Ohmygosh guyz, my first multi-chaptered story! Please read and review and critique and love because I love youuuu 3

Title: How the Devil Totally Hooked Up the Winchesters

Rating: T (language, nongraphic wincest)

Spoilers: Set season 3-ish, so spoilers all through there. I completely disregard the existence of anything in season 4 or 5, because that is not the Lucifer of MY dreams. Consider this an AU.

Summary: AU. Sam goes to hell instead of Dean. Lucifer plays matchmaker, Sam comes out of the closet, Dean searches desperately for his beloved, and Sam is told to go get his man.

On February twenty-second, Sam goes to hell.

The idea had been simple enough. It included a crossroads, Ruby admitting her ultimate bitchiness, and a few things Sam wasn't too proud of. Dean didn't know, and Sam didn't tell him. He'd wanted to, seen the opportunity a million zillion times, but then Dean would say some bullshit about how he'd do anything to save his little brother, and how Sam had to promise not to use those freaky powers to get him out of it, you know, guilt-trips like that. Sam was a chickenshit till the bitter end, leaving Dean a note where he'd find it, and trotting off to face his destiny. Or whatever.

So, Sam went to see this demon chick, who mentioned Lucifer's interest in Sam only briefly after administering the shot. "What now?" Sam had asked, feeling very, very stupid. The demon had smiled, eyes all black and ominous as she said

"In good time, Sam Winchester. In good time."

Which, 'said' isn't a good adjective at all, Sam heard it as much more a hiss, like popping open a can of coke, only the coke had bad intentions.

The poison kicks in pretty quick, and not painfully. He'd gotten the luxury of choosing where and how the whole death thing was gonna go down. Apparently, hellhounds were a last resort Lucifer was not partial to. He'd chosen a little empty road, and told Dean where to find him in the letter. Sam was getting out of hell, and he didn't want a shot open, stabbed, burned, decaying body to chill in. A particular image of maggots popping out of his eyes always seemed to burrow its way into that train of thought.

Sam is not a liar. Not a big one, at least. The idea of dying scares him a little. From the time that he was dead, he doesn't remember much. He thinks it was pretty much black, and he thinks there were some discussions about where to put him, like some sort of ADHD kid who refuses to stop doing the vocabulary quizzes in crayons. Before anything serious had happened, Dean had pulled him back out. That wouldn't be happening this time. Sam knew just where he was headed, and if he wanted out, it was going to be his own doing. It's all explained in the letter.

He actually researched the poison for weeks. Dean had rested his chin on Sam's knee, peeking at the screen.

"Dude. I'm telling you, it's not anything human killing those girls." He said.

Sam ignored the amazing little horny-lightning shooting up his spine because Dean was so close to his crotch, and sighed in very put upon way.

"We can't just go in guns ablaze, Dean. Just let me do what I'm good at."

"Not getting laid?"

"Not all of us can be man whores."

Dean had stiffened and rolled away from Sam, moving over to his own bed. Sam immediately felt a little guilty.

"Did you know man whore is actually a synonym for awesome?" He said, trying his best to channel apology. Dean smirked, and stretched his entire body.

"Like I said. You need to get laid."

Sam goes down in a crumpled heap, not some graceful falling back and landing sprawled out and sexy. Oh no. His mouth is spitting out hunks of dirt when he dies. He may have shit his pants.

Dean is going to give me hell for this.

Sam will say was his last thought before dying. But that isn't true. Sam was thinking of Dean, of course, and he was thinking

Totally worth it.