Warnings: spoilers up til the end of season 8. Extreme sap. Like, seriously, more than usual, even more than my Merthur fics. Also general over description and lack of cohesion. Woops.

Planning on several short chapters, if I can be bothered. See you in hell, bitches xx

It was gross. It was nasty. And it felt like hell. Which, he supposed, was kind of the point; removing that particular brand of taint from his body. Sam's throat felt like he'd swallowed one of Cas' beehives from the angel's psych ward days, felt like the lumpy, scratchy and downright fire hot itchiness swirling from his mouth down to his chest was his soul being shredded and flayed by dear old Luci in the pit. It felt like he had his own mini leviathan eating away inside his freaking oesophagus even as he was hacking up the blood it left in its wake. Good old purifying, making him feel just so damn good about himself.

Dean, of course, was mother-henning, which, in turn, was creating in Sam a fiesta of different reactions. It was amusing to see Dean pull his Batman voice on Sam just because he refused to have his temperature taken once again. It was annoying how Dean would flutter at his shoulder, monitoring what he did or didn't eat and trying to drown him in the amount of water he insisted was for "hydration purposes". And...deep, deep down, in a part of him he tried not to acknowledge? Sam was kind of...aroused by the sight of his big brother, all rough grit and macho, being stripped back to a soft and caring core all because he loved his Sammy so damn much that a fever and sore throat couldn't be abided.

But ew, right? Incest and all that. There was a reason Sam was suppressing these strictly not cool and dude that is sick kinds of thoughts. It was just not okay, entirely immoral and illegal on top of that. Not that the law matters all that much after everything they've done, but that's digressing from his point. Morality aside, Sam was scared. And that was his primary motivator for locking these thoughts in a mental demon's trap. Under any and all circumstances, he couldn't lose Dean. There was no Sam without Dean, and he'd like to think no Dean without Sam, selfish as that might be. He'd keep his inappropriate inclinations to himself, stew in angsty ennui whenever Dean wasn't looking.

As a matter of fact, he was doing an awesome job of hiding his unseemly feelings toward his brother. Dean wasn't at all suspicious, everything was fine and working out, and –

"So, Sammy, you gonna tell me what your deal is any time soon?" Dean was standing over him with his lips pursed, all no-nonsense and stoic and really everything that made Sam all weak at the knees. Which was totally not helping.

Playing innocent, Sam brushed him off with a few blasé comments about what the fuck was he talking about and OH MY GOD STOP ATTACKING ME, which had Dean backtracking, hands in the air soothingly.

Heh. He was so smooth, Mission Avoid Suspicion was going so well right now that Sam's indulging in the eye candy of Dean's ass as he bent over the tray he'd just set down was totally excusable. Didn't suspect a thing.

Please review, you'll get your say, a virgin and all the entrails you can eat #VoteCrowley xx