A/N: Hey everyone. I'm new here and just figuring things out, so I apologize in advance if there are some things that I'm not doing right. Anyway, just writing here to say that I hope you'll enjoy this story, and warning you that soon there'll be quite some gore in one of the chapters. And also, while this is listed under the In Progress category, the story itself is done. And so is its sequel. And the one after that. So basically this will be a trilogy. Alright, rambling's done, and again, hope you enjoy it! :)
Chapter II
His prayers were obviously left unanswered, and after a few more tries that also proved to be unsuccessful, Sam gave up on trying to contact the angel altogether. He thought he could survive alone, that he'd be able to find a way out; he was a Winchester, after all.
But it shouldn't have been this hard.
Sam couldn't have been sure, but he thought that he's been in Hell for at least a month or two now. Time was different here, so even if Dean was looking for him by now, it wouldn't have really made any difference.
He had to hand it to Crowley—the demon really outdid himself. The first few days were still bearable, with demons visiting his cell more often than not, and bringing all sorts of different objects they could use to inflict the worst kinds of pain on Sam. They cut at his flesh, peeled it away agonizingly slowly, ignoring his pained groans and screams. He tried, the best he could, not to give them the satisfaction to hear him scream, but when the demons started slicing him open and pulling his bones out, one by one, he couldn't stay silent anymore and screamed at the top of his lungs.
These torture sessions didn't last too long at first, but then gradually became longer and longer, until Sam felt like he never had a moment of peace, the demons switching places after a while to be able to keep tormenting him nonstop. They crucified him upside down and bled him out, pulled him apart, poured seething acid in his eyes, nose and down his throat, which resulted in him throwing up his insides. At one point, the demons even made a game out of who could dismember him faster, using only hammers.
But Sam wasn't a hunter by title only. He fought them, even though he knew he didn't stand a chance, but he wasn't going to let those sons of bitches use him, see him as a mere plaything, like any other lost victim who they could torture freely. He managed to land a few punches, kick their legs out from under them and once, when he was left alone, even succeeded in drawing a devil's trap on the relatively low ceiling of his cell with his own blood. He did have to bite into his wrist which was a rather painful method, but seeing the look on the demons' faces was worth it.
They abused, mutilated and played with his body, in hopes of leaving nothing but an empty shell of a man. But they never succeeded, with their whips and chains, because Sam Winchester was a man who had survived Hell before, and the time he spent in the Cage with the Devil himself had been way worse than what he was experiencing here.
At least, at first.
It was when one of the demons that seemed to enjoy hurting him the most opened his cell door with an unnaturally wide grin on its face, and waltzed in, that Sam had the terrifying feeling that things were about to change.
Sam, ever since he got stuck in Hell, never begged. He never let go of his pride and humanity, all the things that made him a hunter and Sam Winchester. The tortures were agonizingly painful, that much was true, but he still managed to endure as much as he could, and even more than that, pushing himself to the limit but not caring because he simply refused to be broken, not now, not like this.
He was a strong man, both physically and mentally, defiant and stubborn, but as the demon crouched down in front of him and flicked its wrist, rendering Sam motionless, then raised a knife, the proud hunter found himself begging.
Because he knew what that meant.
"No, no, no, you can't do this!" Sam yelled, his voice shaking as he watched the demon, with wide eyes, press the knife against its wrist and cut a line on the thin layer of skin, which broke so easily, giving way to the crimson blood, to the liquid poison that was Sam's doom and salvation.
"Oh, but I can. And I will. Heard you had a nice little weak spot for our blood, Winchester…" The demon chuckled, putting the knife on the floor as it leaned forward, those black eyes and predatory grin on its face just frightening Sam even more.
Shaking his head and clenching his jaw so much that it hurt, Sam watched in horror as the demon grabbed his chin, then forced his mouth open with its powers, before shoving its bleeding wrist against his lips, its free hand moving from his chin to his hair and grabbing it forcefully to tilt his head back. Sam let out a pitiful groan, refusing to swallow the warm blood, but as his air supply was sudden cut off by the demon, he had no choice but to start breathing through his mouth, and to do that, he had to get rid of what was in there. He would have loved nothing more than to simply spit the blood in the demon's face, and it wasn't like he could have suffocated and died in Hell anyway, but as he began feeling dizzy from lack of oxygen, his bodily reflexes kicked in and, unfortunately, he immediately swallowed the thick, venomous honey.
He gasped, coughing and sputtering, desperately trying to get rid of every last bit of blood he swallowed, but it was pointless. It was already gone, and Sam could feel its effects kicking in…
It had been such a long time since he last tasted demon blood, and he didn't miss its taste. At least, that's what he hoped he'd think, which wasn't the case, at all. He felt nostalgic, the blood a warm pool in his stomach, a familiar and welcoming sensation that made him relax, clouding his mind and judgment. It was just like riding a bike, he suddenly remembered his time with Ruby, all the fun he had while high on demon blood, the surge of power he felt each time he got to taste the forbidden ichor. And even now, after so many years, it only took him a few moments before he felt the rush and high, his pupils dilating like black, hungry shadows. He licked his bloody lips, bathing in the otherworldly taste and for a while, he forgot all of his troubles, the fact that he was in Hell, and simply enjoyed the warm feeling.
But it didn't last as long as Sam wanted it to, and the world came crashing down all of a sudden, the high gone just as quickly as it came, leaving him groaning for more, like a junkie. And as soon as his mind cleared enough for him to think straight and rationally again, he quickly snapped out of his daze, blinking repeatedly and looking around in confusion.
The demon laughed in his face, then stood up and, without even saying a word, as if Sam wasn't worthy enough now that he's let the corrupted, fucked up side of him be seen, walked out of the room and left him alone to stew in his own juices. It took him a minute or two to fully realize what had just happened, and when everything sank in, Sam felt a horrible ache in his chest, would have given anything to turn back time and stop himself from giving in, from letting the blood into his mouth, past his lips.
But it was already too late, he knew that all too well, since from the moment he swallowed the crimson drug, it started an irreversible process. Even now that he calmed down, he could feel the humid air around him, hear the wails echoing through the corridors and smell the mix of blood, sweat and tears so much better. He felt stronger, more alive and aware than ever, but knew that these were just honey coated lies. That, if he was to remove everything seemingly positive, he'd find the ugly truth hiding under the reassuring blanket of lies. The hideous thing that was addiction, that made him crave just a little bit more, secretly enjoying the darkest and most fucked up shit, like drinking straight from a demon, holding its body down. Or like the way its struggle ceased when there wasn't enough blood left in its body to fight any longer, something that always managed to bring a bloody smile to Sam's face.
Even now, he could still taste the blood in his mouth, and he closed his eyes against his better judgment, relishing in the taste of that forbidden liquid. He felt a pleasant shiver run down his spine and Sam smiled, a twisted and so very messed up smile as his body slumped, finally feeling at peace. He knew, deep down, that he shouldn't be feeling that way, that he should feel disgusted, that this was only a momentary feeling and that it'd pass as soon as the demon blood would leave his system, but he couldn't be bothered right now. He would enjoy this brief moment, and then forget about it, as if it never happened. Sam was good at forgetting things.
After that day, he didn't see the demon ever again, but he sure as hell saw parts of it. Its blood, to be exact.
Truth to be told, he didn't have a clue whose blood it was. But it was demon blood, and that was the only thing that mattered.
His torture sessions continued, however instead of demons, there were only two men carrying out his never-ending punishments, none of them creatures of evil. In fact, the first time they appeared in Sam's cell's doorway, they disclosed that they were actually rogue reapers.
"What happened to the demons?" Sam asked, his voice hoarse and weak, though not really caring about what happened to those assholes.
"Can't let any more demons get close to you," said one of the reapers, the other one adding, "King's orders."
And at first, Sam didn't understand why Crowley would suddenly ban demons from 'visiting' him, but when he saw what one of the reapers was carrying, his blood ran cold, making him forget to breathe for a few seconds.
Noticing the hunter's shocked expression, the reaper glanced at the bucket in its hand, and smirked. "Oh, this? Yes, I guess this is the reason…"
The first time the demon forced its sulfuric blood down Sam's throat, he was still rebellious. He knew he wouldn't give in, not to the temptation, or to the pain. But after the reapers held him down and made him drink the many buckets of demon blood, day after day, all the while never stopping mutilating him, body and soul, Sam wasn't sure if he could take it anymore.
Now, after approximately three weeks of constant blood infusions or bottles he could drink from, and torments that he secretly came to enjoy, Sam was lying on the uncomfortably warm floor, shivering and scraping his nails on the rough surface of the stone wall. He tried not to—albeit usually couldn't even if he wanted to—think about how much of a failure he was, cursing himself for not being able to take what Hell threw at him. And that was probably the worst. That actually, whatever physical or mental tortures he received, he never once broke, not here, or in the Cage. It was the blood which, in the end, became his demise, that damned him to the deepest pits of Hell, and he knew he deserved everything he got.
His self-hatred grew each day, knowing that if his big brother were here, then maybe he could have been strong enough, Dean capable of giving him that little, one last push to be able to surpass his addiction. But he wasn't here, and Sam felt lost, only finding comfort in the way the warm blood ran down his parched throat, filling him with life, a new kind of life, that he didn't even know existed.
Sam Winchester was reduced to that desperate junkie he was many years ago, living only for the next drop of blood.
The door opened, catching the exhausted hunter by surprise and making him look up at the reaper in a daze. He slowly sat up, licking his lips in anticipation, ready for another fill, while trying not to think about how messed up he was for it.
But the reaper only smiled, holding up its empty hands. "Sorry buddy, I ain't got nothing for you today. However, the King has a little…surprise for you," it said as it walked to the hunter, then crouched down and unlocked the shackles around Sam's ankles, surprising the man once again.
"What's going on?" he asked, coughing weakly as he rubbed his aching ankles, too tired to even think of an escape plan now that he was finally out of the cuffs. He just wanted his next shot, his next bottle of crimson medicine, he just fucking needed it.
"Follow me, and you'll see," was all the reaper muttered, before standing up straight and walking out of the cell.
Sam looked around in confusion, gripping his shaking hands, then after a moment of hesitation, went after the reaper. It was a bad idea, but under the influence of the demon blood, Sam couldn't think straight. A little, low voice in the back of his head was yelling at him, ordering him to snap out of it and make a run for it, this being the perfect time to escape. But at the same time, if he were to get out of here, if he really would have managed to pull it off, he could say goodbye to the precious blood forever, because Dean wouldn't let him drink any, wouldn't understand how liberating swallowing the warm evil was, and how excruciating it was, to have it taken away from him.
Sam remembered when he was locked in Bobby's panic room, remembered his conversation with Dean. He knew it then and now, that his brother would never understand how it truly felt like, this uncontrollable addiction, sinister and dark, just enough to be incredible. And his addiction wasn't normal either, because ever since he was a small child, he had something so purely evil inside him, that even after all of these years, he could still feel it, from time to time. Be it passing thoughts, sudden urges or suppressed smiles, Sam knew, that those weren't normal behaviors.
And as he followed the reaper, while glancing from left to right like a true paranoid junkie, Sam came to the realization that he might never go back to the way he was before. That if he was to continue down this dark path, he might as well say goodbye to his brother, to Kevin, to Castiel, because if any of them would ever see him like this, there'd be no way they'd take him back.
That thought, Dean abandoning him, stopped him dead in his tracks and for a moment, his mind was clear, ridden from all the demon blood influence.
"Dean…" he whispered, his eyes unfocused as he stared ahead, then as if waking up from a long, horrible dream, Sam took a few steps back, and was about to run for his freaking life, when a hand on his shoulder stopped him.
"Moose, we're nearly there. Don't puss out now," the King of Hell said from behind him, startling Sam, and as he turned around, he found himself face to face with his captor, wanting to do nothing more than to kick the man in the nuts and get the hell out of here.
"You know where you can shove your little plan, Crowley," Sam spat, snarling at the grinning demon, and just when he was about to use his newly gained powers on the dick-bag, the reaper behind him cuffed his hands behind his back, making the hunter growl in frustration.
"Iron shackles specifically made for you, Jolly Green." Crowley winked, followed by a deep chuckle, before he nodded at the other end of the corridor they were initially heading to, Sam having no other choice but to curse the demon in his head and go after him, even if that was the last thing he wanted to do.
Sighing, Sam kept his head low as he followed the asshole and his loyal pet reaper, trying to block out the sound of pumping blood coming from Crowley. He was a demon too, after all, and since they had Sam hooked on blood again, it proved to be pretty hard to ignore that sickeningly sweet smell coming from the demon, and the urge to sink his teeth into the other's thick neck, the thought of the way his warm blood could run down his throat and then lay snugly in his stomach making Sam shudder. He quickly closed his eyes, forcing himself to take deep breaths because he'd rather die than start fantasizing about Crowley's foul blood.
And as they suddenly reached a large set of wooden doors, stopping in front of it, he began questioning his life choices. He really didn't want to move, to keep on walking, especially when the doors opened, revealing what lay ahead, and making Sam's stomach sink.
"Welcome to my personalized arena. I'm telling you, Caesar had the right idea." Crowley laughed, pushing the unmoving hunter into the sandy area, before simply disappearing.
Sam swallowed thickly, looking around and watching in dread as the doors closed by themselves behind him. He jumped a little, already being a bit twitchy from the lack of demon blood, as the cuffs fell from his hands. He still didn't move, didn't dare to, but curiosity getting the better of him, he began walking and what he saw left him breathless.
Crowley really had a fucking Colosseum in Hell.
The whole place was covered in sand, making Sam wonder how deep the actual ground was as he made his way further into the round Colosseum, surprised it was in an enclosed space, and that the demon didn't use his privileges and powers to somehow make the place look more realistic, with a few clouds and a blue sky. Not that the structure didn't look realistic enough, quite the opposite, actually. It looked exactly like the ones from movies, and Crowley must have consulted a demon from that period of time, because the engravings on the many pillars holding the seating area seemed way too precise and detailed.
He was surrounded by walls and pillars, the only surface that wasn't covered by the arena straight out of a the Roman Empire being the set of doors he came through, which were conveniently locked and somehow gained several metal bars blocking the doors and making it impossible for Sam to escape, if he dared to get even the slightest idea of making a run for it. So, seeing no other choice but to go along with whatever Crowley had planned for him, and hoping that it didn't involve fighting lions, Sam took a few steps forward, walking to the middle of the arena.
Now that he got closer, he noticed how the whole place was packed with demons, their black eyes looming over him like millions of tiny promises of death and suffering. Their piercing black eyes weren't the only thing that helped Sam identify them, as the overwhelming smell was what hit him first. The second he stepped through those doors, he could smell them, the overpowering aroma of demon blood making him stupefied for a brief moment; however he did his best to suppress his needs, his urge to somehow climb the pillars and get to the demons. And now that the cuffs were off, he could have done it, just rip their throats out and drink from the gaping hole, the mere thought of it sending shudders across his body.
But he didn't, and not only because he was still lying to himself, trying to convince himself that he could still turn back, that he wasn't a junkie, that it was just a matter of time and he could be cured, but also because he was curious as to what the King was playing at here. And no matter how satisfying it would have been to ruin the demon's fun, Sam wanted to know what all the drama and preparation was for.
"Ladies and not so gentle men," Sam heard Crowley's smug booming voice coming from the area where senators and the important people usually sat, as he addressed the crowd. "I am overjoyed to announce our first gladiator fight!"
The crowd went crazy, shouting and yelling at the top of their lungs, while Sam just stood there, confused and nervous, wanting nothing more than to just disappear. His nervousness and discomfort was soon overpowered by something else though, a feeling so strong that it left him dizzy for a few seconds. And that feeling was hunger.
It had been too long, way too fucking long, since he had his fix, and even though he could manage to hold himself together while they made their way to the arena, now the withdrawal was starting to get to him in a more forceful, indescribable way, as if a slimy hand made out of pure darkness and evil was reaching for his heart, for his lungs, with its sole purpose being to destroy.
"Shit…" Sam mumbled, rubbing his face with shaking hands as he felt a sudden wave of nausea hit him and nearly sweep him off his feet. His ears began to ring, the shouting of the demons intensifying and echoing in his eardrums, as if he was underwater. The hair on his arms stood on end, his skin suddenly becoming oversensitive, while his vision blurred, the colors standing out with the white marble pillars being too white, too intense, and Sam felt like he would pass out any second now, he really did, but then it all stopped.
All of his senses focused on one thing, a little jar at the end of the arena, held by a demon as a man entered next to him.
"Today, we will be witnessing a battle between our most favorite hunter, Sam Winchester…and his brother, Dean!" Crowley shouted, the crowd standing up and clapping enthusiastically.
That made Sam snap out of it. His eyes widened as he looked at the two men at the end of the arena, but there was no sign of his brother. One of the men was a demon, he was sure of it, he could smell him and the jar of demon blood he was holding in his hands, however he wasn't too sure about the other man. Sam couldn't smell him, and the fact that this actually bothered him—that he couldn't smell someone—proved just how fucked up he was. He narrowed his eyes, slowly and a bit hesitantly walking closer to the people at the far end, not thinking of how much he wanted to simply rush over and tear at the demon's throat with his teeth, when Crowley spoke again.
"Samantha!" he said, gaining the confused hunter's attention. "Let's play a little game, shall we?"
Sam would have gladly told Crowley to go and screw himself instead, but not trusting his voice at the moment, he settled for glaring at him, hoping that the anger reflecting in his eyes would help convey his feelings for the demon. And it must have worked, because the next moment Crowley was chuckling, a nasty grin spreading across his face.
"That's what I thought. Now, here are the rules: there are no rules," he stated, the crowd of overexcited demons cheering at nearly everything their king said, however they soon shut up and calmed down when Crowley made a hand motion meaning something horrible and possibly traumatizing, as he wasn't one who liked to be interrupted. Demon loved hearing the sound of his own voice. "As I was saying," he drawled, "there are no rules, only outcomes. Results. See, I don't actually have your dear brother with me, though I admit that would have been way more fun to watch. But, beggars choosers, I have bigger plans. I want you to kill this shapeshifter in front of you." Crowley motioned towards the man at the other end of the arena, the one Sam couldn't identify.
Sam had nothing against killing a monster, but he had to wonder what Crowley was getting out of it, what he really wanted, so after clearing his throat and hoping his voice wouldn't fail him, he asked, "And if I don't?"
"Then, I'll keep on sending people to torture you, all the while making sure that they bring a nice little jar of demon blood with them, just like the one you can see in front of you. And they won't let you taste any of it, ever. What do you think, how miserable, unbearable would that be? Could be one of my best tortures yet."
It was at that point that Sam would have loved to be able to use one of the angels' powers, flying in particular, and use it to get to the demon and stab a blade through his rotten heart. Damn, he hated that bastard with a passion.
"However," Crowley continued, "you will obtain that jar full of goodies if you do kill him. Your call, gladiator."
Sam clenched his jaw, his mind swirling with thoughts of right and wrong as he glanced at the demon holding the jar, then at the shapeshifter, who was now walking towards the center of the arena, and towards Sam. And as he watched the monster, Sam saw its wicked grin as it looked him over, then like a poisonous serpent, the shapeshifter shed its skin, changing right in front of the hunter's eyes while never stopping his advance.
When it came to a stop merely a few steps from Sam, he wasn't staring into a monster's eyes anymore, but into his big brother's green ones, making it hard to decide who the hunter and hunted were here, at this moment.
"Fun little trick, isn't it?" The monster winked, speaking with Dean's voice, wearing Dean's cocky expression, and it was all so wrong because it was Dean but it wasn't Dean but Dean and just Dean.
Sam felt so many things at the same time, the withdrawal reducing him to pieces, to a shaking mess, and the sight of his brother making it hard for him not to just break down right here and now, even though he knew it wasn't really him. He tried his best to remain expressionless, to keep it together, but he was doomed from the second he stepped into the arena, to Hell even, so why keep on trying? It wasn't like his brother would ever forgive him, would ever accept him like this, Sam already lost him, lost everybody, had nothing, so why? And that was the real question…
What for?
Suddenly, Sam felt his eyes water, and it was as if all of his feelings, his self-control and pride, his morals and rules, his love for everything, for Dean, his compassion and all of his humanity left him with the tears, as they trickled down his cheek, leaving him sharp and hollow. The change happened so quickly, so briefly that even Sam would have been surprised, if he could feel. And he didn't know, but that was the first step towards the bigger picture; to Crowley's plan.
"Remember, no rules whatsoever! And no weapons, so come on, kick and claw, boys!" Crowley shouted. "Begin!"
Like a famished animal, caged and beaten, Sam's mind shut off as his predatory instincts took over, his more primal self surfacing and, just when Dean was about to attack, he leaped on him and went crazy. Not caring that the monster wore his beloved brother's face, only seeing him as a nuisance, an insignificant flesh, a mere hindrance standing between him and his precious blood, Sam pulled his fist back before punching Dean, over and over again, before the monster—no, his brother—finally realized he should fight back. He grabbed Sam's hair and used it to yank his head back, then kicked him off him. Sam growled, snarling at his brother, then kicked his shin as hard as he could; however when he got too close, Dean managed to take a hold of his arm and twist it, drawing a cry of pain from Sam.
He staggered forward, hissing in pain, but quickly tuned it out as he turned back to Dean and clenched his aching hand into a fist, before quickly kneeing him in the stomach. That taking his brother by surprise, Dean hunched over for a second, which was just enough for Sam to grab his head and bring it down on his knee, hitting him several times in the face before the other managed to escape from Sam's iron grasp, his face bloody and broken. The sight of blood only driving Sam on, as if he was a mad bull, he got too excited and didn't notice the change in his brother's posture, only when it was too late and he found himself on the ground, as Dean grabbed his waist and tackled him down into the sand like some rugby player.
Sam groaned, feeling a sharp pain at the back of his head, but he didn't have much time to contemplate on pain as Dean crawled atop him and began smashing his face into a bloody pulp with his fists. Sam tried to kick him off, to grab his wrists, but when he failed, he decided to force himself to sit up and go for the good old headbutt instead, which surprisingly worked. Dean rubbed his aching forehead, giving Sam an opening to grab him by his neck, and squeeze, a bloody grin crossing his messed up face. Dean clawed at his hands, his mouth opening and closing, and Sam was so close to killing him, finally, when Dean landed such a brutal kick to his side that Sam had no other choice but to let go, the pain too distracting. He was pretty sure one or two of his ribs were broken.
He watched in fury as Dean scrambled to his feet and disappeared from his field of vision as he walked behind him, and just when Sam was about to stand up as well, he felt an arm slide around his neck from behind and knew that he was about to get a taste of his own medicine. He grabbed Dean's arm, but didn't achieve anything as the man began strangling him, using his other hand to get a hold of one of Sam's wrists. With one hand still free, the hunter tried to grab Dean's head, grab anything, but couldn't, and with the oxygen slowly leaving his brain, he began weakening. Then, as his eyes glanced around in panic, Sam noticed the demon, the blood, heard his and the hundreds of demons' blood pumping in their veins, at least for those whose vessels weren't dead yet, and found the power he needed, the motivation to break his own bones.
He let out a loud growl, clenched his jaw and, gathering every last bit of his human and superhuman powers, smashed his free hand into the sand, shattering his bones, one of them even piercing his flesh and sticking out in an odd angle. Being able to tolerate pain while on adrenaline rush and after months of torture in Hell, Sam didn't waste a second before he jabbed his bone into Dean's arm, making him pull back immediately and give Sam a wide-eyed, incredulous look.
Desperate times called for desperate measures.
Sam shakily got to his feet, blood dripping from his mutilated hand, his chest heaving as he took deep, much needed breaths, and as he made eye contact with Dean, he couldn't fight down a bubble of laughter, twisted and maniacal. He sniffed, wiping his nose and seeing blood on the back of his unbroken hand, but not caring. Just like he didn't care about, did his best to ignore, the far away voice somewhere in his head, telling him, shouting at him to stop this nonsense, that there would be no coming back from what he was about to do.
Blocking the voice out for good, Sam licked his split, bloody lips and walked forward, Dean watching him intently. There was a pause of suspense from the ever cheering crowd, a silence in the air as the 'gladiators' stared at each other through bloodshot eyes. Then, they attacked one last time.
Sam got the upper hand, grabbing the back of his brother's neck and as Dean took a step back, Sam tightened his grip on his neck and pushed his head down, while ignoring the blinding pain in his other, abused hand, with which he somehow managed to grab Dean's ankle, putting him off balance. And as Dean fell, while trying to get a hold of Sam, his little brother used the fall's momentum to shove him into the sand, then used both of his hands to grab Dean's head, whacking it over and over and over against the ground, all the while never breaking eye contact, and watching as the life seeped out of his big brother's eyes.
And as he did, as he killed the shapeshifter he believed was Dean Winchester, Sam didn't feel anything.
Then, the crowd went wild.
He was panting, a sweating mess, the adrenaline gone and the pain returning. Standing up with trembling legs, Sam looked at the dead body, then at the demon grinning down at him from the Colosseum, and suddenly felt like he was going to faint. But he didn't, forced himself to stand still even though it was so hard, and watched as the demon holding the jar began walking towards him.
"Sam Winchester, everybody!" Crowley shouted as the cheers and the clapping grew louder. "The new champion… The man who kills for blood."
Sam, ignoring the rest of Crowley's speech, swallowed dryly as the demon brought him the jar, and when it got close enough, the hunter ripped it out of its hands, before quickly and hurriedly, like a starved animal, downing its contents.
The way the blood spread over his tongue, caressed it reassuringly, made Sam forget everything, everyone, a strange feeling moving through his body, something he felt before each time he drank demon blood; however never this intense, this powerful, making him want to open up and ravage every single demon, every single being. An unusual, yet comforting darkness curled around his tongue, around his very soul, and as Sam closed his eyes and gave in to it, fully and completely, he emptied the whole jar, drinking away his last shred of humanity…