(no subject)

[elinorwise]

Sam, I really think you should consider demon blood.
He feels Cas’s presence in variegated streaks, glowing and warming and intoxicating. It’s all too much at once. He remembers the shame and the raw power, killing Alastair in front of Cas and saving him, the devastation that the first time he met Cas was to condemn him for exactly this part of him he wanted to weaponize for good, and the humiliation as he cried and begged in the panic room, degraded and weak in the wake of his relapse. He feels angry, for a second, something rolling off him like some abrupt solar flare, before it dissipates like it never existed. For a second, he almost feels real.
“You’re still like me,” Lucifer says. “In some ways, that won’t ever burn out, huh.” Nausea hits Sam, his thoughts glinting beyond recognition. The coldness is back, and Sam can’t remember anything. He thinks he’s supposed to be talking to Cas about demon blood.
I never meant to condemn you.
“I don’t know what you mean, ” Sam thinks, his pain scintillatingly sharp. Lucifer is laughing.

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