There are chips of ice in my blood, they catch on my skin and paralyse my body. It hurts to the point that my breath catches in my lungs and there are blind spots in my vision. I can't be sure if I feel too much or too little, if I freeze or burn, if my heart is still beating. Nothing is a certainty because everything is a question. My body is drying up, devoid of it, craving it, needingit with all I have and yet I can't, I can't, because if I do then I'm a monster outside as well as in.
Dean has me handcuffed to the pipes in the motel bathroom thinking it will save me, but doesn't he know? I'm dying now. There is nothing left in my body at all, I'm an empty snail's shell, liable to be crushed under somebody's boot. Probably Lucifer's. He's going to kill us all anyway, every single tiny human on this planet, so why should it matter if I satiate my need now? Why shouldn't I go out there and drink some demon blood and wait for the bitter end with Satan in the control room? No, think rationally Sam, sensibly. You only feel this way because of Famine. I repeat it to myself like a nursery rhyme, but the thing about nursery rhymes is that they're usually fairy stories covering a brutal truth. You only feel this way because of Famine. And a small part of me says that this is a question or a plead, not a comfort and certainly not a truth. You only feel this way because of Famine. And blood, I can't stop thinking about blood. It's a painful drumroll inside me just building up to the finale and I know how it will end because I know when I'm beaten. You only feel this way because of Famine. Anger, anger and pain and fire, rips through me, engulfing my whole body in one sudden sweep. Desperation peppers itself on top of the flames in an instant, desperation that I thought I was too weak to feel, but there it very much is. I repeat the comforting sentence that isn't comforting at all hurriedly over and over. You only feel this way because of Famine, you only feel this way because of Famine, you only feel this way-. It doesn't work, it doesn't work at all and I pull on the pipe and the handcuffs frantically and now I'm sweating but I'm still cold inside and I can't break away and I've forgotten the comfort sentence and everything is just rising to the surface and I need blood, I need blood like I have never needed anything before and it's driving me mad because I'm weak in every way that counts!
Someone opens the door to our room. I hear it even beneath the surface of all this crushing desperation. Dean, it must be Dean and Cass. My hopes lift in a tiny way and then crash back down to earth with a startling force because killing Famine has obviously not worked. I'm still craving away, still yearning with every limited beat of my heart.
"Guys?" I call out, having put my escape plan impatiently on hold, "guys, what happened? I don't think it worked" Tremors of need and want and feverish cold persist in coursing through my body and I have to force my head back against the tiled wall. "I think I'm still –" My speech breaks off sharply as the door to the bathroom slams open and in step two demons clad in black and all I can think is that I'm so happy to see them. I almost laugh in what I know would be a rather delirious fashion because they're mine now. Two bodies crammed with beautiful, warm demon blood all for me. They don't stand a chance against my hunger and what I'm willing to do to stop it. And this time I do laugh. And yes, it is delirious.