Sam Winchester was an abomination.
Drinking demon blood and destroying the final seal had certainly been taken into account when bestowing that title. But this, this torture, that Castiel was experiencing, this is what made Sam Winchester a thing to be abhorred from the pits of the filthiest corners of Heaven and Earth.
"Dean," Castiel rasped, "I…I can't-this…"
He wheezed in a breath only to forcibly expel it from his lungs immediately after with a hacking cough.
"You never really get used to it," Dean said darkly, grimly watching the road.
"Can we not," Castiel choked, "open a window?"
"And have you hanging out the Impala like an afghan? I suffer, you suffer."
"You two can kill the dramatics," Sam told them tersely, getting annoyed at the two, "It's not that bad."
"Sammy, both us have been to Hell," Dean replied with tasteless humor, "and it smelled better there than in this car right now."
"I long for the taste of brimstone on my tongue if it means respite from this torment," Castiel lamented eloquently from the backseat.
"Seriously?" Sam demanded, twisting around to meet Castiel's mournful gaze, "I would think you would be above this kind of thing."
"My loss of powers requires me now to breathe as humans. Never have I missed Heaven's glory more."
With a groan of exasperation, Sam turned back around, bitchface firmly in place.
Out of spite, he let another fart slip out.
"Oh, come on Sammy!"
"You…"Castiel coughed, glowering at the back of Sam's head, "…are an affront to God's creations."
Sam Winchester was a gassy son of a bitch, an abomination.