Sam knelt down beside her. He honestly didn't think that the body she wore could have gotten any paler than it's usual shade. He had been wrong. She was pale now. Much paler. Even after all the times he'd drank from Ruby, he had never seen her look so...fragile? It was an unsettling thing to witness. Sam decided right then and there that he didn't like it at all.
"Let's just say I found out the hard way that your blood is the only kind for me," Sam said, looking her over distractedly, "won't be going after any of those again."
He had gone out in desperation merely two nights before. Right before Faith had died. Sam had hunted. He cornered a demon. Pinned the thing down. And then, to both his and the demons surprise, he sliced the creature open and began to drink from it.
The haze of chucking up his insides afterward had not been pretty. Never, in his life, had Sam tasted anything so horrible. It wasn't right. It wasn't her.
"I'll be careful with it," Sam assured her, pocketing the flask. "In the meantime...are you all right? You don't look good at all."