Azazel wasn’t quite sure what it was that drew him to this particular child. Naturally, he’d contemplated the idea upon standing over the cribs of the other children he’d fed blood to, but he hadn’t actually gone through with it.
And technically the souls of these children were all his. He could have done it.
But he’d always backed out at the last minute before taking the last step, thinking that: no, it wouldn’t be worth the trouble. He already had his competition staged. He should just feed the baby his blood and get on with it.
And yet, as he sliced open his wrist and allowed the blood to dribble down onto the baby’s lips, he couldn’t help but feel such a...a glow from the child. From the moment he’d first laid eyes on Mary Winchester ten years ago he’d sensed her potential. And this child...this child...he was almost certain he’d found the one.
The baby quieted as the blood entered its mouth, and Azazel stared down at it, hesitating, wondering...He shouldn’t do this, he should just leave him like he’d left all the others. He didn’t have much time…
Mary Winchester ran into the room. “You,” she hissed as he turned around. And Azazel’s mind was made up. He had to act quickly. With one hand, he placed a palm on the baby’s chest, preparing himself, with the other, he flicked Mary Winchester onto the wall, and with a twitch of his head he sliced open her stomach. Mary howled in agony but she was sliding slowly up the wall, quite helpless.
He had to hurry. Daddy Dearest would undoubtedly be up in a minute. The baby screamed in pain, mimicking its mother, as Azazel performed one of the most difficult tasks, and the bright light appeared in his hands quickly, and the baby was howling, and he could hear John’s footsteps on the stairs, but Azazel’s heart soared with joy because he knew, he knew that this child was the one, and he disappeared in a flash, taking the glowing soul of the infant with him, and leaving behind a vessel that was really, truly empty.