A/N: And so... I was a bit off my game during the last chapter, but I hope this one is more satisfying! Enjoy.

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The fighting started not an instant after Toly spoke those words, not unlike a tornado of sudden movement. Bobby, always true to his word, blasted several of the men and women in the front with rock alt - all right, so, it wasn't buckshot as he may have promised them, but it was still something, and an excellent alternative to killing humans, if Sam had anything to say about it. Dean tackled one of the closer clowns, punching him into unconsciousness. While the two hunters busied themselves with bringing down the cronies, Sam had set his eyes on another goal:

Bringing down Anatoly. He walked down the stairs and straight down the main path, his eyes locked on the other man's. Toly dropped into a fighting stance, swinging the metal double-bladed sword in front of his torso. Sam bent down to take his hunting knife from where he had stuffed it in his boot, then dropped into a stance of his own, watching as Toly began circling around him. He began the action as well. "Pohchemu?" (Why?) Sam asked, reverting to Russian.

"You were the perfect act. Something new, freakish, the crowds loved your stage persona - why did you leave? You had everything. You had become his favorite, his prize. You were given whatever you wanted." Toly said, turning to his own tongue just as the young Winchester had done.

"Except freedom." Sam lashed out, only to be met by a blade swinging towards his arm. He dodged, moving fluidly and placing one hand against Toly's back and following the figure's every movement, keeping behind the circus master as Toly practically executed a pirouette. "And I lost the most important thing."

Anatoly swung one of the blades over his head and thrust downwards, coming inches from Sam's face. That made the young man leap back several feet, far enough away that a face-to-face fight began again. "What is the most important thing to you, Piotr?"

"Family."

Sam gripped the knife tightly - glad this once for the training he received in the circus, and from his father - and turned, putting his weight on one leg while planting that foot sideways in the dirt, moving his opposite leg up and then kicking, landing a solid blow against Toly's temple. The man grunted and stumbled back, and in his distraction Sam used his opportunity to pop the hunting knife into the man's arm. Toly howled and blocked Sam's punch, and his next, retaliation with a kick of his own. The Winchester caught the outstretched leg under his arm and twisted around, in the process knocking Toly off balance and sending him onto the ground.

"You..." Toly gasped, gripping his bloody arm as he crawled away, "had powers. Had strength. Had glory. I had nothing! Nothing but living in your shadow, and the shadows of all those like you - just the guard, the go-to guy. No one cared who I was, but you, you were a rising star."

"I was a puppet. Do you really think I had any choice about what happened to me? About what I did, who I hurt..." Sam ground his teeth and looked off, fists clenching and un-clenching by his sides. "You don't know how lucky you were, Toly. I became a monster. They turned me into a monster. And for a while, I... I embraced it. I could do anything. I was powerful. But no one should have that, not in the way that I did - and it came at too great a cost. Whatever you think I had, whatever you think you've got now, it's all wrong. None of it's true. Just remember that - none of it's true."

"You had everything I could never have! I will. Kill you."

Sam took a deep breath and grounded himself, his eyes rolling up into the back of his skull. He hadn't done this particular... trick in quite some time, but if it would change Toly's mind, show him the truth, then it was worth the risk. He knelt beside the wounded man and reached one hand out, his forefinger and thumb pressing against Toly's forehead and cheek, while is other hand gripped the carnival worker's bicep in a vice. "What are you doing, you freak?! Get away from me, Piotr, get away from me!"

Unbeknownst to Sam, what he was doing had drawn all of the attention onto him. Several of the attackers tried to jump on Sam to take him off of Toly; they were taken out by either Dean or Bobby.

The psychic's head fell back, his eyes opening - and revealing where hazel once was, darkness now possessed completely. His eyes were black.

Anatoly screamed.

Two years prior

Sam's arms were pinned down, men having to weigh around the two-hundreds mark sitting on his limbs. His mouth was pried open, cold green eyes staring into his own as slimy liquid was poured down his throat. He did his best not to swallow, but as always, it didn't work. He gagged, pinching his eyes shut and praying it would be over soon. The metallic tang of blood left him both hungry and nauseous, a mixed feeling that was becoming an every-day thing. It was his new normal.

One year prior

This would be the last time. The guards watched Sam drink down all of the thick, carmine liquid, none of them saying a single word. How could they just sit by and watch what went on in this place? That, he would never know, and he never wanted to. Anatoly Ivanovich was among the guards that day, and he took the young Winchester in with a look of complete distaste. At this point, Sam couldn't help but feel the same way about himself... He was drinking demon blood, for Pete's sake. It was wrong, and vile, and addicting, and everything he seemed to need and all that he hated in one vile... Because that was all he needed of it these days. Just a vile would give him the power to turn someone inside out. He hated it.

What he hated more? That once, not two months ago, he had enjoyed it with everything inside of him. He wasn't quite sure what had changed, maybe the realization of what exactly was happening to him. He was a junkie, a blood junkie. A vampire. Something to be hunted, to be caged, to be put down. Nothing else. That was something that scared him - that he could become that, and all it took was a single container of blood.

Today was the last day. Today, he would break free - he would no longer be this... this creature that he had turned into. He would suffer the withdrawal, even if it killed him. It would be worth it, because even death would be a kinder fate. Had his soul been damned? He could only pray to God in Heaven that it wasn't so, that maybe, just maybe, he would be forgiven and cleansed of this evil that had rooted itself in every corner of his being.

After he killed half of the guards and the owner of The Carnival, he ran to the closest abandoned warehouse he could find and tried not to acknowledge the crimson soaking his clothes and staining his palms. Flashes of screams, severed limbs and exploding skulls haunted him. He couldn't close his eyes. He couldn't close his eyes and he couldn't sleep and he couldn't think and if this was anything like Hell, he was terrified, because his soul was certainly condemned to an eternity of fire, no less than he deserved...

One week later

Withdrawal tore at every inch of him. He saw Dean, his brother's chest splayed open, revealing half-eaten organs and shattered ribs. Sam had done that. He was a monster, he was worthless, he had caused this, why was he ever born, why... Another seizure struck like lightening, rattling his teeth and sending jolts of pain through his arms and legs. He wanted it to stop. He needed...

He needed help.

He needed someone.

He had no help.

He had no one.

Two weeks later

He could remember Christmas. He could recall the smell of cinnamon, overpowering his senses and calming his frayed nerves, and the scent of pine, a warm meal... His father had actually made it to the motel that time. They even had a Christmas tree made of beer cans and wire... Dean was laughing about something that John had said, and their father smirked over the lip of his eggnog filled glass.

Then he woke to the sound of his own tortured screams, feeling as they shook his chest. Dry heaving left him shaking, cold and exhausted...

The Carnival had done this, all of it. They had destroyed his life, and even now, now that he was free from them... They were killing him. Just as they had killed Sasha, Josh, Portia, Milik, Vladimir...

Sam dropped onto his back, releasing Toly. His eyes blinked back into their normal color. He coughed, one hand splayed against his own forehead as he tried desperately to ease the pain there. Dean was already running to him, just finishing a fight with one of the clown henchmen, but a group beat him there. Sam could see spinning, blurred versions of at least three or more people standing above him. They were about to kill him, no doubt. He groaned and rolled onto his side, panting, and tried to gain enough sense and strength to fight back - to fight for his life.

"Ostanovis! Ostanovis!"

It was Anatoly's voice, although Sam couldn't decide if that was a good or bad thing. Still, the other man was yelling at them to stop.

"This is not right. I don't want to be the villain."

Sam flinched when arms scooped his back off the ground, one calloused hand against the nape of his neck and an arm wrapped over his chest, the other hand on his side. "Sammy? Hey. Hey. Stay with me. You need to give me more warning next time you go all psychic-mode on me, I can't take this stress. I think I've gotten a few grey hairs since we've met back up. Hey, Sam?" A hand slapped the side of his face, but it was barely enough to keep him half-conscious. "Bobby! Bobby, get the..." Some grey figure was looming over his sibling, raising what looked to be four arms. That couldn't be right...

With a pang of shock, Sam realized it was Bobby, and the figure didn't have four arms, but two arms and two clubs -

"Dean!" He cried, his voice gargled and slurred.

He blacked out, the last thoughts running through his head were, this isn't fair, I need to help Dean, he's in trouble, I can't pass out, not now, please...

Shifting, black waves took over everything. Dean.

No.