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When Sam gets back from the library Dean's on the computer again, beer bottle leaving wet rings perilously close to the keys.

"Dude, if you get beer on my keyboard I'm going to kill you. Also, I'm going to start rationing your internet hours."

"I'm on a mission of mercy," Dean tells him through a grin, and Sam knows that amusement is at his expense. He crosses the room and folds over his shoulder. Even though he's fairly sure he should stop asking and just let his brother get it out of his system. That would be the sensible things to do.

"Stop hovering," Dean complains, and Sam reluctantly moves back.

"The last time I left you unsupervised you let an angel read porn, Dean," Sam reminds him. Which is absolutely true, if Sam's honest he's kind of afraid to go out any more. Because he's fairly sure Dean is going to 'get up to things' while he's gone. More than usual, and now he's encouraging Castiel to 'get up to things' too- though not the sort of things they get up to on the internet, thank god.

"Yeah, well this time I'm trying to find some porn about you, you freak. So you'll stop wafting around emoting like someone kicked your puppy into the street."

"I do not waft," Sam says through his teeth. He resists the urge to lean over Dean's shoulder again for a good fifteen seconds. Then just gives in. "What did you find?"

"Nothing," Dean admits, and Sam glares at his ear.

Dean's eyes slide sideways.

"Seriously, nothing, sorry." Dean shrugs helplessly.

Sam glares at the accusing glow of the screen for as long as it takes him to sigh out a whole breath.

"Great, fabulous. So, according to the internet, I don't deserve to have sex any more. Not even creepy, incestuous gay sex with my brother."

"It's not that bad," Dean protests.

"Not even creepy, incestuous gay sex with my brother," Sam repeats. Because it's worth repeating he thinks.

Dean shrugs in a perfectly readable 'ok, maybe it is that bad,' kind of way.

He steals Dean's beer and Dean doesn't even say anything. Jesus, that's how badly everyone feels sorry for him.

Sam gives up and leaves Dean to it. Stomps back over the other side of the room and pretends Dean's not still searching for proof that he isn't the ugly step-child and unpacks their bags instead. With any luck today they can concentrate on the apocalypse instead of Dean's conquest of the known world, with the occasional detour into 'Dean and Castiel are totally meant to be.'

Sam is not jealous.

He is not jealous of Dean's fictional sex life.

"Dude, you're making the pissy face again." Dean's developing eyes in the back of his head. Or maybe he's just developing freakish angel powers with all the freakish angel-sex he's not actually having.

"It's inter-species you know, it's practically bestiality. The other angels probably shun him," Sam tells him.

Dean flips him off, in a way that manages to be irritated and hurt at the same time.

Sam feels like a bastard.

Which is totally unfair.

He drags his stuff into the bathroom, pushes the door shut behind him and glares at the mirror. He's not exactly hideous, he doesn't smell, he doesn't have a grossly unattractive beard, so yeah, he's been forced to come to the miserable conclusion that it's him- that they just don't like him. They don't like what he's done, or the choices he's made, and yeah he made some bad choices, some stupid choices, but he's sorry, he's really fucking sorry. A million times over.


Why the hell does he care so much about what the internet thinks about him? The Sam Winchester in the books isn't even him; it's just some him that Chuck wrote about. Someone who looks like him and sounds like him, and went through everything he did- Damn it, it is him. The world has voted on Sam Winchester and found him completely unworthy of redemption, or love, or even sex. He's become a plot device in his own life. A plot device to get his brother and Castiel together, and he only has himself to blame.

When did his life get so weird?

Weirder than usual.

And awful.

He used to have better self esteem.

He showers, and then throws on the exact same clothes he had before and tromps his way back out, trailing steam and misery.

Castiel is now bent ever so slightly over Dean's shoulder and, God help him, if they're reading porn together he's sleeping next door.

"I do not believe Sam would find that a comfort," Castiel says quietly, but meaningfully.

"Wouldn't find what a comfort?" Sam really doesn't like the sound of that but, honestly, it's not like it could get any worse.

Dean twists his head round far enough to look at him.

Ok, maybe it could get worse.

"Good news Sam, we did find someone the internet is willing to actually let you get naked and do nasty things with-"

"I don't find it comforting," Castiel interrupts carefully.

Dean glares at him.

"Dude, it's something, he's been bitching about being unloved for almost a week."

"I have not been bitching about being unloved," Sam says fiercely. When maybe he has, a little bit. "Who is it?"

"That would be the bad news," Dean says carefully. He looks at the laptop. "You know what, maybe Cas is right, maybe-"

He closes the window he has open.

Sam takes two steps forward before he's even thought about it, and he's in no way desperate for some sign of literary affection from their fans, at all. He's just curious.

"No, Dean, let me see."

"Maybe it's not a good idea-"

When Sam catches the laptop screen Dean hangs on to it.

Sam manages to wrestle it away before Dean can finish closing all the windows. Not that it really matters, it’s not like he deleted the history. He probably doesn't even know how.

But it quickly becomes obvious why Dean was trying to destroy every trace of his search.

Because it turns out Sam isn't entirely being ignored after all.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me, Lucifer? Seriously, that's what I deserve? Of all the people we've met, all the people we've helped. The only attention I can get is from the devil-"

Sam's fiercely tempted to drop the computer in disgust.

Even Dean looks sorry, Dean, who's whored his skanky ass around with pretty much everyone they've ever met. He looks sympathetic and something else, something- oh god, it's pity isn't it, he rates pity now.

"What did I ever do to these people?!" He says mournfully, desperately.


"No, seriously, no, Dean, this is completely unfair.”

Even Ruby is getting more hot lesbian action than him, he knows, because he checked, and she's dead, and evil, and dead.

God damn it!

Does he have some horrible disease he doesn't know about or something?

"It's something, Sam, see people are writing about you, that means they give a crap right?" Dean's forced grin of optimism is so close to terrifying it's not even funny.

Sam thumps his computer down on the table.

"Great, you get the epic love story and I get the creepy sadomasochistic non-con."

Castiel makes a face of puzzlement.

"You're too young to learn about that," Dean says, pointing a finger at him without looking away from Sam.

"I'm considerably older than you," Castiel protests.

The internet's being a bad influence on both of them.

"Not the point Dean, god damn it!"


His brother is clearly resisting the urge to put his hands over Castiel's ears.

"Please, the conversation you two were having over breakfast this morning I think you can pretty much cross 'blasphemy' off of your 'to do' list."

Dean looks offended, which, on any other day, would be hilarious.

"I was just explaining-"

"Oh, I know what you were explaining, I learnt things about you this morning that will haunt me for the rest of my life."

"Sam, seriously, stop being a drama queen."

"There is no way you deserve all the fake sex you're getting," Sam picks up his laptop. "I'll be next door."

He slams the door behind him.


It takes Sam a second to work out what woke him up.

Until he notices the muted glow of a laptop screen in the darkness, and every so often there's the occasional quiet 'click.' Sam groans and buries his head in the pillow.

"Jesus, Dean can we please stop. Your newest obsession is about an inch away from becoming a mental illness."

Another click and a rough sound of amusement.

Sam pulls the pillow over his head.

"Sam knows what he wants. He lifts his hands and unbuckles Lucifer's belt, warm leather soft under his shaking fingers. He pulls at the button and zipper of his jeans, knuckles pressing against the solid hardness of his cock.

He takes a quick, shaky breath aware that if he does this nothing will be the same. That submitting here and now will change everything and Lucifer will own him in a way he's always fought against.

But Sam knows that in this moment, he wants nothing more than to burn-"

Sam shoves the pillow off of his head in mounting horror.

He rolls over.

The shape sprawled out on the other bed isn't Dean.

"I like this bit," Lucifer says smoothly. "The things you let me do to you Sam." There's a curl of surprised approval in the deepness of his voice, not just approval, really not just approval. Which is disturbing in ways Sam doesn’t even have the brain power to process at the moment.

He kicks his way free of the sheets, stumbling up and across the carpet, and snatches for the edge of his laptop.

"That's a violation, give that to me."

There's a thread of laughter and plastic squeaks under someone's fingers. Then he's wrestling with the devil, who's clearly not even attempting to use the full extent of whatever non-human strength he possesses.

"But I want to know how it ends," Lucifer protests, all amusement and roughness.

Sam pulls harder.

"Not funny-" He wins, abruptly and unexpectedly, flails backwards and hits the bed. It cracks underneath him and he ends up with the hard edge of his computer digging into his ribs. He spends a long second relearning how to breathe.

Lucifer appears, upside down, above Sam's head.

"It's nice to know you're thinking about me, Sam."

"Damn it, I am not!" He says furiously, and he's seriously ten seconds away from whining to the devil that it's all Dean's fault. He tries vainly to think of something to say that doesn't lead, in any way, to talking about the internet porn about the two of them.

Lucifer tips his head to the side.

"I think I could be persuaded to stay in this body for a while. It's not as comfortable, not as perfect as you would be Sam, but I think I'm discovering a new appreciation for leaving you exactly where you are."

"Please go away now," Sam says fiercely, through his teeth.

"Human beings are more creative than I remember." The 'tap, tap' of fingers on his computer is unnecessarily suggestive.

Sam hauls himself upright, laptop thunking heavily onto his thighs.

He wonders if asking Lucifer nicely if he could come back and haunt him tomorrow would work. When he doesn't feel quite so much like drowning himself in the bathroom.

"Can we not talk about the porn," Sam says carefully, harshly. "Honestly, anything else but the porn."

Lucifer laughs and he sounds honestly amused, and that's completely and utterly wrong, in his motel room in the middle of the night, when Sam's not really wearing very much.

"Have you thought about what you want yet Sam? I told you I'd give you something, anything you want." The amount of emphasis he puts on 'anything' is completely unnecessary.

Sam glares at him.

"We're going to kill you," he reminds him. In case he's forgotten.

Lucifer's sighs, like he's disappointed in Sam's inability to subtly change the subject.

Sam doesn't blame him.

The light on his laptop flashes, and that's totally typical, that Lucifer would surf for porn without charging the damn thing!

But when Sam looks up Lucifer is suddenly much, much closer than he was before, close enough to be disturbing and inappropriate considering, close enough to-

-Sam jerks awake, arm flying out and hitting the wall and he's left blinking around the darkness of the empty motel room, half tangled in the sheets, while his heart thunders its way back to normal. He's more than awake now, though he was almost certain he was awake before.

He drags himself up, and the bed complains quietly, mournfully. It's mocking him, because clearly he's never going to get laid ever again.

Plus, he thinks he just taught the devil how to use the internet.

And obviously God hates him.

"Seriously, what did I do?" he complains desperately.