Author's Note: Warnings for language, cannibalism, and a steaming heap of disturbing. Written for a horror fic meme on livejournal, and let that speak to content.

He didn't realize what it was the first time they offered it to him.

He was hungry, starving. Meat had never tasted so damn good. And that was all it was. Meat.

There were a lot of things wrong when Dean came back from Hell; the fact that food all tasted like ashes in his mouth wasn't all that much, all things considered. It wasn't that he wasn't hungry. It was just that nothing tasted…right. Nothing tasted good enough. Not even bacon cheeseburgers tasted good anymore.

And with everything else…food just wasn't exactly at the top of Dean's mind.

But then he started to remember. That was bad for a lot of reasons.

The first time it happened, he was walking back to the car and stopped, watching a girl go by. She was wearing a halter top and shorts, her legs long and muscular. Probably a runner.

Dean swallowed, and realized that his mouth had filled with saliva.

"Come on, man, what're you doing?" Sam's voice from the car broke into his reverie and Dean looked quickly away. He crossed the street and sat down in the car. His stomach growled. Sam rolled his eyes.

"Dude, we just had lunch," he said. Dean grimaced.

"I know. You ever…been hungry, and wanted something really bad, but you don't know what you want and nothing else tastes good?"

"It's called a craving, Dean. Girls get them during PMS."

Dean glared at his brother, but without any feeling. "Yeah, and that's what I've got. A craving. And I don't know what the hell for."

"Let me know if you figure it out," Sam said, and Dean hated him a little for sounding so flippant. He was so hungry.

He ordered a steak, rare, the next time they stopped to eat, and ate the whole thing. It sat uneasily in his stomach and he watched the waitress instead until Sam poked him. "Dean," his brother said, "Cut it out. You're freaking her out looking at her like she's prime rib or something."

Yeah, he pretty much got it then, and bolted for the bathroom to toss up the steak.

The thing was, that just made him even hungrier than before.

~.~

Mostly, he could deal with it. Mostly, it wasn't that bad. Mostly.

Except sometimes when he was out getting coffee, or running early, a jogger'd go by and Dean just – wanted. Except sometimes when they were interviewing witnesses Dean couldn't help but stare and try not to think too hard.

Except once when they were looking into a spontaneous combustion case and checking out the crime scene, Dean just got…hungry.

Of course, he was hungry all the time now. It just about drove him crazy sometimes.

And then there was Sam.

Sam wasn't the weird one anymore. Sam stayed with him and didn't look too freaked out, most of the time. Sam rubbed his back when he tried to eat something and it came right back up.

Sam looked delicious.

There was so damn much of him, too. It wasn't like, Dean caught himself thinking once, he would miss just a little bit. He always stopped himself there, feeling a weird combination of bile surging up his throat and hunger churning in his stomach.

God, but he was just so hungry.

And Sam was there all the time…

"Dean?" Sam shook his shoulder and Dean snapped his head around, considering sinking his teeth into Sam's hand, just for a taste, dammit, really, that's all. "Dean, come on. We've got a case."

"A case? Yeah…right."

It was just hard to focus when all he could think about is hunger and those people on the street corner and the man carrying a fucking baby and Sam, fuck, Sam.

He lurched out of the car. "Come on," he mumbled, and shoved his hands in his pockets and walked. Sam followed him a moment later, a few steps behind to his left, and Dean could almost feel his worry and wished he didn't feel like asking if Sam would mind if he just took a little bit, please?

He was losing his fucking mind and there was nothing he could do about it but try to pretend he didn't want like there was no tomorrow and the world was an all-he-can-eat buffet, and maybe it wouldn't have been so bad to stay in Hell, at least they fed him there.

"You okay?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," Dean said, even though all his thoughts have narrowed to one thing and one thing only: hungry.

They did the interviews and salt-and-burned some bones and went to the bar for a drink, and Dean got so drunk he could hardly stand, because being surrounded by all those people just made him feel…odd. "Sam," he slurred, "Sam, I think there's something wrong with me."

"It's okay," Sam said, but Dean didn't miss the way he grimaced like it wasn't okay at all, which was okay, because it wasn't. "Nobody blames you. I don't blame you."

Sam poured him into bed and Dean woke up halfway through the night, listening to Sam breathe and swallowing hard because he can almost smell his brother from here, and it isn't soothing or anything it should be, just tempting.

He bolted outside and looked up at the stars, taking some deep breaths of air that didn't smell like anything.

He wondered if this was what it's like to be a monster, to want things so bad that you just couldn't help but take them.

Dean took a deep breath through his mouth, and could almost taste it, red and rare and screaming.

He closed his eyes and tried to pretend that didn't make him feel good instead of sick.

~.~

It's sweet. Oh god, it's sweet. Nothing in the world has ever tasted this good.

"Oh fuck, fuck no Dean – aaaugh-"

So fucking good. Like being hungry forever and finally settling in and oh right he has been hungry forever and why did he wait so long in the first place- fresh and rare and mmmm.

"Stop-"

He's running hot and cold and there's something he really should remember, but he's hungry so it can wait, dammit, wait until he has his fill, and there's blood all over the place and he can hear moaning as he chews and swallows.

Probably that should bother him, but it doesn't.

It's just meat.