Demons Don't Get Sentimental (Or Treasure Flickr Albums)

There's a metallic taste in his mouth, which is nothing new, really. And it's fine. He loves the taste of blood, always has (not always, the treacherous voice in the back of his mind whispers), he really does, but there's something about it now that feels off, wrong, uncomfortable. Like his perspective on the world has shifted, ever so slightly, and he just can't get it back to what is was before. Before.

He's so cold these days. He wonders how he could stand it before, how they can all stand it. It's Lucifer's fault, he supposes, even if he's locked down far, far away in the cage and there's no physical ice to be found up here, even if torches are burning away merrily - there's a cold that's everywhere and nowhere, coming from deep inside, freezing them from the inside out. Maybe that's all this is, he thinks. Maybe all they are is creatures that have forgotten what it's like to be warm. He'd forgotten, too, until he hadn't, and now all he wants is to feel like that again, to feel that warmth again. How it flew through his veins like the hot springs in Iceland, finally letting him breathe, his heart beating, beating, beating.
He can almost feel it now, a phantom sensation. The copper taste in his mouth intensifies. Kaboom. Kaboom. Kaboom. He thinks of Dean Winchester. Kaboom kaboom.

The throne is cold too, and hard, unforgiving. It's not prickly and dangerous but it still makes him think of that idiotic new fantasy series, the one where everyone dies (he's never died, he prides himself on that - except that one time, of course, but who even was he before that? Pathetic, probably, but he can barely remember. Still he feels like he could if he wanted, now, he was so close -- ). It's kind of funny, he thinks, the way they all fight for a throne that doesn't welcome any of them. He understands of course. It's about the game, about playing, about winning. But he doesn't feel like he's won. His fellow players got him on a hook, and he wants that warmth again.

The boredom, he could handle. It was expected, really. Monopoly's no fun when you've already won. But this? It's all wrong. Kings shouldn't -- kings can't --

There's pictures on his phone, and they make his heart beat again, if only just a little.

Kaboom. Kaboom. Kaboom.

The King sighs, and falls into a daydream again. His phone screen bathes the dark, cold room in surreal blue light, reflecting the cold they are all feeling. He cannot hear the souls scream.

Only the beating of an almost human heart.