Season Two

Episode One: Call To Darkness

By Kittsbud & Tree

Part Two

Interior of Haris’s Complex

Sam could feel something wet tickling his throat as it dribbled from his chin all the way down his neck. Was something dripping on him? Damned if Dean wasn’t playing another one of his pranks…

The hunter moved and the sudden motion jarred the muscles in his body, sending spikes of raw pain down one side of his back. He groaned, daring to open an eye as the memory of the fireball and landing hard came back to him.

“Sammy?” A disheveled, bloodied John Winchester hovered over his son, but only a few of the original group of hunters stood behind him. More of their number had been lost to the new explosion and ambush, some so gruesomely that their entrails now lined the walls like a demonic tapestry of human body parts.

Smoke filled the concrete corridor mixed with the stench of seared, still burning flesh and Sam gagged as he took his father’s hand as it was offered in assistance. “What..?”

“Booby trap.” John confirmed Sam’s grisly assumption and glanced back at the half a dozen men still with him. “We’re boxed in. Fire in front, fire behind…” And maybe more tripwires…

Sam took a minute to let his spinning head settle and rubbed the back of his palm under his nose. It came away a shade of scarlet and he realized just what had been dripping down his neck. The impact from the explosion had given him a bloody nose and lip from being slammed into the wall. Better that than the fate of his companions who had been at the head of the column. “There has to be another way out. Maybe if we can get back to the chamber…”

“We can’t.” Bobby appeared from the gloom and nodded back down the passageway. “The fire’s already headed this way. I just checked.”

Sam shook his head. There was another way out, he sensed it. Pushing past his old friend he began to jog back the way they had come. About halfway, he paused, looking at the walls around him. They were different here. Strange marks and symbols had been etched into the concrete, and one side of the wall was a slightly different color.

Haris wouldn’t make changes to the complex like that unless there was a reason.

Sam hunkered down, letting his fingers trace a mark on the floor. It looked like a blood trail, and it was fresh. Dean? The young hunter winced. He was clutching at straws. The blood could belong to anyone – maybe even one of the men behind him.

One thing the blood did tell him, no matter whose it was, was that the tunnel had another exit. The dried red ooze pooled in one spot as if the injured party had paused a moment. Then, the blood trail headed right up to the wall of the corridor and stopped.

Sam moved closer, noting two gouges in the floor that finished midway in the corridor.

“There’s a hidden door here somewhere!”

At his cry, the weary hunters gathered closer, eager to hear any options now that they were backed into a corner – literally.

“What do you see, son?” John leaned over, blotting out what little light there was, but Sam didn’t need it.

Letting his fingertips gently move over the symbols carved into the walls he carefully searched for the trigger mechanism he knew had to be there. It was as if some part of his mind knew what he had to do.

Halfway up the wall, he stopped and carefully traced over a familiar sigil with the end of his left forefinger. Taking a breath, Sam pushed, hoping he was about to open a secret doorway rather than set off yet more explosions.

Beneath his hand, the wall began to move outwards towards him until another smaller corridor was revealed. A blast of fresh air hit him in the face from their new escape route and Sam and his companions inhaled greedily. Breathing the stale fumes of burnt viscera suddenly made them feel nauseous.

“Come on, let’s MOVE!” John didn’t wait to congratulate his son. He didn’t even pat the tallest Winchester on the back as he moved past him to lead the way. Instead, John simply resumed command of his motley troop, and Sam followed.

The new passageway was only a small branch of a larger section, opening into another anti-chamber after only a short distance. The air was still fresh in the room, and there was no sign of the enemy.

Or Dean…

Sam looked around, instantly recognizing the area where he’d been held captive earlier. Several cells lined one wall, and in the nearest, Zack Murzak peered through a small rusted hatch.

At the sight of the hunters Murzak backed away, his eyes widening in sudden fear.

“You bastard! You led us down here to burn!” More jeers followed as the remaining hunters spotted the man who had betrayed them, giving them up to the very thing he was supposed to hate.

“Leave me here…leave me to burn. It’s nothing more than I deserve…” Murzak’s voice was surprisingly fearless, as if he had accepted his fate, maybe even welcomed it.

Sam shook his head, wasting valuable seconds to find the keys to unlock Murzak’s cell. The chain rattled as he tried several until the right one slipped into the lock. “You don’t deserve to die so easily. Not after what you did to my brother…”

The door swung open, but Sam held the other hunters back. They’d want to string Murzak up. Maybe kill him outright for his transgressions. Sam didn’t want that. He wanted to make Murzak suffer for Dean’s sake, he wanted the hunter to know what it was like to watch as your own sibling was possessed and tortured. But most of all, Sam wanted answers. He wanted to know why Murzak betrayed them, why he’d work for a demon and just why Haris had had Dean possessed.

“He comes with us topside.” Sam’s statement was final. It was a growling order that none of the hunters wanted to argue with. The building was crumbling. There was no time for internal struggles among the group.

Grabbing Murzak under one arm, Sam began to drag him from the cell. Realizing his plan to interrogate the traitor later, Bobby took hold of Murzak’s free arm and shuffled him forward.

“Which way?” John looked at the two corridors they had to choose from, uncertain which would be their escape route.

“That one.” Sam bobbed his head. “Keep going until you reach the stairs. They’ll take us right back up outside the complex.” The stairs Dean joked about. The stairs we almost fell down on our asses…

The bittersweet memory gnawed at him. Would that be the last time he’d ever see Dean? At least as his true self?

Sam’s face twitched as he tried to quell the anger that coursed through his being. Anger he’d never felt before, not like this. As he climbed each step to the surface, the rage grew stronger. He wanted to kill someone, something, hell anything and he wondered in that moment which Winchester was truly the marked one. Dean may be under a demon’s influence, but Sam? The anger, the urge for revenge was all his own.

For you or Dad, the things I’m willin’ to do or kill, it just….it scares me sometimes...

They had once been Dean’s words, but as Sam shoved Murzak into the daylight beyond the steps he had to admit that for Dean, there was probably nothing he wouldn’t do either.

Behind him, the clatter of boots on concrete told Sam the other hunters and his father were almost clear of the complex too. Letting go of his panting captive, he turned just in time to see the upper levels of Haris’s lair explode in a cacophony of sound and blistering heat.

Sam braced himself, barely keeping his footing as the ground seemed to rock in a two mile radius of the collapsing structure.

Murzak wasn’t so lucky, his bone-wrenching grunt signaling he’d hit the dirt face first. He spat out blood where his teeth had cut into his own tongue with the impact, but Sam didn’t feel sorry for him, he couldn’t.

The minor injury would be the least of the turncoat’s worries if he didn’t help them find Dean. Dean who might have been in the building when it exploded. Dean who might be burning alive in the underground passageways and tunnels. Dean who was suffering the living hell of having his body controlled, even if he was safe.

Sam watched as flames licked over the rubble and debris that was the only evidence the complex had ever existed. At his side, John placed a hand on his youngest’s shoulder.

“We’ll find him, Sam…”

* * * *

Unknown Location

It started with the smell, part mold, part body odor, completely disgusting. Another breath; stagnate air that spoke of a space well used and then sealed up tightly. Dead air, now that he chanced a deeper breath. A smell that spoke of decay and death, one that he could only hope was not emanating from him. But no, dead men couldn’t smell could they? And didn’t smelling entail breathing and breathing meant being alive? Damn! So much for being dead!

Focusing, he could now pick out noises; the sound of shoes scuffling on the floor not far from him. Straining, he could hear more noises, the sound of machinery at a distance. The echo of voices from outside the space he currently inhabited. Human voices, but none that he recognized.

Okay, so this was getting him nowhere, time to include vision into this equation. Slowly, he peeled crusted lids apart, lashes unweaving, allowing the white glow of fluorescent bulbs to assault his pupils. His first sight was of the dingy floor that he was laying cheek down against. Without moving his head, he took in the space around him.

The floor itself was an uninspiring gray, parts of it chipped away to reveal concrete beneath while other areas bore stains whose origins he didn’t want to consider. Further on, he spotted two sets of boots, standard issue paramilitary boots, boots that were being worn on some fairly large feet. Allowing his eyes to follow the footgear upwards to the bodies that were attached, he saw two of the biggest men this side of World Championship Wrestling. Imposing was an understatement and although neither held a weapon, he felt certain that was because they didn’t need one to carry out their assigned duty.

Completing the observation, his eyes stopped on theirs and in that instant a flood of memories washed over him. Black eyes, coal black demon eyes stared blankly at him. Black eyes that he had seen far too many times before; the firefighter in Missouri, in the young man he had killed outside the Sunrise Apartments, in Meg, and in his dad.

“Black eyes that you have too!”

Possession; the swirl of black fog that was spewed out of Zack’s mouth only to envelop him in a chest crushing embrace. Pain as he felt himself being torn apart from the inside out as the invader sought to subdue him. Pure malevolence; as Haris stared down at him, encouraging him to ‘give in’, ‘let go’, ‘have peace’.

Peace, what a concept that was! Had he ever known peace in his entire life?

“No, you haven’t! But you can! Give in, let go, have peace!”

And there had been Sam! His memory replaying sad, pleading eyes, not black like his, begging him, pulling him, hugging him close as he thrashed under the pain. Sammy’s voice, cracking with fear, yet a moment of defiance as he spat words at the yellow-eyed figure towering above them both.

“Ignore him. You’re here because of him. The pain should have been his pain, not yours. It’s all his fault! He doesn’t care about you! Give in, let go, have peace!”

He struggled to a seated position, thankful that there was a wall behind him to support the body that felt as though it had been torn apart and reassembled without any heed to the instructions. There was still pain, beckoning him to return to blissful darkness. Pain was a friend, had been a common companion over the past two decades, perhaps the one constant thing he could always count on never letting him down, never leaving him.

“Mom left! Dad left! Even Sammy left! They all leave you. But you don’t have to be alone anymore! Give in, let go, have peace!”

The words reverberated inside his skull, bouncing around his consciousness like the silver ball of a pinball machine being repeatedly struck by the flippers.

“Give in, let go, have peace!" Such a simple request to follow, close your eyes, submit to the darkness, both inside and out.

“NO!” another voice, a stronger voice shouted back! "Resist, hold on, stay strong!" Deep within him this new voice sounded, pouring out of the very marrow of his bones. Stronger than the voice that was picking at the scabs in his wounded psyche, this voice sounded familiar.

“Get up, you’re a Winchester! You’ve never given up on anything in your life! Resist, hold on, stay strong!”

Spurred by optimism, he pushed off from the wall. A dozen different muscle groups shouted out in protest and vertigo threatened to put him right back on his gluts. Biting his bottom lip till blood flood and tainted his tongue with copper, he found as he always did, the internal strength to push himself past physical discomfort.

The two standing walls of muscle never blinked as he rose to his feet. Never moved, apparently content in the fact that he posed no threat. He walked right up to the nearest of the twin gorillas, standing a full head shorter than either of them. ‘Sammy-size’ except his brother would never have as much muscle mass as these two, and if he had any say, never the black stained eyes!

Sam! “Resist! Hold on! Stay Strong!”

The room’s one and only door was directly behind gorilla number one, but it might as well have been a continent away. He thought about trying his luck, he’d done it before hadn’t he? Spit in the face of the devil, screw the odds, fight like there’s no tomorrow, never let them see any fear!

“But you do have fear, don’t you? You were afraid of your father and being a disappointment in his eyes. You’re afraid of your brother and what he might become. You’re afraid of being alone! Give in, let go, have peace!”

It wasn’t fear that moved him away from the wall of intimidating flesh but a much more basic need. Thirst! It drew him away from his strange introspection and dialogue. It silenced the voices vying for his attention. A small sink mounted on the wall to his left teased with the promise of water.

Moving to the rust stained bowl, he twisted on the knob but only a trickle fell from the spout. Holding his cupped hand beneath the meager flow, he greedily scooped it into his mouth, spitting out the first bit along with the leftover taste of blood. He filled another handful and sipped this one eagerly. Two more handfuls and the tap gave out, solitary drips mocking his remaining thirst.

He straightened and caught sight of a face in the cracked mirror that hung above the sink. A bruised and battered visage stared back at him. Hazel eyes that looked dull and exhausted and dark circles underneath telling him that his body had not been treated kindly. Blood coated the upper right side of a torn green shirt, a hole peeking out of the material and suggesting a wound that should likely be more painful than it currently was.

As he touched his shoulder, fingers guided by the reflection in the mirror, a flash of black startled him away from the physical inspection. Black eyes, flashing over the weary hazel, stared back out at him from the glass. Black eyes of possession. Black eyes of a demon, buried deep within him.

“Give in, let go, have peace!” It beckoned him, sweet temptation like a lover calling him to a soft, warm bed.

A thousand thoughts rummaged through his mind. I was possessed! I am possessed! How can I still see out of these eyes? NO, NO and NO! He shook his head back and forth, denying the vision, denying the obvious, denying the truth of what stared back at him. His eyes were hazel, sometimes green, but never black. Not now, not ever! Push it down, make them hazel, don’t give in!

Timidly, reluctantly, he lifted his face and once more allowed the lids to barely peel apart. The black was gone once more and the exhausted green shown through. A smile burst inside him and he felt optimistic, if only mildly.

“I’m proud of you son! Resist! Hold on! Stay Strong!” his father’s voice encouraging him as he so rarely did in life.

He moved away from the mirror, afraid to tempt fate any further, afraid that the hazel eyes were more an illusion than the black ones. It took just a few seconds to really canvas the entire room/cell. No furniture, no belongings, just trash and the two human mountains of meat. He began to pace, since there was nothing better to do, and besides, he always paced when his mind was working on something. He was on his third pass of the room when the squeak of rusted hinges drew his attention.

Yellow-eyes glaring, sinister smile spread across an otherwise human face, Haris unfolded his hands and spread his arms open wide like a parent inviting a child into a hug.

“Welcome home, Dean!”

* * * *

Outside Haris’s Complex
By the Impala

Sam didn’t know how long he’d watched the complex burn. He didn’t even notice the other hunters once again gathering around as John and Bobby began counting heads and giving out instructions.

It was only the yelp of a once long-time friend that brought him back from his stupor.

“Kill me…it doesn’t matter. Just make it quick…”

“Quick, Zack? Hell, you don’t deserve quick, not on a good day even.” Bobby shot the man who had once been his ally a look of contempt, but didn’t join the other hunters as they surrounded Murzak.

The men were mad. They wanted retribution for their dead friends and they didn’t care what unspeakable or cruel acts they inflicted on Murzak to get it. Some spoke of a lynching, others had ideas for much more graphic and bloody torture. These were hunters, they’d seen enough in their hidden, death-filled lives not to care if a little more blood spilled, not even if it was from a man who had once been one of their own.

John watched, but didn’t try to intervene – deep down part of him felt the same way. Murzak had tricked them all, maybe cost Dean his life. Why should he be spared now? I can’t let them kill him.

John cringed, his emotions torn in two different directions. Murzak deserved a beating maybe, but not death. Taking his life would make them worse than the things they hunted. It would make them murderers.

Two wrongs, don’t make a right…

The elder Winchester squirmed at his own recollection, rubbing at the ache in his neck that seemed to throb with each new dire thought. Haris had used those exact words to Dean while he’d been in John’s body back at the cabin. He’d had to watch, to suffer the demon’s actions as it used him as a puppet. He’d had to see his son torn to pieces by unseen hands – hands being directed by the creature within him. Was that what Dean was feeling now if he was alive? Was that the fate Zack had given his son? Having to watch as his body did horrific things to other humans?

“Dad, we can’t let them hurt him.” Sam interrupted any further reflection as he walked to his father’s side, his own face still sullied with blood and despair. “Zack was possessed, Dad! He couldn’t help luring Dean and me here as bait. The demon inside him is the same one that took Dean…”

“You’d stand up for him, even after what happened to your brother?” John stuck his hands in his pockets and looked at the man before him. The man who had once been the tiny baby Dean had plucked from the flames of their home. He’d never say it, but he was proud of Sam – proud of the sensitive young man he’d become. Just as proud as he was of Dean. He simply found it a lot harder to say.

Sam nodded, never realizing the pride his actions stirred in his father. “We need him. He might know where Dean is, or at least something that might help us find Haris.”

“I think I already know where Dean is, and you’re not going to like it…” Bobby fidgeted as he crossed over the enclosure, fumbling with the peak of his trademark soiled baseball cap before continuing. “Some of the men think they saw one of Haris’s boys dragging Dean out of that chamber. Looks like he wasn’t in the building at least.”

“And if he was being dragged he wasn’t going willingly, demon on board or not.” Sam looked across to where Zack was now pinned by the other hunters, every one of them eager to tear him a new ass or worse. “Murzak is the only one who can give us a lead…”

“If he’s willing,” Bobby pointed out, stowing his sawn-off shotgun in the rear of his weather-beaten pick-up. “I’ve known the man a long time, and I’m telling you there’s something off about this whole deal with Haris.”

Sam’s gaze settled on his father. He’d already told John Zack had been possessed, but was there more? Right now, if there was, it didn’t matter. Zack Murzak was their only link to Haris – their only link to Dean’s whereabouts.

“I think you’re right,” The young hunter agreed. “But we’re not going to find out what’s going on with the rest of the men about to eviscerate him. We need to get him alone. I need to get him alone…”

John Winchester’s eyes narrowed and several creases appeared in his brow in surprise. He was usually the aggressive one. Hell, Dean had inherited his short temper, but Sam? Sam was all Mary. He was the placid one. He was the thinker of the family.

The grizzled ex-marine took down a long breath and licked his parched lips. Eventually, he nodded to the crowd surrounding Murzak. “I’ll handle the other hunters. While Bobby and I keep them busy you take Zack to the cabin I’ve been using. Take the second dirt track off the highway and follow it to a fork in the road. Go left and it’s about half a mile further down. I’ll meet you there later…”

John paused, forcing back words that were on the tip of his tongue. He didn’t want Sam hurting Murzak even though the traitor deserved it. If there was any interrogating to be done, then he would be the one to shoulder it. Sam didn’t need anything else on his conscience.

Sam noted the pause, realizing his father’s thoughts. He was acting out of character. Acting like a man possessed…

He wanted to laugh at the idea, but somehow it just wasn’t fitting, not now, not ever to a Winchester. “I’ll wait for you,” he finally settled, waiting for his father to address the throng massing around the Impala.

John took his son’s word without further questioning and turned back to the group of hunters, hands still tucked into his pockets. The men were still angry, but at his throaty tones they stopped their ramblings and focused on his impromptu speech.

“Men, I wish I could say today had been a victory, but I can’t. We’ve lost good friends, some of us have lost family members…”

As John spoke, Sam let the words play in his mind, but he didn’t truly listen.

Lost family members…Dean…

Regrouping was important. But for Sam, stealing Zack Murzak away to their hideaway was something more – it was vital.

Sliding between a huge ape-sized hunter and the Chevy without being noticed, he grabbed Zack’s wrist so hard it made the elder man gasp.

Sam instantly put a finger to his mouth and then made a slicing motion across his throat, indicating more noise could mean death. The hunters wanted blood, and only the conspirator’s would do. “Get in the car…”

Sam carefully pulled at the handle, trying to open the Chevy’s heavy door without instigating the usual ear-splitting creak that signaled the car’s true age. It was worse than the sound of Dracula’s coffin lid being opened.

The move was half successful and only a small groan erupted from the hinges.

Murzak gulped down air and then squeezed his body through the small gap Sam had made until he was perched on the bench seat. He didn’t move, didn’t try to escape or rebel.

“Haris is on the run, he’s not as certain as he once was. We can regroup, build a stronger army to fight him…”

Sam could hear his father’s voice as he bounced down behind the wheel of his brother’s baby. This was Dean’s car, and he should be here driving it. It felt wrong, alien even as he turned the ignition key and cranked the tiger of an engine to life.

When the stereo suddenly blared to life as if controlled by some ethereal force it simply added to the torment. Rock music blaring, rock music that only Dean could gain pleasure from. Rock music that said it all as Sam pulled away, tires spinning wildly in the loose earth as he applied far too much gas in his haste to escape his torment.

You're caught in a crossfire
Of a greater love than man has ever known
Caught in a crossfire
And you've got to choose which way you're gonna go
Caught in a crossfire
In a world of darkness turn to the light…

Maybe the Kansas lyrics said it all, because what Sam chose to do next could ultimately decide his brother’s earthly fate. Perhaps his own fate too.

* * * *

Inside Impala
Sometime Later…

Zack Murzak kept his eyes firmly fixed on the countryside outside the car, not daring once to look at the young man at his side. The Winchesters had been his allies and he had fed them to the wolves as surely as he drew breath.

He knew what it was like to feel the sting of the demon within. Knew the torture of being possessed and having no control over his actions, and yet still, he had done it willingly. Perhaps that was the thing that hurt most.

Willingly. No, what he had done hadn’t been voluntary. It had been necessary.

Murzak flinched as Sam reached across the interior of the Chevy and he expected the backlash of the young hunter’s hand. He deserved it, after all.

Instead, Sam simply switched off the hard rock that had been assaulting their ears since leaving the complex. As he flicked the button of the ancient player, his gaze shifted to meet Zack’s.

There was anger in those soulful eyes, anger and a kind of fear Murzak knew all too well. Having family was a curse to a hunter sometimes. It left openings for the enemy. Sam was learning that the hard way now.

“Where has Haris taken my brother? And why? Why the hell would he suddenly lose interest in me in favor of Dean?” Sam’s voice was low; his tone hinting that although he appeared in control, he was balancing on a fine line that he might tumble from any second.

“He hasn’t lost interest in you, Sam. Of that I’m sure. Let’s just say he’s found additional interests…” Murzak’s grizzled yet handsome features twisted in shame. “I wish I could tell you more, but I don’t know anything…”

“Don’t know anything? You had one of Haris’s kids inside you for God knows how long and didn’t get any scrap of his plans?” Sam slammed a fist down onto the dash so hard he grazed the skin from his knuckles and red welts began to appear across his hand. Better his hand though, than Murzak’s face. He’s lying. Meg knew what the demon had been up to while she was possessed. She remembered Sunrise…

Murzak re-fixed his gaze on the passing trees; they were easier to look at than the pained young man at his side. Easier to focus on as he remained silent.

“You bastard!” Sam’s boot hit the brake pedal so hard Murzak was thrown forward with the sudden loss of momentum. He reached out, catching himself on the dash just in time to save his face from slamming into the windshield.

Sam ignored the fact that his prisoner was shaking. He ignored the fact that he’d blocked off the road with the Chevy’s mass. All he could think about was the hurt, the blame. Zack had instigated the trap. Zack was the one who deserved to feel his rage. He needed an outlet, even though he knew neither he nor Dean should have fallen for the ruse Murzak had set off in the first place.

Sam grabbed Murzak’s collar with his grazed hand, the color draining from it as he squeezed hard, pressing the elder man up against the side window. “Where’s Dean? Where the hell has that Sonofabitch taken my brother!”

Zack’s throat bobbed as he tried to swallow, tried to breath. He couldn’t answer even if he wanted too, Sam was pressing so hard against his neck. He coughed, meekly struggling against the attack until Sam realized what he was doing.

The young hunter let go and recoiled. He was losing perspective. Losing control. Blinking, he took a long breath to calm his jangling nerves. “Just tell me where to look…”

Murzak rubbed at his neck, realizing Sam’s assault would probably leave bruises – still, that was far less than the injuries he’d have received from the angry mob of hunters they’d left behind. “Haris will kill me if I tell you anything. Dean is probably dead by now. Haris doesn’t take kindly to his kind of retorts, you know that…” He watched Sam, eyes wary of a further attack. “Why should I risk the demon’s anger for a man that’s already dead?”

The sentence was like a harsh slap to the face, and Sam’s earlier anger returned, striking from the darker corners of his psyche like some venomous creature. He couldn’t stop the anger; he couldn’t stop the pain of reliving the moment Dean had been taken over by the black miasma over and over again in his head.

“You need to forget about Haris and worry about what Dad and I are going to do to you if you don’t start talking.” Sam tried to hold back, tried to push the feelings away, but for Dean, he couldn’t. “We’re getting my brother back, and I don’t give a damn if you live or not in the process…”

Murzak’s expression clouded with fear, his eyes widening until they looked like they would pop from his skull. From John or Dean he had expected this kind of behavior, but Sam?

If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought the younger Winchester had been possessed too. But then, according to Haris’s acumen, the gifted children could easily be turned into the dark creations he envisaged for his human legion. Maybe Sam had already been pushed into the first steps down that road and didn’t even know it.

How much loss, destruction, and torment could one soul take before breaking and accepting a new fate, a new destiny?

Zack knew that point of no return, he’d been there. Perhaps that was what scared him most now. He had done what was necessary, set traps, watched the innocent die – some friends even, and all for one reason.

In Sam’s mind, he had a reason; an incentive to tread that dark path now, and that reason was Dean.

Murzak’s muscles relaxed and he accepted the inevitable. In that moment, he was certain that Sam would do anything, kill even for his brother.

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