“Who…” Sam started weakly, stopping only to try and wipe away the demon blood forming a crust around his nose and down his chin. He hated it, but he couldn’t help himself. He was a messy eater.Messy eater, господи боже мой
"Fuck, Cas, I was still-"
"Under the influence of demon blood after drinking a copious amount of it, I am aware. I was aware then as well," Cas turns his head and looks at Sam. "It did not change the fact that you were right and that I should have been doubting the way of things."
Sam isn’t sure how to respond to that - if he should apologize, or say that he’s welcome, or ask for Cas to explain what happened after that conversation. Instead, he asks something he’s been wondering since he was pulled from that church Ilchester and left on that plane, clean. Or cleaner than he’d been. "Can you tell now?" Sam asks. "That my blood is…"
"You are asking if your presence feels like a demon's," Cas finishes, tilting his head. Sam winces, hopes his reaction isn’t too obvious.
"Yeah. Basically, I guess."
"No, Sam, it does not." Cas flips through the motel bible, but does not seem to be reading the words as much as it is a meditation practiced by turning pages. "When you were imbibing the blood, yes, it was very easy to recognize their energy inside of you. But you feel like no one else."
"But still different from a human?"
“My point is,” Castiel sighs, clearly short on patience and energy. “You do not feel demonic. You do not feel evil.”
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