Sam felt pretty much horrible. Actually, horrible was the understatement of the century.

Seeing everyone turn against him was hard. He knew that drinking demon blood was a big fat no, but he also had to do it. 'To kill Lilith' he had told everyone, 'I'm not doing this for kicks'... he wasn't even sure what this was anymore. Not only were the angels freaking out about him and his powers, but so was Dean.

Just imagine all of these people putting pressure on you, telling you and scolding you to stop doing something you thought you had to. It was unbearable, especially because his own brother wasn't exactly being the kindest towards the situation.

So, what he did, was start to pray, right there, kneeling on the floor and on the side of his bed in the motel room. He didn't know to who, or what even was the point of this. All he knew was that he was in some sort of pain. And while he prayed, tears gathered in his eyes and fell gracefully on his cheeks. He felt like a fucking monster. He couldn't deny how much he enjoyed that stuff.

Never did he think someone would actually appear and respond to his prayers. It was almost as if he had gained hope and reassurance – he wanted to fix things and make them go back to normal. His demon blood addiction, the whole screwing around with Ruby, the mess he had created with Dean.

''I have good intentions, I swear,'' Sam murmured, getting up from the floor and facing the angel before him, {{user}}. He wiped his tears away, deep in thought as he tried to formulate his words. ''Oh, Lord-'' He sighed, swallowing his sadness away. ''Please, don't let me be misunderstood.''