Demons didn't only exist in America. They'd gotten everywhere, and if there was one thing Sam learned during his time in Afghanistan, it was that they loved a battlefield. And now they had a whole country.

It was here he met a demon called Ruby, possessing a local woman. They were trapped together in a building under fire from the Taliban. Sam, two of his fellow soldiers, and one woman with black eyes, who claimed disease and talked to Sam about demon blood.

Two months later, Sam was strong. Stronger than he'd ever been in his life. He wasn't just protecting his squad, or even his regiment, he was defending the whole damn camp from an army of monsters they didn't know existed. For the first time since Harry's murder, he felt like hunting was helping people.

He had a friend. No matter how hard he tried to push them away, he'd always end up with someone somewhere. This someone was called Kyle. He was from South Dakota. Blonde hair, freckles, a year older than Sam. He'd not have minded if Kyle had been the long lost brother he'd nearly forgotten.

Kyle was the only one he allowed tentatively, slowly, irritably, closer. Like a wounded bear, Sam had almost entirely reverted to the surly, taciturn state he'd held while with the Hadleys. The demon blood, and his increasing dependence (and fear of it) didn't help.

Perversely, however, Sam found comfort in the demons. In his fear of himself. He saw war blurring the lines around him. Saw it twisting the men, and somehow, he felt he was riding through it. He knew he was a monster. And he knew how to use it to his advantage.

And then Kyle found out.


Sam dispatched the demon with one swift strike of his army issue knife. He could have drawn the creature out, but honestly, the body it inhabited was beyond repair anyway. (And he needed blood.)

He'd intended to simply take the 'winnings' dripping thick and crimson from his knife. But instead he found himself falling to his knees, head pounding like a bad case of sunstroke. His vision began to flicker, focusing and refocusing on the wide smiling gash of the woman's throat.

And then he was drinking and it was power and oblivion and thrill (and no more Jess and no more Harry and no more war).

A blow to the head brought him out of his reverie in a hurry, mouth sticky with warm blood. Kyle was standing over him, staring in horror between his living body and the mutilated corpse over which he'd been crouched with flat black eyes.

Sam didn't feel the terror he should have for his friend, or even the shame for himself. Instead he raised his hand, drawing the demon out as if he was taking candy from a baby. Weakly, Kyle collapsed into the sand next to him, choking. Sam went to rub the blood from his mouth, but Kyle caught the movement in the corner of his eye and shook his head, breathing heavily.

"Don't bother Sam." He took a few moments longer to catch his breath. Sam stayed where he was, on the ground, in the dust. Eventually Kyle looked up. He looked like he'd aged thirty years. "Since when did you become a monster?"

Stiffening, Sam raised his chin. Just because he'd come to peace with what he was (and he had, he had, he had) didn't mean he wanted others to know. (Especially not Kyle. Not the man he'd tried so hard to remain distant from.)

"You don't understand." He poured all the contempt he could into the words, hiding behind his bite like a beaten dog. "There are monsters out there. Real monsters: ghosts, demons, zombies, vampires, the whole damn lot. I'm protecting this entire battalion."

"By drinking blood?" Kyle shook his head. "Don't you see how that's wrong?"

Sam paused, running his hands through his hair before shaking his head. "Look, it's not like that. These things are demons. Their blood is powerful, and it's making me powerful. It's like a supernatural AK47."

Kyle stood, meeting Sam's eyes steadily until the latter had to break his gaze. "So you want to feel powerful, huh?"

"No! I…I just want to do good. Save people. I mean, do you honestly think this war is helping anything? Anyone? At least I'm doing something." Sam's voice rose as he spoke and glared out at the arid landscape around him, not for the first time feeling horrifically, achingly lost. What was he doing here?

"So that's how it is? You think you're better than the rest of us?" Kyle's eyes were narrowed, though he kept his voice calm. Still, Sam had spent enough time around angry men to recognise the signs.

"Come on man, you know that's not what I mean." But Kyle was having none of it. Instead he shook his head, tanned face red in the mid afternoon sun.

"No Sam. This." He gestured to the dead woman. "This is steroids. And this." With a wide, sweeping gesture he encompassed the landscape around them, the village on the horizon, the dusty road at their backs. "This is a crusade. And you know something? You're wrong." Sam opened his mouth to protest, but Kyle cut him off. "No! Don't you get it? We're at war! We are soldiers, and we are part of a machine. We are pawns, all of us, even you Sammy. You cannot see the bigger picture, because you're in the fucking center. You think you have the time to go running around playing vigilante? What about your duty? What about the men relying on you to keep them safe from all the terrors in the real world? And besides that….Sam, this is demon blood. I mean, even with this supernatural bullshit, that didn't ring any alarm bells? Not one?" Kyle was shouting now, somewhere between anger and horror, and his voice echoed across the parched landscape, ringing over gravel and sand.

Sam shut his eyes, trying to block it out, to contain the waves of irritation (and fear, because what if Kyle was right?) rising inside him. Trying to keep his mouth shut. (And didn't that bring back some pleasant memories…)

He was forced back into the present by Kyle's hands on his lapels, an expression somewhere between fury and grief fixed onto his face. "Sam, you are not better than us. No matter how much you drug yourself up, or lie to yourself, no matter how good your intentions. This is going further than you were ever meant to go. It's pride, plain and simple. And you know something? I can name at least two people who that didn't work out for. One of them had wings made of wax. The other just had wings. Both of them burned."