WARNING: This chapter contains mentions of pedophilia, abuse, incest, mentions of rape, and graphic depictions of violence.


Sam's immediate response was to pick up the baby, to hold him and keep him warm. He didn't care that this was the monster that had tethered himself to him. Right now he was just a baby, and he was freezing to death. Sam knew without many clothes of his own he didn't have much heat to offer, but maybe his body heat would help. He had to try. He leaned down and reached out for the baby, and his hand slipped right through him.

Stunned, Sam tried again and with the same effect. Even though the snow falling through him and the lack of footprints should be evidence enough, Sam wanted to truly test this, so he held out his palm to press it against the rough bark of the fir tree Ivan lay under. His hand went through it, and if he had added any weight to it he would've fallen.

He supposed it made sense. These were Ivan's memories, and Sam had never actually been here, so he couldn't have any physical effect on the world around him. It was only real in Ivan's soul.

Sam looked down at Ivan again, who was still crying, his scrawny body shuddering weakly. He wished he could help him somehow.

But Ivan had made it through this, so as much as it pained Sam he resolved himself to just watch. That was all he could do, even though his muscles were tense, energy jumping through him from the urge to do something.

Sam didn't like just watching, didn't like that he couldn't help someone, and at times that had often extended to himself.

The sound of plodding crunches caught his attention, and he turned towards the sound in the dark night, instinctively wrapping his arms around himself as some sort of shield.

At first there was just a shadow, but through the swirling snow he could eventually make out a figure as it came closer. It was a man, shorter than Sam, but wider, thick fur clothes making up part of his bulk. A dead deer rested over his shoulders, its coat dusted with white. The man had a thick, pale beard and his cold-reddened face was set in distress. He could hear Ivan crying.

Sam wondered what he was going to do with him, if this was the man Ivan would find a home with, or if he would pass him by and another person might come along. That seemed unlikely. It was late, and Ivan didn't have much time left, his voice now just a faint whimper.

The man rounded the tree, Sam backing up to make room for him, and then his blue eyes set on Ivan.

"Come on," Sam pleaded quietly. "Pick him up. Pick him up."

He didn't know why he wanted Ivan to live, but in his mind this baby was very different from the monster he'd become.

The man shifted the deer to one shoulder, and then reached down and picked up the crying bundle.

"You poor thing. How did you get all the way out here?"

Sam was surprised he could understand him because from what he could tell from the man's clothing he was probably somewhere in pre-medieval Europe, and somewhere northern.

Russia, maybe? The Netherlands?

Maybe the spell was translating things for him. Or maybe Ivan understood the language, so Sam did now, too, at least while in his memories.

The man made room for Ivan in his heavy fur coat, the length of which went down to his knees. And then he headed off at a quicker pace than that at which he'd arrived, Sam following along behind him.

They walked at least two miles before they left the trees, emerging into a valley. Sam saw blots of thicker, more physical darkness than the night around them, and figured he was looking at buildings. Approaching the structures, Sam became overwhelmed with the thick, musty scent of farm animals, and the sweet stench of their manure. He could make out more of the buildings and structures now, which were enclosed in a rickety fence. The man rounded the fence and opened the gate with a loud creak. As it began to close, Sam instinctively grabbed for it. His hand went through the rough-looking wood as the gate clacked shut.

Feeling like a ghost, as he had on his trip to the veil a few years ago, Sam walked through the gate. After dropping the deer in the snow, the baby his first priority, the man went into what must've been a house, and Sam followed. He spotted cattle and sheep off to his left, nestled in hay, asleep, seemingly impervious to the cold.

"Lada," the man called into the one-story building. It looked like it was built of wood and held together with twine and what might've been mud. Sam followed him inside, feeling like he was intruding. "Lada, wake up."

There was a yawn, and then Sam heard a woman, her soft voice sounding the complete opposite of the man's gruff one: "Matvei, you're home. I tried to wait up for you."

So Russia,Sam realized from their names.

A lamp was lit, Matvei handed Ivan off to Lada with an explanation that he'd found him on his way back from hunting.

They talked about the baby, throwing questions back and forth at each other that neither of them could answer, as they set about taking care of him. Matvei started a fire in a wood and brick structure that Sam thought was maybe an oven, and after piling rounded stones into it he took a bowl outside to collect some snow. It was a large bowl, more than big enough to fit Ivan, who looked like he might only weigh three pounds. Sam hadn't seen a lot of newborn babies in his life, but he knew babies weren't supposed to be that small. Maybe he'd been abandoned because of his size.

Lada held Ivan in one arm as she shook someone in the left corner of the house awake. Sam had been so focused on Ivan he hadn't realized anyone else was there.

There was a childish whine in protest.

"Vadim, up."

"No."

"Vadim, this is not the time for disobedience. Up. Your papa found a baby, and we need help with him."

The boy, Vadim, sat up at that, not even bothering to rub the sleep from his eyes. In the lantern light Sam saw that he was about four, with a pale, pudgy face, and light, curly hair. He looked at Ivan, still sleepy, probably wondering if this was some odd dream. Sam expected to see distaste from Vadim, as he knew most children didn't like the idea of someone younger and cuter being around.

Instead he asked, unable to take his eyes off him, "What do you need?"

Matvei came back in with the bowl and set it near the oven as Lada answered, "Hold them. I'm going to fetch milk from the storehouse."

They took care of Ivan, Lada feeding him while Matvei got a bath ready for him. Once he was warm and fed, bundled up in small, dry clothes, he looked healthier, his skin pink, his eyes bright, and curious.

"Can we keep him?" Vadim asked, looking in at the baby Lada held in her arms. "I want a brother."

"Lada?" Matvei questioned, deferring to his wife for this.

"We have to," she responded. "It will be difficult since our crop yield was bad this past growing season, but I couldn't dream of abandoning him. Whoever did was a monster."

Vadim no longer looked tired, kicking his leg where he sat against the bed.

"We'll name him Ivan, after my father," Matvei decided.

"Ivan, yes," Lada agreed. "I like that."

"Hello, Ivan," Vadim said excitedly, waving his hand close to his face.

Ivan grabbed for Vadim's fingers, gurgling happily, and the boy smiled at him.


Time was different within the memories of Ivan's soul. To Sam it seemed to move fast and slow all at once, dragging even as it sped ahead. The year after they found Ivan, Lada gave birth to a girl they named Veronika. She had the same dark eyes as her mother.

It felt as though years had passed, and yet, only a few minutes as Sam watched the children grow up. He watched Ivan get baptized in a small church a few miles from their farm, and then Veronika after him. He watched him learn to talk and walk, how to do certain chores around the farm. As Sam watched he grew used to the animal smell and it didn't bother him as much as it had the night Ivan had been found.

Ivan was close with both his siblings, and Vadim was ever the protective older brother. He'd help Ivan with his chores so they could finish early and go off into the town, or into the woods together to explore. Often, Ivan would bring back interesting rocks he found and give them to Veronika, and she kept them, even when Sam could tell she wasn't very impressed.

When Ivan was maybe around nine years old, and Vadim thirteen, Vadim started sneaking out while his family was asleep.

Sam wondered what a thirteen year old could be up to in the middle of the night, but he couldn't follow him to find out. He only saw it because sometimes Ivan would be awake, watching his brother with his big eyes, but remaining silent.

On one occasion, when Sam figured it was the shortest night of the year and the air was comfortable and dry, Ivan tried to follow Vadim, but he grew weak from the long walk and had to turn back.

Really, it was a short walk, but as Ivan grew up he exhibited health problems. Sam figured he knew the name for one of them, whereas any such thing was a mystery to people of this time. As far as Sam could tell Ivan had asthma, and maybe some other issues. Some days he just needed to rest and grew easily fatigued. Matvei seemed discouraged by it, wanting Ivan to grow big and strong, but he seemed to have eventually seen that it wasn't possible, and that his adopted son would remain scrawny.

Nearly a year after Vadim began to sneak out at night Veronika fell ill. She had a fever and was weak and always cold, and she complained of feeling like she had something stuck in her throat. Matvei was gone on an extended hunting and fishing expedition, and Lada had to stay to take care of Veronika, so Ivan and Vadim were tasked with traveling to a city called Novgorod to get her some medicine.

Sam felt Ivan's deep worry for Veronika as if it were his own, and maybe some of it was. He'd found himself growing attached to this family, and an empty, hurt part of him longed for a family of his own. Those feelings shocked him, sometimes brought startled tears to his eyes. He had thought he had pushed all that down, pretended those desires had never existed, and forced himself to be ashamed of the times they had.

But as he walked behind Ivan and Vadim on the seldom-traveled dirt road through the thick, green woods, part of him felt like a father watching over them.

And some other part of him felt like a father leaving behind his sick daughter, knowing for certain that she was going to die.

The two boys had packs, and whenever Ivan stumbled or had to sit down by the road to catch his breath, Sam wanted to help carry it for him.

Vadim eventually did.

"Can we go slower?" Ivan asked once they'd been walking awhile; two hours had gone by since lunch.

"No. Veronika will not get better on her own. She needs medicine, as soon as possible."

"I… need medicine," Ivan wheezed out half-heartedly, trudging along, head hanging. His words weren't entirely despondent, sounded more like an attempt at a joke.

Ivan had been falling behind, but Vadim went back to him and put an arm around his shoulders.

"Come on. We'll make it."

"If you say so."

They walked on a little longer, and at one point Ivan sat down, eyes glistening with unshed tears. Sam sat down next to him, wishing he could at least rub his back. He also wanted to call out to Vadim, who was still walking, and soon he couldn't be seen through the underbrush or thick trees.

Sam saw self-doubt on Ivan's small face, and he knew he was thinking he probably should've stayed home.

A twig snapped up ahead, and Sam, some part of him still not used to being unable to help, got to his feet, hands out defensively. Ivan seemed too tired to notice someone was approaching.

He let out a breath when he realized it was just Vadim.

"Ivan, are you coming?"

"Go on without me."

"No, no. I can't do that."

He came over and sat down beside his brother, rummaging through his pack.

"Drink some water," he urged.

Ivan nodded and then took his water skin from his pack, letting himself have a small sip.

"More," Vadim ordered.

"What if I run out?"

"Then you can have mine."

Ivan let himself have a bit more, but still not too much, probably trying to keep his brother from having to sacrifice his own.

"Aha!" Vadim exclaimed, Ivan's eyes widening from being startled, but otherwise feeling too sick to move. Still, he tilted his head towards Vadim, watched as he pulled a cloth-wrapped bundle out of his pack. "I was going to save this as a surprise for later," Vadim told him, opening it up and revealing little golden-brown balls, a sweet smell wafting from them, "but you can have some now."

Chak-chak,Sam thought just as Ivan found the air to exclaim the words. Sam had been with them long enough to start learning the names of things, and he knew this dessert was well liked by both boys. From what Sam could tell it was balls of crusty bread that had been fried and then drenched in honey.

Vadim gave a portion to Ivan and had none for himself. And after making sure Ivan had more water, they set off again.

For nearly a week the boys continued on their journey, hunting when they could so they wouldn't have to ration their food, using dead trees to make temporary shelters. On one of the days, it rained, but they kept on, sloshing through the mud.

They'd play games to keep their spirits up, which included an early form of I Spy, and a contest to see who could throw a rock further along the road. Sometimes when Ivan wasn't feeling so sick, they'd sing – songs that Sam had gotten used to, but still didn't like. Neither of the boys were very adept at carrying a tune, either. That was all their sister. Sometimes Vadim would tell Ivan stories, or they'd try and come up with a story together. Ivan's stories tended to be all over the place, but they were still fun to listen to.

When they'd been walking silently for a while, Ivan asked, "Where do you go?"

"What do you mean?" he laughed out. "I'm right here."

"No. At home when you sneak out at night, where do you go?"

Sam hadn't been paying attention, and neither had Ivan or Vadim, because they were all startled when a large man with a black tattoo on his left cheek, and bulging arms bare due to the sleeveless fur vest he wore, stepped out into the middle of the road, blocking them. He wielded an axe, and the three other men that stepped into the road also held weapons, one a dagger, another a sword, and the final man a club. They were all about Sam's size, the one with the tattoo even bigger.

Ivan and Vadim let out startled cries, and Vadim pushed Ivan behind him, throwing his arms out.

"What do you want?" he hissed.

"Get their packs," the tattooed man ordered the other three.

Forgetting himself for a second, Sam let out a yell and lunged at the man who was clearly the leader, only to fall right through him and onto the ground.

The injuries that were ever-present on his bare torso should have twinged and ached from the impact, but there was nothing, hardly any pressure against him, just the rich smell of earth in his nose.

One of the men stepped through him, which was still a jarring experience, and he went after the boys. Since Vadim had been carrying both the packs that day, Ivan was picked up and tossed aside as if he weighed nothing. The boy let out a cry, which was cut short as he whacked into a tree and the air was knocked out of him. Sam felt anger build in him as he fell to the ground, dazed. He was up on his feet now, over by Ivan though he couldn't do a single thing.

The bandits were roughing up Vadim, who refused to give up the packs.

Ivan tried getting up.

"Ivan, stay down!" Vadim cried, and was then punched in the face for speaking.

"Shut your mouth," the man with the dagger said. He now had ahold of the back of Vadim's long tunic, and Vadim struggled to get away.

Then, the boy went limp and dropped the packs. The men laughed, seemingly finding it amusing that he'd given up fighting. Sam was shocked too, thought Vadim would keep fighting since he knew they could die without their packs, especially now since they were hurt.

Vadim suddenly threw out his hands and yelled a word Sam didn't understand, but it sounded old, and even though he couldn't feel temperatures in these memories it sent a chill through him.

The men went hurtling backwards, like some god-like force had commanded it so. And Sam realized that was exactly what was happening, except there was no involvement from God in this.

Vadim was using magic.

Once they'd picked themselves up off the ground, the bandits gave Vadim wary looks. The boy still had his hands outstretched, fire in his eyes, and the blood on his face – though it was his own – made him look frightening.

"Go," he commanded.

The bandits hurriedly grabbed their weapons and disappeared into the trees.

Vadim let out a long breath and ran to Ivan, helping him up.

"Are you hurt?" he asked.

"I bumped my head," he answered. "Getting thrown against a tree hurts."

"Yes, I'm sure it does. Can you keep walking?"

Ivan nodded, winced, put a hand to his head, and then pointed at Vadim's face. "What about you?"

"I'm fine."

They walked in silence for a few minutes, eyes searching the trees, Sam now doing the same even though he couldn't warn them if an attack was coming.

"How did you do that?" Ivan eventually asked.

"Magic."

"Magic?"

"It's why I have been sneaking out of the house. A few seasons ago, when I couldn't sleep, I heard a noise outside, so I went to see what it was."

"What was it?"

"A man. There was a man at the gate, smaller than Papa, and he was dressed funny, wearing only a robe. We talked. He told me he could offer me power, so I took it."

"Why?"

A shrug. "If someone told you you could do things you had never dreamed of, would you not accept?"

"I suppose," Ivan responded. He seemed troubled by this revelation and he eventually asked, "How did he do it?"

"I would rather not say," Vadim immediately snapped.

Ivan clutched at his arm, still seeming close to his brother, even after the power he'd displayed.

"Come on, tell me," he urged.

"No."

"I'll tell Mama and Papa."

"He kissed me," Vadim immediately answered.

Disgust curled Sam's stomach, and he saw it written all over Ivan's face.

"Like Mama and Papa?"

Vadim solemnly nodded.

"Ew."

"Now, let's not talk about it anymore."

Ivan seemed to be burning with questions, but he was still processing what his brother had told him, so he seemed happy the conversation had ended.

Sam had had a creeping sense of dread while listening to the conversation, and hearing of Vadim getting…

No, he couldn't think about it.

But one thing was abundantly clear.

Vadim had sold his soul.


The next day the boys made it to the city. It was still small by modern comparison, but some of the buildings were made of stone and were much more impressive than the village they lived near. The city was near a lake, and ships of all size and shape were coming in to port, suggesting that the glistening lake was the headwater of at least a couple of rivers. The ships seemed to be trading ships, loaded with goods. The boys didn't go down to the harbor, but they stopped and watched in amazement for a couple of minutes, able to see the ships from a stone bridge.

As they walked they gazed up at the people around them. Sam recognized the long robes of the Slavs, some of them finer than those that Ivan's family wore, and he saw Vadim give an appraising glance to some of the girls his age who still wore a nenchik– thin bands of metal or fabric around their heads – suggesting they were unmarried.

There were others there as well, their clothes of a different design that made Sam think of The Lord of the Rings. The word Rus was tossed around a bit, and he began to piece together that they were Vikings, or whatever the Vikings had actually called themselves. He wasn't sure, hadn't studied that part of history. They seemed pretty settled in Novgorod, and many of the Slavs were comfortable with their presence. As Sam saw more people, saw families and couples who seemed to be a mix of Slavs and Rus, he figured the Rus had been there for quite some time, might have even established the trading.

There were some other different kinds of people as well, and Sam instantly labeled them as Greek, and they were probably there for trading. It was an interesting, colorful place, with banners and store signs and all different kinds of dress, but Ivan and Vadim still had a job to do.

They wandered for a bit, Ivan suggesting they ask for directions, but Vadim seemed unwilling to, wanting to do this on his own.

After about fifteen minutes of walking, going from street to street, they found the apothecary.

Sam didn't bother to follow them inside. He no longer felt like a guardian, though he still had the urge to protect those children. Being left unable to do anything when they'd been attacked by bandits had crushed him.

He could watch them grow up, watch them triumph, watch them struggle, but he couldn't do anything more.

Ivan and Vadim left the building with solemn faces, tears in their eyes.

And they began to trek home without the medicine their sister needed.


Getting home took them longer since they had to use a less-traveled path in order to avoid a mother bear and her two cubs.

The bears had startled Sam, but the two boys had calmly observed them and then stayed out of their way.

What part of the sky Sam could see through the trees was gray for most of the journey, but it didn't rain. It felt like the tears both boys were holding at bay.

They didn't want to give up hope just yet.

But Sam knew.

Veronika had just been so sick, and even with the medicine he wasn't sure she'd make it.

So once the boys finally made it home, he stayed outside as it began to rain, not wanting to feel like an intruder on a private moment.

He heard distressed and saddened wails, and then Ivan was running out of the house. Vadim began to follow, tears streaking his cheeks, his bottom lip trembling, but Lada, her dark eyes red and puffy, held him close to her.

"Ivan!" the boy called out.

"Let him go."

Ivan didn't go far, just about twenty feet into the tree line to the north. He sat himself down on a rock, not caring that it was wet, or that he was getting wet, and he cried.

Sam sat down beside him, crossing his legs, and the rain fell right through him.

He didn't know why, but he began to talk, and the sound of his voice was strange, yet familiar to him within these memories – he hadn't spoken since urging Matvei to pick up Ivan in the snow a decade ago: "Ivan, I know this is hard, and I know you're hurting, and I know exactly what you're feeling. But you still have your mom and dad. You still have Vadim." For now,Sam added to himself. "You're not alone, okay? And… and even though you won't know this, I'm here, too. And I'm sorry I couldn't keep you safe, and that I couldn't stop this from happening.

"I know that, in the future, you hurt me, you force me into something that I don't want. And I hated you for it. I hated you for everything, even when it wasn't you who caused me all this pain. You were my scapegoat, and I wanted you to die.

"But watching you grow up… I don't know, it's changed me. I know that somehow, that monster you become, it's not you. I'm scared for you, Ivan. Really scared. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry, and I wish this wasn't true, but somehow, things are going to get worse, and I can't protect you."

The boy's sobs had quieted and he sniffled. He turned to Sam, his dark hair plastered to his face, and for a second Sam thought he was looking right at him. But then his gaze drifted away and he hugged his knees to his chest, still crying.


In some ways, things did get worse. Ivan drifted away from Vadim, and Vadim grew prone to angry outbursts, which only weakened his attempts to grow close to his brother again.

After finishing his chores, Ivan would spend time in the village, and he became friends with a flaxen-haired boy named Mihail. There was also a girl he seemed to be growing close to, Alina. Their first few interactions were awkward and left Ivan blushing, but he would excitedly tell Mihail about her. Sometimes he'd have similar interactions with Mihail as well, and Sam figured Ivan had a crush on both of them.

Meanwhile, Lada and Matvei were pressuring Vadim to find a girl to marry, but he didn't seem interested. Losing Veronika, the pressure from his parents, and the magic seemed to take its toll on his mental state. He spent more and more time alone, and when he wasn't alone, he was pestering Ivan. He teased him, and not in the way an older brother would a younger brother. It was mean, and Sam could see how much it hurt. He hurt right along with him, wishing there was something he could do.

Neither of them brought up the topic of Vadim's magic, but Ivan saw him practicing when their parents weren't watching, and he was clearly uncomfortable.

Two years had passed since Veronika's death, and Ivan and Vadim had the day off from chores. Ivan had been heading off to the village alone – bundled in a thick coat since the crisp air soon promised the first snowfall of the season – when Vadim wrapped an arm around his shoulders, deciding to tag along.

They argued, Ivan trying to push Vadim away, but his brother was older and stronger than him, so he had to give in after a few attempts. Vadim had a smile on his pale face that made Sam uncomfortable.

"Don't be so saddened," Vadim told him. "I just want to show you something."

"What?"

"You will see."

He led him along the road, through the trees, and then into another valley. They came upon a farm, one Sam recognized from the few times Ivan had passed by there.

"What are we doing here, Vadim? This is Leonid Pavelovich's property. He's mean."

"Exactly. Thought it was time someone put him in his place."

"No."

Vadim ignored him, just dragged Ivan along.

Sam watched as Vadim knocked on the man's door. He answered, an argument ensued, Leonid went to punch Vadim in the stomach, Vadim dodged, and Ivan took the blow against the side of his head. The boy stumbled, but didn't fall. Now Vadim grew angry from that, twisted the situation to make it seem like Leonid had gone after Ivan.

Words of power were spoken in that old language Vadim used for all his spells, and then there were bloody slashes on Leonid's burly forearms, and the man was screaming.

Vadim smirked, grabbed Ivan and walked away.

"You didn't have to do that!" he cried once they were back on the road.

Vadim answered simply, "He hurt you."

Ivan pulled himself from Vadim's grip, and then slapped his hand away when he tried reaching for him.

"No, he was trying to hurt you." He pointed to the red bump on his head. "This is your fault."

"Ivan, don't be ridiculous."

"No." Vadim reached for him again, this time grabbing the back of his coat. He continued walking, making Ivan stumble along. "Let me go! Let me go!"

Iva was smacking him now, but Vadim ignored it.

"What is with you lately?" he asked.

"I do not like you using magic."

Vadim stopped, but he didn't let go of his younger brother.

"You don't?" he asked, suddenly looking so young and far from malicious.

"No, I do not," Ivan declared. "It scares me."

"But, Ivan, I did this for you."

"What are you talking about?" he questioned, face scrunched up in confusion.

"I wanted to be able to protect you," Vadim admitted. "You're just so small, and-and sick, and I wanted to be strong enough for the both of us."

Ivan wrenched himself away from Vadim, and turned his back on him, sniffling as he crossed his arms.

"Y-you idiot," he told him. "You already were. You do not need your stupid magic."

"Yes, I do."

"If…" Ivan closed his eyes, swallowed roughly, and then faced Vadim, meeting and holding his gaze, his own filled with steel. "If you think that," he began, words stone cold, "then you are not my brother."

Hurt raged in Vadim's bright eyes, and Sam saw it build beneath his features.

"Good!" he shouted. "Because I'm notyour brother. I never was."

Ivan had seemed so sure of his stinging words, but now he looked taken aback, and he didn't want to believe him.

"What?"

"You heard me. You. Are. Not. My. Brother. Papa found you abandoned in the snow, and we took you in. We took you in out of pity. You were so small and pathetic. And you still are. Whoever left you out there had the right idea. Papa should have just let you die."

With those poisonous words said Vadim stomped off.

Ivan began to cry, and Sam's heart hurt. He wished he could hug him, tell him everything was going to be all right.

But he couldn't hug him.

And he'd by lying.


Ivan scarcely talked to his family after that day. When not doing his chores, he spent more and more time with Mihail and Alina. The three of them were close friends now, and when Ivan turned fourteen he and Alina began to date. Well, they used the word courting.

Sam was happy for Ivan, often smiled when he saw his moments with Alina. The two were close, though Ivan kept his family problems a secret. Sam didn't blame him. Having a rough home life had always felt like carrying around some burden that you couldn't let others see for fear they'd turn and run.

It was mid-Spring, the ground still wet from melting snow, and Ivan and Alina were going for a walk, hands clasped tightly together and swinging in between them.

Ivan led the slender girl, who was taller than him at this point, off the path and into a swath of birch-aspen and pine trees. Both of them were laughing, and she threw her red hair over her shoulders. Sam smiled, looking away when the two of them began to make out, still laughing in between kisses.

Then, he started when he saw Vadim coming from the valley. Ivan, who had been pushed against a tree by Alina, had yet to notice.

A twig snapped beneath Vadim's foot, and Ivan and Alina broke away from each other, heads turning in the direction the sound had come from.

Ivan's face darkened, eyebrows lowering.

"Vadim, did you follow us?" Ivan asked, an accusation already in his words.

"Yes," he answered honestly, stepping closer.

"Why?"

He shrugged.

"Just get out of here, Vadim," Alina said, putting herself between him and Ivan.

Vadim laughed. "Too weak, Ivan? You need a girl protecting you?"

Alina shoved Vadim, and once he regained his footing he grabbed her wrist, knuckles turning white from how tight his grip was. She didn't make a sound, just glared daggers at the older boy. He dragged her closer, his face an inch from hers.

"Stay away from my brother," he hissed.

"Go to Hell," she retorted, voice quavering slightly.

Oh, trust me,Sam thought, he'll get there eventually.A few minutes ago, or a few years ago – Sam couldn't tell anymore – that thought had saddened him, but now he felt Vadim deserved it.

Vadim raised his other hand, and Ivan ran up and grabbed him.

"No! Alina, just go home. Please."

She looked at Ivan, saw the terror and desperation in his blue eyes, and then she relaxed her stance, but fire remained in her gaze. Vadim released her, and she ran off, Ivan looking after her, even once her dress faded through the trees.

"I thought I wasn't your brother," Ivan shot at him, still facing away from Vadim.

"You're not," he responded, circling him. "But we have to keep up appearances. Now, I don't want you seeing her again." He made this declaration while standing right in front of him, towering over him.

"You're just jealous because you haven't found a girl who's dumb enough to marry you."

"I wish it were that, but that slut shouldn't be wearing a nenchik."

Ivan glowered at him, but he still seemed so small, and really, his anger probably didn't mean much to Vadim. Sam figured the only thing keeping him from hurting the younger boy at the moment was the fact that he didn't want to.

Vadim went on, knowing Ivan was too stubborn to ask what he meant, "I caught her with the blacksmith's son. She's no maiden."

"You lie!"

"Maybe, but now the doubt is there."

Ivan forced his way past him, bumping into him as he did so. Vadim laughed.


Ivan continued to see Alina, being more careful now, but he was hesitant, unsure. Sam wished he could tell the boy to ask her about what Vadim had said, to talk to her. Alina began to grow distant, and then one day she told Ivan she would be leaving, heading to Novgorod. A Rus who lived there had proposed to her, and his father, a textile merchant, was far richer than Ivan's family, so she had agreed.

Distraught, Ivan went to Vadim.

Sam was confused when he saw only sadness in Vadim's face. Something was off. He had expected the young man to be angry that Ivan had continued to see Alina against his wishes. Maybe he was, but was just hiding it to get a certain reaction from Ivan.

He pulled Ivan into a hug, and the younger boy was doing his best to not cry. They were behind the house, and Vadim had been chopping firewood. Sam eyed the axe nervously, some part of him worried that Vadim would suddenly get violent.

"Why are you comforting me?" Ivan asked, still hugging him, probably pretending things were as they had used to be.

"Because I love you."

"But we're not brothers."

Vadim pulled out of the hug and caressed Ivan's cheek.

"No, we're not."

Snow began to fall from the dark sky as Vadim kissed Ivan.

And Sam turned away, clenching his jaw as his eyes slid closed. He felt like he was going to be sick.

Someone who had been Ivan's brother, not in blood but in bond, someone who now abused him, someone who was more powerful than him, had kissed him.

He heard no protest from Ivan, and Sam knew it was because he was too afraid.

And yet there was still more evil to come.


A few years passed, Vadim secretly courting Ivan in that time, and he threatened him every time he swore he'd tell their parents. People in the village began to stay away from them, finding it odd they hadn't yet married. The few times they went to Novgorod, the Rus suggested they were homosexual. Sam wished it was just that, wished that Ivan wasn't suffering. Lada and Matvei had given up trying to get them married, and while they still attempted to spend time with the hurting and closed off Ivan, they almost seemed frightened of Vadim. The young man did exude a dark aura, even without the awful things he'd done being known.

Ivan's only joy came from Mihail. He was the one person who hadn't pushed Ivan away, who Ivan hadn't pushed away. And despite being married now, Mihail seemed to be attracted to Ivan, had admitted to being homosexual.

His wife Svetlana knew. She didn't care. They had been close friends for a while now and she was fine with the idea of Mihail seeing men. In fact, Mihail had told Ivan she seemed put off entirely by the idea of romantic and sexual relationships. Sam understood that feeling well. He used to not, used to be what everyone seemed to consider normal, but he hadn't been that way for years.

Despite what Mihail told him of the truth of his relationship with his wife, there was still guilt from Ivan the times he and Mihail would hold each other. Sam knew it was from Vadim's disgusting abuse.

And then the abuse grew worse.

At night Vadim would drag a sleepy, but protesting Ivan into the woods. The first night he'd done so Sam had had the horrible feeling that he'd been going to rape him, but he hadn't.

Instead he did spells, restraining Ivan on the ground with ropes and thick, heavy spikes he drove through the earth. And Ivan was gagged so no one could hear his screams.

Sam didn't know what the spells did, didn't understand the ancient language and symbols that were different from the spellwork he'd seen and used. But he understood pain, and he saw it in every muscles of Ivan's body, saw it when Vadim cut him and used his blood.

Sam wanted to kill Vadim, and he wanted to hold Ivan. He wanted to at least tell someone, get them to help the boy he now saw as his son after having witnessed every moment of his life up to these atrocities.

Watching him grow up had brought a longing out in him, and that longing had twisted into an ache. With nothing to do with his anger, his pain, he cried. He didn't like crying, but being stuck in these memories like this, he simply had nothing else to do.

He wanted to heal Ivan's wounds, somehow erase the agonies Vadim put in his body. He wanted to hold him and keep him safe from the world.

But he couldn't.

And little by little, Ivan seemed to begin losing his will.

He talked back less, he obeyed Vadim more, and he no longer went to see Mihail as often as he used to. And still Vadim kept up with what could only be experiments, and afterwards he would kiss and caress Ivan, making Sam feel light-headed and like someone was punching him in the stomach.

At one point Vadim disappeared for a few days, saying he had things to do, but with no other explanation. Ivan just let him go.

And then he went to stay with Mihail and Svetlana for some time.

They were as kind to him as always and Sam teared up, when, over dinner of buttered bread, cheese, and beef, he saw Ivan smile again. It was the first in a long time.

Once Mihail and Ivan had helped Svetlana clean up from the meal, Mihail suggested he and Ivan go on a walk.

When they were making their way out of the gate Mihail asked, "What is wrong, Ivan?"

"Oh, what? Um… Nothing. Nothing is wrong."

Mihail slipped his hand into Ivan's, intertwining their fingers, and Ivan looked down where they were touching.

With the light of the full moon and the lantern they'd taken with them Sam could see both of them were blushing. They looked so young like that, and really, they were only seventeen.

"Ivan, I have known you for awhile now, and you've changed. You're quieter, scarcely meet people in the eye while speaking, and you don't visit me as much as you used to."

"It is nothing. Just family trouble."

"You always say that."

"Because it's true."

Mihail made Ivan face him and urged, "Please, you can talk to me."

He stroked Ivan's cheek as Ivan looked down, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

"Please," Sam pleaded though Ivan couldn't hear him. "You have to tell someone."

Sam knew he was a hypocrite for saying that, but he didn't care at the moment, only cared about Ivan.

"Vadim, he… he hurts me. And he…"

Mihail held his face in both hands now, having placed the lamp down on the ground. A tear rolled down Ivan's cheek.

"It is all right, Ivan. You can tell me."

"He… kisses me."

There was only silence between them. Not even breathing could be heard; just the sounds of the night and a wolf's baleful howl.

"It's fine," Ivan went on, still refusing to look at Mihail. "We're not brothers."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Ma- Lada, she never gave birth to me. Matvei found me in the woods one night, brought me back to her."

"And they told you this?" Mihail asked, thumbs rubbing over Ivan's cheekbones.

"Vadim did."

"And you believe him?"

Ivan lifted his head up then, met the larger man's gaze. Whatever was in his eyes was answer enough for Mihail.

He pulled him into a hug, one hand gently resting in his hair, as he murmured, "Ivan, I'm so sorry."

Ivan said nothing, just held him as if he never wanted to let go.

And he didn't let go, even when Mihail kissed him. Ivan kissed back, and Sam smiled sadly, drawing his eyes away to give them privacy.

Out in the darkness he saw a lone figure, as tall as Vadim, and something told Sam that it was him. Fear for Ivan and Mihail froze his blood. But the figure walked away.


Sam watched, utterly helpless and hurting, as Ivan went home to be met with Vadim. Lada was away in the village and Matvei was out in the fields, so they didn't see as Vadim used magic to change Ivan's will into his own.

He had Ivan kill Mihail, had Ivan clean up afterwards, and Ivan couldn't remember any of it, only knew that his love was dead.

It seemed impossible, but the boy grew even quieter, and the days he bathed Sam saw his hair falling out as he ran his hands through it. He had more and more days where he had trouble breathing, but when he was allowed he still did his best to leave the farm.

On one of those days he ran into Leonid and started with fear, maybe remembering the day Vadim had hurt him.

Sam didn't know why, but Leonid looked into Ivan's aged eyes, the beautiful blue that had once been so innocent. He looked saddened for a second, but then his features contorted with rage.

"You look like her," he told him, grasping at his shoulders with clumsy fingers.

Ivan ignored what he'd said, pleading, "Let me go."

Leonid went on, as if Ivan hadn't even spoken, "You look like her and you killed her. Shoulda known. I shoulda known those woods didn't kill you. You're not Matvei's boy. You're mine."

He spit in Ivan's face and shoved him away.

"You killed her."

Ivan wiped his face, asking, "What are you talking about?"

"You killed your mother, you pathetic runt! That's why I left you to die. And that family took you in. Look what good it's done them. When the people around here aren't talking 'bout me, they're talking 'bout them and their shameful, dishonorable sons. You're nothing but a curse."

Sam saw Ivan's face crumble, his few moments away from Vadim utterly ruined. And he went to Vadim with his sorrow, and he cried.

Vadim killed Leonid.

And Ivan raged against it, raged against him. But he couldn't fight him. His screams drew the attention of their parents, but before they could interfere, Ivan's soul had been taken from his body, and was in a gem Sam recognized. He touched it where it lay against his bare chest. Vadim must have acquired it during one of his secretive trips.

Drunk with the magic that flowed through him, drunk with rage, he darkened his sold soul even more. He pointed at their parents who were confused and trying to grab Ivan who was now standing as still as a statue, eyes unblinking, and said one simple word: "Kill."

There was confused yelling from Lada and Matvei, their voices frantic, trying to understand. And Sam couldn't draw his eyes away as Ivan walked over to the back of the house and retrieved the axe. The violence was quick and bloody, and Ivan was left standing over the butchered bodies of his parents, their blood flowing out into the trampled grass before their house.

Vadim came up behind Ivan, breathing heavily, and took the axe from him, letting it drop to the ground. His hands roamed his body, and heat rushed through Sam so violently he could barely hold himself up.

That was when Vadim raped Ivan, and Sam couldn't watch, crying and hyperventilating, his throat swollen with the agony of knowing what had happened to this boy whom he had grown to love so much.


After that day, where things had changed for good, Vadim took Ivan up north and made a hut for them to live in, surviving by hunting and stealing from travelers. For two years they lived there, and many days and nights Sam hid himself behind a tree, shuddering with rage and pain and nausea as he heard the things Vadim did to Ivan. He wanted to walk far away and never look back, but he couldn't. The spell wouldn't allow him.

His love wouldn't allow him.

Vadim continued his experiments till Ivan had powers of his own, powers Sam recognized and now felt sick for wielding.

He had known that he'd been tainted and poisoning himself, knew that there hadn't been another choice for him. But now he felt more disgusted with himself than ever.

Ivan had lost himself. What had remained of his free will and personality had been taken from him, and now Sam saw nothing in his eyes when he looked at him. There was just waiting, waiting for his next command, waiting for a task.

Vadim had him do many tasks now, from chores, to hunting, to killing people and bringing them back to him, and as the experiments continued he was able to transform into that skeletal stone monster Sam had seen him as a few times. It was scary how powerful Vadim's magic had gotten, but the dark layers of magic he put over Ivan's soul managed to twist him into something far from what he had been. Ivan would often sit, looking into the fire with empty eyes while Vadim collected blood from his victims in a bowl, and he talked with a demon named Gaizal. Sam had never heard of the demon before, wondered if he was still alive, but the name sounded very old. Maybe it was the crossroads demon Vadim had sold his soul to.

In time Gaizal gave Vadim a new name.

Vadrach.

Sam spent his time in those memories now glaring at Vadrach, wanting to rip his head from his shoulders, wanting to do all kinds of things to him. It was easier to look at him than it was to look at Ivan. Looking at Ivan resulted in him seeing the ruined shell of the curious, eager boy he had once been. And Sam still loved him, his heart still ached for him.

Seconds passed, or what might have been months passed. It all felt one and the same, time a foreign construct, the changing events the only real indication that time had continued to move on. If Sam was correct, it was getting close to when the Hellhounds would come for Vadrach.

They did.

He had been growing panicky, his talks with Gaizal leading to frustration he often took out on Ivan by beating him, and then he had buried Ivan's soul near the roots of a tree, supposedly where no one could find it. Then the Hellhounds had come, and Ivan was left, sitting outside the hut in the snow, staring lifelessly at Vadrach's mutilated, dead body.


Ivan didn't need to eat anymore, didn't need water, didn't need sleep. So a few weeks passed, the snow nearly burying him, before he got up again. Vadrach's body looked as it had the day he'd died, the cold preserving him. But finally, Ivan moved. He wandered.

For years, for centuries, he wandered. Aimlessly, having no goals, no true will of his own.

His wanderings took him to America, and when questions were asked or people stood in his way, he killed them, and kept on, not caring what he'd done, not even seeming to realize what he'd done.

When he was in a forest Sam recognized, elder, hickory, and maple surrounding him and rising proudly up to the sky, he laid down and closed his eyes, as if he were going to sleep. Sam didn't know how, maybe it was the magic that had been forced through his soul, but he simply faded.


Sam was in another forest now, one he hadn't seen in centuries. Men were digging up Ivan's soul.

The gem his soul resided in passed from cult to cult to different underground religious sects, whispers of the Deathless One being told, till finally, it was acquired by the Men of Letters during World War II. A Nazi scientist they'd taken prisoner had handed it over to them after some torture. He'd been working for a secret group of men tasked with finding occult objects to help Hitler win the war.

And once Ivan's soul was brought back to the bunker, it stayed there for nearly a decade, no one quite sure what to make of it.


Sam stayed with the soul, so he was unsure of what was happening in the world outside, but he knew Abaddon would come soon. Still, something else had to happen. And it eventually did. One of the Men of Letters had sold out to a demon, giving him the soul temporarily, and he worked on it, turned it into the amulet it now was. Sam knew it was Vadrach. He had the same lean, oily vessel he had now that reminded him of a snake. The soul was returned to the bunker for safekeeping, and there it stayed, unused.

Till Sam came along.

Things were different now with Ivan's soul being in an amulet. It was like it was closed off, and he couldn't see, but he could feel. So there was blackness, but it wasn't total.

Then he felt something, a presence, and he immediately recognized it.

Dean.

Pain stung in his chest from feeling that presence. God, he missed Dean. He missed how things had been before he'd found the amulet.

Then he felt another presence, familiar, but still somewhat foreign. Was that how Sam felt to other people? It was himself. It had to be. There was no one else it could be.

And then the amulet was getting picked up. He still couldn't see, but he saw it through his own memories now, the perplexed look on Dean's face, the amulet swinging from a chain. Sam could still grasp at it where it hung around his neck, and he did so now.

"What isthat?"

Sam's voice now: "I don't know."

A pause, and then, "Whoa, Dean, don't just poke it."

"Why not?"

"Because we don't know what it does. Do you want to get yourself killed?"

"Not really, no."

Then Sam felt something, Ivan, Ivan as Vadrach had left him. He was awakening, and he was calling out to Sam.

Time passed. He was somewhere different now, and he felt Ivan's urge to have a master, to wake from the sleep he'd somehow put himself into, to have purpose and meaning again. And Sam controlling him would do that for him.

Sam, Sam, Sam…

Images flashed before his eyes as he felt himself touch the amulet.

All that had transpired flickered before him, now seeming to go so fast that Sam felt like the air was being stolen from him, like he was in a vacuum and it was impossible to breathe. What he saw made him want to rip his hair out, made him want to scream, made him hurt. He saw it from Ivan's point of view, saw his relief at finding Sam, saw his anger at being rejected, saw his sorrow, his fear for feeling like he had to turn on Sam to protect himself, saw him give in, give up, let Sam take his powers.

Oh, how Sam wished he had never picked up that amulet, wished he had never found it.

But he had, and there was no turning back. This was his life now.

He saw Rowena doing the spell.

And then it was over.


Sam opened his eyes feeling a thousand years old.