A/N: *Whistles* I'm sorry that this is so late guys. The past two weeks I've had over twenty hours of homework (per week), toss in commute time to and from school (an hour and a half both ways) and work (lets not go there) and here we are. Shorter than I like so…I'm sorry. The chapter title is a song by Nick Lowe. Much love, and enjoy!

Highway to Hell

Chapter Four: Cruel to Be Kind

Two hours turned into twenty-four. Twenty-four threatened to turn into forty-eight. The migraine pills did nothing and Sam was left incoherent on the couch, Dean at his wit's end on how to help.

Come on, kiddo. You gotta eat something.

Just gonna barf it back up, Dean…gotta help Dad. Go help Dad.

Dean sighed and tried to remain patient, but Sam was tap-dancing on his last nerve with all this, 'don't worry about me and save everyone else' crap. Granted, Dad wasn't just anyone else…but, still.

"John hasn't called you back yet, has he?" Bobby asked softly from where he stood in the doorway, staring into the pitch-black living room. The two of them had blocked all the windows with heavy blankets, and even covered the windows in the next room, to keep the light from coming in and doing anything more to Sam's overly sensitive eyes.

Dean shook his head. "Could be because he's in trouble," he said softly. "Could just be because…"

"He's an ass?" Bobby smirked.

Dean's own lips threatened to quirk into a smile, but he quickly turned the movement into a frown. "Sammy?"

Sam moaned from his position on the couch. M'okay…just feel like I'm on a freakin' boat…

Dean ran a hand over his face, letting his exhaustion bleed through for a second before the carefully constructed mask fell back into place. Bobby jerked his head and disappeared, and Dean sighed before following, knowing an order when he saw one. The second they were both safely ensconced in the kitchen, Bobby rounded on him.

"You're gonna collapse if you try to keep this up, boy. Your brother ain't the only one that needs to eat around here."

Dean didn't respond, instead just releasing his wings and letting them stretch, flexing them out and then folding them close, rolling his neck and shoulders to try to release tension.

"Dean."

"What am I supposed to do, Bobby? Every time he uses these damn powers he gets worse. You'd think that his body would adjust…"

"Dean."

"I mean, for all I know he could try to heal a paper cut next week and end up in a coma!"

"Dean."

"Or, have a seizure, or…"

"Dean!" Bobby snapped.

Dean immediately realized two things. He hadn't taken a breath since he'd started raving and he was hovering nervously nearly six inches above the tiled floor. "Sorry," he muttered, dropping back to the ground.

"Did Sam pass out after he healed your thumb?"

"No. He got a headache. And he was cold. But he was soaked at the time…"

"Did he pass out after he healed your ankle?"

"No…"

"Has he passed out after a vision before?"

Dean thought back to when he'd left John and Sam alone in the motel room. "Yes."

"Okay."

"Okay, Bobby? He wasn't like this afterwards!"

"Were his angelic powers, or whatever you boys are calling them, on-line at the time?"

"No." He collapsed into one of the rickety chairs at the kitchen table. "So you think it'll be like this with every vision?"

"No," Bobby shook his head and took a chair across from Dean, carefully weaving around the wings that the younger hunter kept adjusting every few seconds. "From what we could gather, this vision was rather intense, wasn't it? It wasn't just a split second. He saw nearly ten minutes worth of…whatever it was…"

Dean nodded, dropping his head in his hands. "I just hate feeling useless."

"I know, kiddo," Bobby said comfortingly. "Beer?"

*~~*

John ignored his phone as it vibrated across the passenger seat.

He had no doubt that it was Dean…again.

The kid had been trying to get a hold of him ever since he'd left the two boys in that motel room. The messages had ranged from mild upset, to casual questioning, to downright pissed off. So John had stopped checking them. Dean might not understand it now, but John was doing what was best for him. What was best for all of them.

Which was why he was parked on a deserted street in this town, watching the snow swirl around him and looking for any more signs of demonic activity. He'd found that there had been a house fire here, nearly twenty-three years ago. The only survivor was a baby girl. She'd been adopted, fostered by a kindly older couple. Who'd gone missing about a week ago.

It had taken some mind-numbing research, but John finally realized that there could be a lot of kids out there like Sammy. Kids who didn't have John and Dean to look after them. Who didn't have angel blood to, if not negate the demon blood, fight it. Kids like this Allison.

According to medical records, Allison had started complaining of severe headaches not long after she turned twenty-two.

She'd disappeared almost three months ago.

The phone vibrated again. John waited for it to stop and then flipped it open. He had twenty messages…and a hundred missed calls?

John went to delete all the messages when the screen lit up in his hand. Bobby Singer.

Sighing, but knowing he'd never hear the end of it if he didn't pick up the phone, John pushed the little green button. "Winchester," he grunted, eyes scanning the dark. It was hard to see through the whorls and eddies of snow that the wind was kicking up.

"Dad."

The voice was strained and hoarse. He'd heard his sons in pain enough to recognize the fact that someone was injured. Maybe he should have picked up the phone. Or at least checked his messages. "Sammy?"

"Dad…don't…"

He could hear the ragged breathing, harsh and echoing through the tinny connection. "Sam, what's wrong? Are you hurt? Is your brother okay?"

"Allison…"

John's brain tried to figure out why his son would know anything about Allison. "Sammy, how do you know about…"

Dean's voice filtered through on the other end, a 'Hey, Sammy,' followed by a, 'what the…' a few choice words, and the sound of objects probably crashing to the floor as Dean moved them out of his way. "Dad," Sam said, though it clearly wasn't directed at his father.

Dean sounded much closer as a "Sit down before you fall down," echoed in John's ear. Then, "Dad?"

"Dean."

"Shit, Dad, try to answer the phone once and awhile, why don't ya?"

John wasn't in the mood to be reprimanded by his oldest. He needed to know why Sam knew about Allison. "Dean, how does your brother know about Allison?"

The only sound was that of Dean's quiet breathing. Finally, he cleared his throat. "You ah…you remember…that fit…that Sam had…when you were in the motel room with him?"

Like John could forget the sight of his son passed out and bleeding from his nose on the bathroom floor. "Yeah."

"Apparently…the demon blood…it's giving him visions…"

John sat in shocked silence, not caring about what was lurking outside in the dark surrounding his truck anymore. "What do you mean, visions?"

"Like of us…when we're in trouble. And he's always right, Dad."

"And you didn't think to tell me this? Something like this happens to Sam, Dean, and you should call."

"I did call, Dad. I've been calling!" Dean snapped. "I'm not the one that dumped his kids in some god-forsaken motel room and ran off…" What sounded suspiciously like a sob reached John's ears. Before he could say anything else, another voice took Dean's place.

"Go look after your brother, son." John flinched. He should just hang up now and pretend that none of this had ever happened. He should have realized by the caller id just who his sons were with. "John."

The voice was colder than the snow outside. "Bobby."

"Whatever you're doing, John. Don't."

John's ire rose. "You don't even know…"

"I know you well enough, John Winchester. I know you well enough to know that you ran off for what you think is your sons' own good to hunt down that stupid demon, when your boys really need you on the home front, not behind enemy lines. I know you haven't picked up the phone since you left them. I know that you had no idea, because your head is up your ass as usual, that Sam was having visions, that he can heal people, but it hurts him when he does it. Bet you didn't know that Dean can make things float around all over the place. That the angels contacted them to have them hunt down people with demon blood."

"How I raise my children is none of your damn business, Singer." The last time he'd said those words, he'd been threatened with buckshot.

"They aren't children anymore, John. They're grown men, with grown men problems. I'm not asking you to hold their hand, John. I'm asking you to pick up the phone."

"If I picked up the phone every time that one of them called, I'd never be off it."

"Did you ever think that they wouldn't call so often if they knew that you'd pick up?"

John leaned forward, resting his head on the steering wheel. "What do you want me to do, Bobby?" He caved. Never let it be said that John Winchester wasn't a sucker.

"Wait for the boys to show up. Sam had some vision about you and Allison. It apparently doesn't end well."

"If I don't take her down tonight, Bobby, then I may lose her again."

"John…"

"I'm sorry, Bobby. I can't." Not if it'll keep the boys safe. He shut the phone, expecting it to buzz a few seconds later. It didn't.

*~~*

Bobby slipped quietly into the living room. Sam and Dean were both on the couch, television droning softly, a bluish glow bathing their pale faces. Sam's feet were wedged under Dean's thigh, and Dean's hand rested on Sam's calf, but neither of them looked at Bobby or acknowledged one another.

Sam's headache had improved exponentially in the past couple of hours, but he was far from full form, plus he was still one arm short. "He's still going, isn't he?" Sam asked quietly, eyes never straying from the television.

Bobby saw Dean's hand tighten spasmodically on Sam's leg before loosening again. Sighing, he pulled off his ball cap and ran his hand through his hair. His hand dropped and he twisted the cap around, clearing his throat. "Your daddy thinks he's doing what's best for you boys."

"He usually does," grunted Dean. Red-rimmed eyes gave away his exhaustion, but any evidence of the tears that Bobby had seen when he'd found Dean on the phone were gone, probably hidden before he'd even made it back to Sam.

"We gotta do something," Sam muttered, attempting to haul himself up one-handed, but rather stuck under Dean.

"Like what, Sam?" Dean didn't mean to snap, but he couldn't help it.

"I don't know…but he's going to…she'll kill him, Dean."

Dean shrugged, still staring vacantly at an infomercial.

"Castiel…" Sam whispered.

"What?" Dean did mean to snap this time, and his head whipped around so fast that Bobby was surprised that it didn't fly off.

"Michael said to call him if I found any people like me. He must have meant the visions. He can help Dad."

"If Dad doesn't shoot him first."

"Hopefully angels are bulletproof."

Dean shook his head. "I don't know, Sammy. Dad isn't gonna want any meddling…"

"Dean, we did promise."

Dean turned to Bobby this time, imploring him for help, but Bobby just tilted his head. And then Sam turned the puppy dog eyes on him. Bobby sighed, scratched at his forehead, and grunted. "This place ain't really suitable for company, but…"

"Thanks, Bobby," said Sam. "Castiel!"

"Jeez, Sam, not so loud," Dean muttered, sinking back into the couch and lifting his hand from Sam's leg to rub at his eyes.

"Yes?"

Bobby jumped and spun, eyes widening at the sight of the young man in a khaki coat standing in the middle of his living room.

"Cass, Bobby Singer," mumbled Dean, cracking open one eye. "Bobby, this is Castiel."

"I am an angel of the Lord."

"Uh-huh…" Bobby slowly backed away, coming to stand behind the couch, putting Dean and Sam in the line of fire.

"Chicken," Dean muttered, grin splitting his face and making him look sixteen again.

"Shuddup."

Castiel redirected his stare to Sam. "You called?" His eyes narrowed. "What happened to your arm?"

"Garden gnome," Dean's grin widened further as Sammy blushed to his roots at the angel's scrutiny.

"I am not familiar with this garden gnome…"

"Have you seen the little ugly guys that humans put in their lawns?"

"Yes."

"That's a garden gnome."

"Did you trip over one, Samuel Winchester?"

"Dean," Sam muttered, trying to look anywhere but at the angel.

"Something like that, mphfm." Sam's foot connected hard with Dean's side. "Cut your toenails, Sam."

Castiel looked from one to the other, confused. "Is there a reason you called me, Samuel? Perhaps to help with this garden gnome?"

"No, no," Sam said quickly, grimacing as he sat up straighter, causing the pain throbbing through his temples to spike. "I had a vision."

The angel's eyebrow quirked. "And what did you see in this vision?"

Sam debated about what to tell the angel. He didn't want to get his father into any sort of trouble. "A girl…her eyes were yellow. I think she's…"

"One of the demon children? Was she…"

Sam swallowed, hard. "Definitely bad." He cleared his throat. "She has telekinesis, I think." His head pulsed again and he swallowed down a wave of nausea. He didn't want to barf in front of an angel.

Dean recognized his brother's struggle, and interrupted. "We think she's here," he said, reaching for a map on the coffee table in front of him. He pointed to a small town in Montana. "Actually, we know what house she's in too. Managed to narrow it down by the real estate agent on the for sale sign. Her name's Allison. She should be at 212 Snowberry Lane."

"When did you have this vision?" Castiel asked, peering at the map.

"Couple of days ago," Sam said quietly.

"Then how do you know that it has not already happened?"

"I just do."

Castiel nodded slowly. "I shall have to talk to Michael," he said quietly. And then he was gone.

"Where'd he go?" Dean peered around the room.

"That's an angel?"

Sam leaned back, ignoring both Bobby and his brother. Castiel hadn't promised that anyone was going to find Allison. For all he knew his dad was pinned to a wall right now. He had wings, and he couldn't even fly there, not in his condition, and not with the snow storm raging outside. And what would he do with one arm out of commissions? Stand there and heal people? At least Dean could throw stuff back. He'd charge right in there with his fiery sword and decapitate anyone who got in his way.

All in all, Sam felt rather useless.

*~~*

John's sneak attack was going well.

As well as it could in a foot of snow. He hadn't fallen yet, so that was a plus. At least, he thought it was a plus. Compared to his soaked jeans and damp boots…

Very slowly, he peered around the corner of the house. All Quiet on the Western Front.

The snow crunched under his feet as he made his way to the back. He got caught twice in a drift, nearly face planting, and resigned himself to being wet and miserable. Adjusting stiff fingers on his shotgun, John reached for the handle on the back door and nearly had a heart attack. Bright white light poured from every window and through the cracks in the walls. "Holy shit!"

Dropping down into a drift, John covered his head with his arms, fully expecting the house to explode into a million pieces any second now. This was it--he was going to die buried under a freakin' house in the snow…hypothermia was going to set in, he was going to freeze slowly, become a hunter-sicle…

Eventually, he realized that the house hadn't come down around his ears.

It registered that perhaps Sam had been right about this hunt.

That thought was quickly chased away by the fact that his boys must have done something if he was still alive and shivering in a snow bank next to an empty house.

Just to be sure, he pushed open the door, scanning the dark room. The kitchen was empty, cupboards open and bare, a few of the cabinet doors hanging at odd angles. Burn marks littered the walls. He slipped from the room, wincing as the wooden floor creaked and gave away his position.

The rest of the first floor was just as empty, the only furnishings left were the chicken curtains hung through nearly every room of the house. Carefully, John picked his way towards the staircase, directing the beam of his high powered flashlight up the stairs.

Every step noisily protested his weight, and John was glad to reach the top, a little afraid that they might decide to collapse any second. The second floor was the exact opposite of the one that John had just seen. There was garbage everywhere. Books, furniture, and other random items littered the floor. If he didn't know any better, John would say that a tornado had come through.

A quick check revealed all the rooms to be empty and John couldn't help the niggling thought in the back of his mind from growing.

His boys had done something.

And he wasn't going to like it.

One hand fished into his pocket as he stormed down the stairs and out the door, braving the large drifts back to his truck. Pressing the speed-dial, John raised the cold phone to his ear, holding it close to block out the noise of the wind.

"Dad? Are you okay?" Dean's voice was higher than usual. It was a sure sign that he was worried.

"What did you boys do?"

Silence. That confirmed it.

"Dean." Still nothing. "Dean, what the hell did you boys do?!"

He threw the gun in the bed of the truck and hopped in, too cold to put the gun back in its proper place right now.

"Dean. Answer me. What did you two do?"

"It…it's a long story, Dad."

"How long, Dean?" he sighed, blood pressure lowering when he heard the hesitancy in Dean's voice. He didn't want to scare his son, but he needed to make sure both of them were okay. Reaching blindly, John turned the heat up full blast and put the truck in drive, slip-sliding down the empty road.

"Pretty long…see, we got a flat…"

"A flat?"

"Yeah, on the Impala…" Dean cleared his throat. "And this whole town was, like, anit-gay, and they thought Sam and I were together. Oh, and I impersonated an angel and then…"

"Dean…"

"Yes, sir?"

"Just stay put, I'll be there tomorrow evening, day after tomorrow at the latest." "Yes, sir." Dean's relief was almost tangible and John swallowed hard as he hung up. His sons needed him now.

A/N: Well, let me know what you guys think! Thanks for stopping by. Oh, and flames will be used to thaw out John. ;)