Blood was infinite. It was never-ending. It was the one sin that Sam could indulge in repeatedly, never quite finding enough of it no matter how hard he tried. Demon after demon, Sam shamelessly tore his way through the city, hungrily seeking out his addiction at every corner. His heart had grown cold and his mind had numbed itself to everything ; that is, everything except for the repetitive cycle of I need more, more, more. With his wish gone, his addiction had turned everything that Sam truly was in, out, backwards, and upside down until the man that he had been was barely recognizable anymore. Sam had opted for the easy way out. He had used his bauble to escape the need that had controlled him for so long, thus making it far too easy for him to crumble when the floodgates blew open. He had no control. He had no focus. Sam was no longer a man with an addiction - he was an addiction that drove a man.
Days passed. The bodies of the possessed piled up at his hands. His sleeves were stained crimson and his eyes carried an inhumane darkness, yet Sam still thirsted for more.
Naturally, it was that thirst that made him so quick to look past the possibility of Lucifer squaring Sam away for a set-up when the demon riding Darcy offered him a taste. He chose a location, then prepped it - though not as well as he probably should have. With a trap at the back and his mind fully focused on bleeding the demon dry, Sam figured he really didn't need much else. He'd cut the demon open, drink it's blood down until it was too weak to defend itself, and then he'd haul it back to the trap and finish it off. That was the plan. It was simple. Easy. One he could do.
At least that was what he had believed. Once the demon decided to make face time, Sam quickly discovered that it was much more complicated than he had thought it was going to be. It was the face. Her face. He had been looking at the demon as just a demon. A drink. Nothing more than a quick re-fuel before he found his next target. He hadn't considered the body.
Sam hadn't considered Darcy. Not until it was far too late.
The numbness that had carried him along for days faded and, in it's place, guilt began to creep into his consciousness, making Sam very aware that something was wrong for the first time since he had started drinking. It was only then that he realized that he had to do something. He had to stop ; Sam had to find a way to put an end to his madness, just as he had to find a way to help Darcy from hers. Though he was fully capable of exorcising the demon that had taken Darcy, his addiction wouldn't let him.
Loki. He was going to have to do it instead. The exorcism and something else. Something important. Something that needed to be done.
With the demon drained just enough for Sam to leave it unattended, Sam planted himself at the end of the alleyway and waited. He had to do this. Had to let Loki kill him. If he didn't, Sam knew that he wouldn't stop. He'd tear his way out of any hole they decided to trap him in, he'd kill as many demons - and people - as he could, just for a taste. He'd go after Peeta, then...then he'd go for Ruby. He'd drink her dry. Sam would kill her and he wouldn't think twice about it until it was long over.
Maybe he wouldn't even think about it then.
No, this was right. Sam didn't want to die. He didn't want to feel the pain, he didn't want to be pursued by Zachariah and his cronies upstairs, but he knew that he had to do it. He'd get put down, the others would figure out how to reverse what Lucifer had done, and then Sam would come back and he'd be okay. Everyone would be safe. The monster would be back in it's cage once more.
When Loki arrived, Sam didn't hesitate to step out of the shadows. He drew his arms out from his sides, holding them up so that Loki could see that he wasn't trying to trick him. His hands were empty. He was alone, save for the demon behind him. Loki had his shot. Now he only needed to take it. "Just like I told you," Sam said unevenly, "she's here. And so am I." He kept his arms up and tightened his jaw, steeling himself for the inevitable. "You want her, you're gonna have to hold up your end of the deal."