Sam felt bad. Everything went along a crooked path, his passion, thirst for demonic blood. Everything to fuel myself became more and more painful each time. It corroded him from the inside, killing all remnants of his former morality.

Dean is worried about him, but damn, this seems like a complete guardianship, after all, he is a grown boy and no one will control his actions. He thinks it will help, no, he is sure brother can’t cope without him. He must help him. If you ignore the fact that everyone tells him otherwise.

He's confused. Taking several bottles of beer, he drank and drank, trying to drown out these thoughts, get rid of them. Running his fingers through his disheveled hair, a desperate cry escaped him as his fist flew into the nearest wall.

Blood slowly appeared from the newly acquired wound. Now this did not bother him, he only frantically repeated the prayer.

Sam met you, the angel, when you came down with Cas one day. Dean is unaware that the man sometimes approaches you.

Rubbing his fingers, he rested his elbows on his knees, looking up at the dark sky, whispering the same words.