The words wouldn’t leave him. Freak. Monster. Vampire. Sam knew they were true. He was a freak, a monster. The kind he and Dean used to hunt and kill. Save you or kill you. Done trying to save you. It’s occurred to him maybe it hadn’t been Dean. That Ruby had messed with it.
But he’d run EVP on it over and over and nothing.
He wished Dean would get it over with, already. He couldn’t stand this, he felt sick. He hadn’t been eating or sleeping but Dean was apparently still to pissed at him to notice. Or maybe he hoped Sam would starve himself to death.
He didn’t know. Didn’t care. He picked up his cup, the one from the dirty motel sink and sipped from what was maybe his fifth cup of whiskey. He’d stopped counting, and Dean hadn’t told him to stop and he was getting over that damn demon blood detox and that friggin freak/monster/vampire mantra wouldn’t keep playing in his head and this managed to help a little.
Humans don’t know what it means to be a monster. To them, a monster is anything that they don’t understand. They give it this horrific label and treat it as a threat, rejecting, exterminating, slaughtering it into oblivion. Monsters are simply your way of hiding your own ignorance.