A/N: I get the pig flu and you get another chapter. ;) Doesn't that just figure? Chapter title taken from a song by Wham!…or George Michael. Whichever came first. Sorry it's so short.

Highway to Hell

Chapter Six: Careless Whisper

Bobby and Dean exchanged quick glances, and Bobby cleared his throat. "Sam who?"

"Winchester, you moron," the blonde girl, Ruby, snapped.

"Last I heard, he was still away at school. Stanford, I think," Bobby offered, running a hand over the rim of his ball cap. "I'm not right sure, though. Me and his daddy don't talk much anymore."

"Look, I know for a fact that the idiot with the glowing stick there is Dean. And wherever Sam is, he isn't far behind."

Dean's brow wrinkled. "I haven't talked to Sam in years, lady. He walked out and hasn't looked back since."

Dean…why's Dad standing over me with a gun?

Not now, kiddo. Just stay put.

"Not that I could blame him for leaving you bunch of monkeys, but I know for a fact that you stopped by at least once a month to check on your baby brother. You haven't taken a hunt on the east coast since he left. It's a little cold outside, and I'd appreciate it if you invited me in."

Unsure of what exactly was going on, both boys stepped back from the door and Ruby stepped forward…and bounced back.

Glancing up at the devil's trap over the door, she swore. "Now, that's not very nice."

Dean jumped forward, flames licking at Ruby's face. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't send you to Hell right now."

"Because," she smiled coyly, "I can do something your floating fairy friends can't. I can save Sam."

"He…he doesn't need to be saved…"

Ruby shrugged. "Suit yourself, Deanie-boy," she stepped backwards out of reach. "I'll be around when you change your mind." She slipped back into the shadows, and Dean's sword flickered, then spluttered out, leaving him in the dark.

Dean…is Dad gonna shoot me?

He laughed, but it was a humorless laugh, one born of frustration and desperation and that threatened to turn into tears. Dad's not gonna shoot you, Sammy.

DEAN!

Dean whirled, slamming Bobby into the wall as he pushed past and through the hall, the sword erupting in bright light as he rounded the corner.

John Winchester stood over his youngest son, gun directed uncomfortably close to Sam's head. "DAD!"

Black eyes turned, and an awkward grin split the hunter's features. "Well, since you wouldn't let me talk to Sam…"

"You know, this really ain't winnin' me over, bitch."

"Now, you have to listen, cowboy. Or I'm gonna shoot your brother. I won't kill him…but maim him…I don't need him physically whole."

Dean?

Just stay down, Sam.

He could feel the heat radiating from the sword, fueled by his own anger, and the flames lept up and curled around his wrist. Wings tore from his back, but he didn't flinch, eyes burning the with the same reflective gold as his sword.

John grinned. "So it is true…you're bastard children. And that's why we need you." He cocked his head at Sam, who glanced at Dean, eyebrows raising as the flames continued to move higher around Dean's arm, wrapping him in a fiery cloak.

"What the Hell do you want?"

"Redemption," John whispered, and his head tipped back, mouth open wide as black smoke swirled out and around, making a beeline for the cracked window. Dean followed it, slamming the window shut, and turned to find that Sam had managed to catch their father and lever him onto the couch.

"Dean?" Sam asked softly as Bobby peered through the open doorway, rubbing at the goose egg on his head.

Dean glanced down at his arm, watching as the flames receded and died. Moving towards the wall, he found his sheath and put the sword away, still not acknowledging Sam's question.

"Dean?"

John groaned and sat up, rubbing at his head. "I thought you'd fortified this place, old man," he muttered.

"Who you callin' old?" Bobby snapped.

"You."

Dean folded his wings in, pushing past Sam and Bobby. He was heading for the kitchen--more specifically, the fridge. Leaning into the cooler, he pushed around leftovers, looking for the cold beer he'd seen Bobby stash there earlier. A hand on his elbow caused him to jump, and he smacked his head off the top of the refrigerator. "Shit!"

A hand beat his to the back of his head, and a cooling rush dulled and then erased the throbbing pain. "Sorry."

"What did I tell you about heal…What?"

"Your eyes are still gold."

Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath, willing away the last remnants of that warm power. "Better?" he asked, peering up at Sam.

"I didn't say it was bad…but yeah, they're normal again."

"Good," he muttered, reaching in and pulling out two of the beers. "You healed Bobby's head too, didn't you?" He turned, passing one bottle to his brother and collapsing at the worn table.

Sam shook his head. "I didn't think it was a good idea…not with Dad there."

Dean snorted, leaning back in his chair. "Dude, I just turned into a glowing freak."

"Yeah…but he was possessed. He probably won't even remember it…" Sam cleared his throat, taking his own rickety chair. "So…uh…why's there some demon flirting with you?"

Beer came out his nose and mouth as the chair slammed to the floor. Sam jumped up, thumping him hard between his wings as he choked and spluttered. "She was not," he squeaked between coughs.

Sam grinned.

"You bitch," Dean groaned, realizing that his brother had just gotten him back for the dress.

"Jerk," Sam chirped.

Dean moaned, head thumping hard against the table as he hid it under his arms.

"Dean's got a girlfriend, Dean's got a girlfriend," Sam balanced his chair on two legs as he sing-songed.

Dean's foot jerked out, catching the chair leg, and Sam tumbled to the ground. "Oww…" he mumbled, sitting up and rubbing the back of his head where it had hit the tile.

"What are you two idjits doin'?"

"Nothing," they chorused, peering up at the older hunters.

"You break my table and you'll be buildin' me a new one."

"Yes, sir."

Sam groaned, straightening and snatching up the chair.

"So," John cleared his throat, sitting between the boys. "Uh…I'm sorry, for uh, pointing that gun at you…"

"It wasn't you, Dad," Sam said softly.

"Sam…" John reached out a trembling hand, and froze. "Sammy," he whispered, fingers brushing back a stray curl. His hand closed around Sam's head and he pulled Sam towards him, tears running down his cheeks. "I'm so sorry, Sammy. I'm sorry, baby."

Dean stood, chair scraping quietly as he followed Bobby out.

One hand stroked frantically through Sam's hair, the other tight around Sam's back. "I just love you so much, and I was so scared that when you went away I was gonna lose you…"

"Dad," Sam's broken voice interrupted. "I love you, too." His arms reached up and snagged in John's jacket, and his head fell automatically to his father's shoulder, as it had many years before.

"I could never hate you, Sammy," he whispered. "Never."

*~~*

"What's going on with my boys, Bobby?"

John peered into the darkened room one last time, just to make sure they were both still sleeping soundly. He'd sent Sam to take another shower, knowing that it would help calm the kid down, and went to check on Dean, only to find his oldest sobbing into Bobby's shoulder. He was sent to take a shower as soon as Sam was done and they were both sent to bed, John worried that they were too exhausted to think straight let alone figure out what this whole demon thing was.

Bobby nodded his head toward the kitchen and John followed, picking up Sam's unfinished beer and taking a long draw. "Well?"

"They've been in a bad way since you left them, John." Bobby sighed, mopping up the beer that Dean had spewed with a wet rag. "Wandered around rather aimlessly. Sam was trying to heal everything in sight I guess, wearing himself down and pissing Dean off, but they weren't hunting. Still aren't, I guess. Minus the gnome."

"The what?"

"Hmm…oh, the garden gnome," Bobby mumbled from inside the fridge, pulling out two fresh beers. "Sucker bit Dean and stabbed Sam pretty good--that's why his arm is in the sling, though he appears to be healing a little faster than normal. Haven't told Dean that, it'll just freak him out even more. Anyway, that didn't happen until after the angels contacted them."

"Those bastards didn't hurt my boys, did they?"

"No," Bobby shook his head. "Just asked a favor of Sam. If he figured out where any of the others like him were, they asked that he let them know."

"So they can kill them?"

Bobby shrugged. "In the case of the girl you were after…I'd guess yes. But Dean made them promise that he and Sam wouldn't have to kill anyone." He was scrounging through a drawer, looking for his bottle opener.

"Just use the counter," John muttered. "It isn't like Dean hasn't dented it anyway."

Bobby turned and glared before conceding. "Anyway, at this point the boys had a flat tire, a rat infested motel room, and had been accused of being gay multiple times. Oh, and Dean had impersonated an angel."

"He what?!"

"Uh-huh. Apparently Michael didn't care too much. So, they hit the road, nearly hit some girl, saved her and her mother from some killer garden gnome, and headed here for Christmas." His chair protested as he settled in it, and Bobby wondered if this was the time the thing was going to break.

"Sam had a vision about you, and some girl and that house. You died. He called you, you were yourself, so he summoned one of those angels, and here you are."

"And the demon?"

Bobby shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. Though, something is bothering Dean, so he probably knows more than he's admitting to."

"Dean usually does," John muttered, recalling a melted Snickers bar that had been stuck on the back of his jeans. Neither Dean nor Sam would fess up to it. Still.

"But whatever Dean knows, Sam doesn't," Bobby added, tracing the wet ring left by his bottle.

"Which means it's probably about Sam," John sighed.

"Would anything else cause Dean to break down like that?" Bobby took another long swallow of his beer. They sat in silence the rest of the night.

*~~*

"What do you mean, you're leaving?" Dean hissed.

"I need to figure out what these demons are doing…I'm closer than I've ever been to getting this yellow-eyed bastard, Dean. And I have a feeling that this demon has to do with whatever you're hiding from Sam."

Dean winced and glanced around to make sure the brother in question wasn't there.

"The angels are divided…he still might…Fall."

"With a capital 'f'?"

Dean nodded.

"Dean…kiddo. Sammy isn't going to fall. Not with a little f, and not with a big f."

"How do you know?" Dean whispered, eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"Because, Dean. When has Sam ever fallen and you haven't caught him?" John paused, letting his words sink in. "And if he ever does fall…you know we'll all be right there picking up the pieces and putting them back together. You don't have to do this alone, Dean."

"But he's my responsibility," Dean's voice was thick, and a single tear made its own path through a myriad of freckles.

"No, Dean. He's your brother." John grinned. "Always figured you thought he was a puppy. Half expected you to bring home a collar and leash so you could walk him."

A smile pulled at Dean's lips. There had been a time, okay, so he'd been eight, when that exact thought had gone through his head. Sam was his. His to take care of. His responsibility.

"Nah," Dean's eyes were still watery. "Kid never learned to heel properly." He cleared his throat. "You need to tell Sam you're leaving. I can't…I won't do that to him."

As Dean retreated John thought it was strange how his son looked incomplete and somehow vulnerable without those big, black wings wrapped around his back.

*~~*

"What are you doin', Sammy?"

Sam threw more clothes into his duffle, clearly not caring that they were all going to be wrinkled. "Packing, Dean. I'm going with Dad."

"Does Dad know you're going with Dad?"

Sam paused in his hurried stuffing. "No."

"Did you ask Dad?"

Sam looked down and away. "Hesaidno," Sam mumbled.

"Uh-huh." Dean brushed a hand through his hair. "Dad's going after the demon, Sam…"

"And we should be there!" Sam snapped. "That demon killed Mom, killed Jess…freakin' infected me!"

"Sam…"

"No, Dean. I thought about it. How else would a demon know where to find me unless I was like…a freakin' beacon or something?"

"It was a lucky guess…"

"I'm putting you in danger. You'll be safer if I'm with Dad."

"Woah, woah," Dean put his hand up. "You aren't going anywhere without me."

"Dean…Put me down!" Sam was floating a good three feet off the ground, held in the air by his brother.

"Not until you promise me you aren't leaving."

"Put me down you jerk!"

"No way, bitch." Dean lifted him higher and started spinning him in circles. "You. Aren't. Going. Anywhere. Without. Me."

"DAD!!!!"

John thundered down the stairs and into the living room. "Dean."

"Huh?" He spun Sam faster.

"Put your brother down."

"Not until he promises that he isn't going anywhere without me."

"Where was he going?" John asked, glancing up at his youngest, who was steadily turning a strange shade of green. "Uh…Dean…"

"He thought he was going with you and leaving…Ugh! Sammy!"

"Sorry…You know I don't to spinning rides."

Dean floated him over to the couch and pinned him there, shrugging out of his jacket that was now covered in the remains of Sam's breakfast.

"Sam, it's safer for both you and your brother if you don't come with me."

"I've got to do something, Dad." Sam's pleading eyes were already working their magic powers…

John was going to regret this. "Why don't you track down that girl from your vision. You and Dean work on the angel side of things. I'll figure out the demon side."

"You'll be careful?"

Apparently Dean sensed that there was something more behind that loaded question. He released his brother and Sam sunk back into the couch, and Dean was almost instantly next to him. "Sam?" Vision?

"No, Dean. I've just got a really bad feeling about this."

"I'll be careful, Sam. Promise."

"Okay."

A/N: Sorry it sucks. Hope you enjoyed anyway. :)