Sam sits on the edge of his bed face buried in his hands. A sickening white light of the cheap motel lamps shone down on his head like a mocking spotlight. He was sick of it. The never ending, ceaseless, pit in his heart, this unending guilt that has plagued him since his childhood.

He’s a monster. He knows this.

His whole life his DNA was shaping him up to become a freak. To become the very thing that tore this world to shreds.

But he fought damnit. He didn’t want this. And still he felt it in his veins.

He fought so hard for a world that never loved him back.

Lucifer’s words rang in his mind—you never fit in. Remember all those times you ran away from home? You were running towards me—

His hands ball up in fists and he curls in on himself with a labored sigh. Body shaking with restrained sorrow.

”…why me…”

His words were less of a question and more of a plea.