sam thought about it, it was the first time he allowed himself to be whole.
The thoughts flowed through his mind, not the kind he would associate with rage but rather silk. The thoughts felt like silk. When he sprinkled some healing herbs into Jessica's tea to help with her headache. When he found himself muttering protection spells in the dark catwalks that he stumbled on drunk back to his dorm. How his cross necklace made him break out in hives. It had been a part of him since before he was born.
He had repressed who he was for so long, and with Ruby, it felt forced. Like it was a mission forced on him not who he was. But thinking back to that time over a decade ago now, when Sam freaking Winchester felt the power of who he was under his skin. It was him, and it was cruel to deny himself that.
The room suddenly got dim, and Azazel's only living child was brought from his thoughts. The lights were flickering. He pushed himself up, to tap on the lightbulb. Part of him hoped it was an issue with the electricity, while another part of him wished it was something more.
As soon as his finger made impact with the lightbulb it exploded. His head felt like it was buzzing.
Wearily, he looked up to the source, a warding symbol that should've been invisible to the human eye, right above his bed. It made him nauseous, he had to get rid of it.
The buzzing sensation and the blur soon passed, replaced with a light ringing in his ear. "What did that demon do to me?" He found himself saying out loud as he greedily gasped for air.
He needed out of the bunker, these warnings were driving him crazy. Was this even the demon, or did he awaken something in himself.
As he stalked out of the room and stumbled out of the bunker he failed to look behind him. He failed to notice the reason the buzzing stopped, was a new crack in the wall that split the warding in two.