AN: Written for the prompt "Do you want me to stop?" on Livejournal's Comment-Fic community. Crossposted to my Tumblr and Archive of Our Own.
Clean
"This is going to burn."
The words echo in his head. And they're an understatement.
This…this is not a burn. This is dry ice melting into his skin, sliding through his veins, freezing nerve clusters and making him unable to move even as he seizes, spine pulled taught and fingers curling into the comforter so hard his nails leave tears. This is acid searing up his spine. This is fire wrapping the crown of his head, making his eyes burn and blur. And he'll be surprised if he doesn't walk away blind. If he walks away.
The fingers on his back move slowly south, drawing more sigils and he thinks the claws of a hellhound might be a welcome reprieve from this and ohfuckingGod he could begforittobeover.
"Do you want me to stop?" Gabriel's voice is low, serious, tired. This is how old men would sound if old men lived for millennia upon millennia. This is how angels sound when they're burning their grace through the body of demon-blood addict.
"No," Sam says, voice warped and weak. "No. Has to be done."
He will walk through the fire. And come out clean.
End