From the very moment that Sam had arrived here in this place, he had spent his time pushing every single person that he had ever cared about far, far away from himself. Dean, Jo, Jess...all of them. It seemed like the most logical thing to do at the time. They had all died. Someone was obviously fucking with him, right? That someone, of course, namely being Lilith. But if Lilith was here, she probably would have tried to kill him off by now. Sam knew the demon far better than he had prior to Dean's death. They had encountered one another multiple times. First it was simple. She'd taunt, then run off. Then things advanced. They started to fight. Sam would take her down with holy water and, despite the painful effect it had on her, it still wasn't enough to stop the demon that opposed him. So Sam decided that it was high time that he followed Ruby's advice.
He began to practice. He gave in to the darkness that Dean had begged for him to stay away from. Sam became a monster. Cold, ruthless, unforgiving. Hell bent on revenge. That was Sam. That was who he had become. And there wasn't a damn thing in this world that could have ever changed him.
Until now. Until the realization that maybe, just maybe, it wasn't Lilith that had brought him here. That these people, so many who were rising from the dead, were in fact their actual selves and not an illusion used to manipulate him into giving into a point of weakness. Something else was going on here. Something sick, twisted, wrong...and yet good at the same time. Because if he wasn't here, then he'd never be able to see the one's that he had lost. The people that he had spent the past three years obsessing over in the dark.
He had them back. And now some psychotic clown seemed more than determined to take them away. He was at the beginning. At the very start of it all.
Jessica.
A warm sensation had buried it's way into his chest soon after Sam had heard about the clown having gotten hold of Jessica. It was anger. Hatred. He wanted to wipe that sick little smile off of his face. Or perhaps he'd just get rid of his face entirely. Burn it to ashes, throw it out to the wind, and then watch as it fluttered away. Burn him alive. Set him on fire. Fire wasn't good enough. The flames were too bright.
Sam would give him darkness instead.
As soon as he was pointed off to the basement, Sam didn't hesitate. He didn't seek out weaponry, nor did he consider preparation. Instead, the Winchester merely turned and walked off toward the basement in a blind rage. He was quick to find the location and he was even faster to stumble across the scene that had awaited him.
Jess. Sprawled out on the floor. There was blood dripping everywhere -- onto the floor, her dress...and her face. Her beautiful face. He paused in the doorway, muscles tensing as he stared down at Jessica's fallen figure. He wanted to run at her. Snatch her into his arms, drag her away from the pool of blood that she was drowning in. But it was too late, wasn't it? He was always too late.
His green eyes flashed dangerously, focusing on the clown.
"Son of a bitch," he snarled, hands balling into fists at his sides.