Title: Helicopters

Author: Oldach's Dream

Summary: It was a second nature, an instinct. Get in car. Close door. Reach for belt

buckle. It was automatic. It wasn't supposed to save his life. It wasn't supposed to be the reason his best friend was inches from death.

Disclaimer: I own nothing of Supernatural.

Rating: T or PG 13

Chapter Six: Just as soon as we were on the ground, We were back in the jet

Sam woke with a start, sitting up in the motel bed, immediately taking stock of his surroundings. Dean was snoring softly in the bed next to him, and that was all Sam really needed, to know he was safe.

No black, billowy monster was chasing him, he wasn't a passenger in the car that had killed his best friend, he wasn't stuck in a hospital room, completely paralyzed, listening to his father say over and over again; "Maybe this is a good thing."

Those were some of the random flashes he could recall from the nightmare, or nightmares, that he had just awoken from.

Sighing aloud he ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit he had picked up from Dean, one he actually didn't do all that often. He glanced at the red florescent numbers of the clock sitting on the nightstand between their identical motel beds. It read 9:06.

He glanced over at Dean again; his brother was still fast asleep. This didn't surprise Sam in the least. After taking stock of the events of the last few days, he concluded that Dean hadn't slept in almost 24 hours. If you added that to the thing he'd been forced to save Sam from the night before, well, it was no wonder he was exhausted.

Sam winced at the memory of the creature from the night before. He hated having to be saved, from anything, especially when it was something that he shouldn't of needed saving from. That lower level monster was one of those things that he should have been able to fight off himself. Yet he had the sit there and watch Dean do it. His brother the protector.

Despite his annoyance at his own weakness, Sam really was grateful that his brother's mission in life seemed to be to make sure that Sam was always safe. If it wasn't, Sam probably would of died long ago.

His only actual lingering discomfort over the incident was the stiffness in his shoulder, where Dean had tackled him to the ground in order to break Sam's connection with the thing's oily black, hypnotizing eyes.

With that discomforting memory now swimming behind his eyes, Sam rose silently from the bed, untangling the sheets from around his legs in the process, and made his way to the tiny bathroom.

When he returned to the bed a few minutes later, he sat down on the edge of it, not entirely sure what to do. He didn't want to wake Dean, knowing how much the man needed to sleep. He didn't want to try to go back to sleep himself, afraid of the nightmares that would most likely be waiting for him, and simply because he was no longer tired.

His eyes scanned the room for something to occupy himself with, before they landed on the bedside table once again. There. Beside the clock and the lamp, closer to Dean's side, laid his cell phone.

Minutes later found Sam fully dressed, standing on the outside of the motel door, breathing heavily and punching numbers into Dean's phone with slightly shaking hands.

"Yeah?" John Winchester grunted after the fourth ring, Sam could tell he'd been either distracted or asleep.

"Hey dad." Sam said, trying to gauge his father's feelings.

"Sam," he sounded surprised, but not angry. "Is everything okay?"

"Uh..." he wasn't sure what to say, he was confused and hesitant, his father didn't sound angry.

"I know this is taking longer than it should," John continued without waiting for a coherent response from his youngest son. "But it turns out that this ghost isn't just a ghost. It's a manifestation of all the spirits, of all the people, that died in that explosion. They banded together, even after death, to fight and keep people away from their daycare. I've been working on a combination of banishing rites and exorcisms to get rid of it, them."

His voice was excited and eager and Sam wondered how he could just switch his feelings on and off like that. Surly he must still be a little upset? If not at the situation Sam had caused, then at least about his fight with Dean.

Sam wasn't sure what to say next, he hadn't expected this. Somehow, he had thought that his father would be aware that his son's were no longer in the state. He didn't know how he thought John would acquire that information, but Sam had assumed that he would.

"I'm going to Alex's funeral." Sam blurted. It's what he had called to say; he might as well say it.

John let out a heavy sigh and Sam could picture him running a hand over his face as he always did when he was upset or frustrated.

"I understand that you want to go Sam, but I don't think it's a good idea." He was trying to keep his voice level and Sam fought away anger. "We won't have time to drive all the way down to Texas by the time I get back from Cleveland, and we don't have enough money for a plane ticket. Even if we did, Sam, we have to go to Montana; I already lined up a new job for us there."

Well that was news to him, Sam thought, perhaps their father should have thought to share that with them yesterday. Although he wasn't sure what it would of changed, except perhaps to make Dean feel guiltier than he already did.

Sam let out a long breath. "We're already halfway to Texas. Dean and me. We left last night."

"What!" John's angry response was immediate. "What the hell were you thinking! Do you know how dangerous that is? Why would you do that, huh? Do you have a death wish? God Sam I didn't think you, or your brother, were that stupid! You know what's out there Sam. Do you really think it was a good idea to go traipsing across the country without telling me!"

Sam felt a lump of guilt form in his throat. For all of John's mistakes and horrible perceptions about the world, he really did love his kids. That rant, his anger, was his way of proving it to them, proving it to Sam.

"I just wanted to go to Alex's funereal, dad. I need to go." Sam was pleading.

"How! How are you guys even..." John's voice trailed off and Sam couldn't tell if he couldn't find the words or if he had simply run out of steam.

Either way, Sam took the opportunity to immediately answer the question. "Dean got a car. A real nice one, I think you'll like it."

John seized onto his eldest son's name. "Dean." he said tightly. "Let me talk to Dean."

"He's asleep." Sam said, knowing, that no matter what happened, he would not wake his brother up to feel the wrath of their father's anger. Even if it was over the phone. Sam very rarely got a chance to protect his big brother from anything, and something swelled inside him whenever he was given the opportunity.

"Then wake him up!" Was John's predictable, angry response.

"No." Sam said simply. "If you want to yell at someone, then yell at me."

"I don't want to yell at you for wanting to go to your friend's funeral, Sam.," he snapped. "I want to explain to your brother why leaving the state without telling me is wrong. And a bad fucking idea!"

"Dean's all grown up, dad!" Sam couldn't keep the anger and exasperation out of his voice. "He can take care of himself. Hell, he can take care of both of us. He has been for a while."

"I know that you boys are close," John tried to reason, but Sam cut him off before he could issue an order.

"This isn't about Dean." Sam snapped, realizing for the first time that it was true. Sure, this whole event would leave a lasting impression on his brother, possibly changing him forever. But it wasn't about that right now. Right now, it was just Sam and John Winchester facing off in a way they never had before.

"I'm going to Alex's funeral."

There was a long pause where neither John nor Sam anything. If they had been in the same room, they'd be starring at each other. As they so constantly did when they fought.

A part of Sam was distantly disappointed that they weren't within the confines of the same room. If they had been, it would have been the first time, ever, that Sam would have won a starring contest with his father. It was the first, and probably only, time he'd get to see his father back down.

The silent moment seemed to stretch on forever, until, quite suddenly, John spoke.

"When will you be back?" His father sounded completely resigned and uncharacteristically passive.

Sam almost dropped the phone in shock. There were many, many words, phrases and profanities, that Sam had expected to hear from his father. Many threats and orders, screams and shouts, demanding that they come home immediately.

Sam had been prepared for all that; he had been ready to defend himself, or his brother. To admit to hearing his father last night, if only to play the guilt card to get him to back off. He had even been willing to hang up on the man, knowing how angry he would be when they next faced each other. He had not been ready to hear his father give up. He'd never seen or heard him do so before.

Which lead to Sam's stupidly asked question of, "What?"

"When will you be back?" he asked again simply. "I need to know whether or not to wait for you back in Columbus or go ahead to Montana so I can make it to that job on time." And he was back to business as usual, completely ignoring the reality of the situation, acting as if this was just a mild change of plans.

Sam relaxed slightly. It had unnerved him, hearing his dad so defeated over something Sam did. This was better. The professional side of his father was on that he knew how to deal with.

"It's not for a couple days," he said, purposely not saying the word funeral, or Alex. If his father's mind set was to pretend that this wasn't really happening, to ignore it. Well, that Sam could play into just fine. "We probably wouldn't make it back to Ohio for over a week. Why don't you go ahead to Montana and Dean can drive there after."

Sam pictured his father nodding curtly and could have sworn he heard relief in his voice when he spoke again. "Fine. I'll swing by the house and pick up your stuff. I'm assuming you packed?"

Of course Sam could tell that was code for, 'I'm sure you were planning on coming back, right?'

"Yeah." he answered shortly.

"Good. I'll call back later and leave the address of the place we'll be staying in Montana, on Dean's voicemail."

"Right." Sam said, then softly, "Bye dad."

John's words were less than a whisper, so faint that Sam thought maybe he had imagined them.

"Bye Sammy."

Sam heard the click of the phone before the dial tone sounded, and he finally removed the device from his ear and pushed the off button.

That had been...unexpected. To say the least. Yet at the same time, it had felt right. Sam knew he couldn't spend the rest of his life being angry at his father. This was, in it's own odd way, a step in the right direction.

Sam and John would never have anything resembling a close or normal relationship. Which was what used to make Sam so angry at his father, what drove that wedge between them.

Slowly, but surely, Sam was feeling that change. The anger that he used to direct so fiercely at the man, it was receding bit by bit. Being replaced by sadness and longing, and, at an even slower rate, a sense of understanding.

John Winchester was a broken man, he would never be the normal dad that Sam wanted or needed. But that couldn't be changed. He couldn't be changed.

Sam could not control everything.

He let out a deep breath, which he had been unknowingly holding since he'd said goodbye to his father. With it, he felt almost as if he was dispelling a little more of his anger, and accepting a bit more understanding.

It was one of those weird, disconnected, almost meditative, experiences. Where you felt, if only for a second, that something had changed. An almost tangible shift, that left a content wholeness in it's wake.

Sam smiled at it, before shoving the phone in his pocket and striding across the parking lot of the motel. The convenience store across the street was his new destination. His goal was to stop the now present grumbling in his stomach.

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"Where ya been?" Dean asked groggily as Sam made his way back into the motel room, plastic bag swinging happily at his side.

He had obviously just woken up, and Sam cringed inwardly, at the thought of the panic his brother might have faced if he had woken up and Sam hadn't been present.

"Got hungry." Sam answered simply and honestly. He sat down at the little, two-person table that was situated across form the two beds, and pulled a can out of the bag, tossing it to Dean.

His brother smirked lightly before popping open the tab and taking a big gulp. Letting out a satisfied sigh when he was through. "Nature's perfect beverage."

"I thought that was beer." Sam said lightly, opening his own pop and taking a swig, before grapping a bag of peanut M&M's and tossing them too at Dean. Picking out a bag of Doritos for himself.

"Beer." he agreed. "Then coffee, then Dr. Pepper." he held up the can he was drinking from, as if to assure him of its greatness. "In that order. And don't you forget it."

Sam laughed at his brother's antics. Dean was never one to be fully coherent in the morning. When they were kids, it had taken Dean, literally, hours to really wake up. He'd get out of bed okay, but he'd be as good as comatose until almost noon.

Then, around the age of thirteen, he had discovered coffee. His mornings now consisted of incoherent mutterings until he got his first cup, but he stared functioning much earlier on. The only down side now, not that his brother saw it as a downside of course, was that Dean was completely and totally addicted to caffeine. If he didn't get any by a certain time after waking up, he would develop a massive headache. A headache that nothing except caffeine could cure.

The store Sam had just stopped at had been out of regular coffee, and he knew Dean would be pissed if he tried to give him decaf. Plus Sam hadn't even known if his brother would be awake when he got back. And there was nothing worst than cold coffee. That was just a fact of life. So he hoped the caffeine from Dean's favorite pop would suffice.

As he was currently shoving the chocolate covered, peanut candies in his mouth happily, and burping occasionally from the carbonation of the drink, Sam assumed it had.

For a few minutes, the brothers ate in silence. Sam let the junk food satisfy his hunger and decided that he would get Dean to stop at a real restaurant later on that night. Junk food was cheap, and good at making you not hungry. Which was why his family lived on it a good portion of the time, but Sam was convinced that eating a full, healthy meal every once in a while had to be beneficial in some way.

Sam cleared his throat, deciding that now would be a good a time as any to tell his brother what he knew he'd eventually have to tell him.

Dean looked over at him curiously, and Sam said evenly, "I called dad."

His brother, who had just, unwisely, taken a sip of pop, began coughing violently. After a moment of patting himself on the chest and taking a few deep breaths, it receded and he was left clearing his throat.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked worriedly, feeling guilty.

"Are you trying to kill me?" he rasped.

"Sorry." Sam said sincerely, yet sheepishly.

"So," He said after a moment. "Dad?"

"Yeah." Sam said, trying to act casual.

"Was he mad?" Dean's face remained impassive but his voice held fear.

"At first." Sam admitted, leaning back in his chair slightly. "But then he got really... accepting." He shrugged. "It's gonna end up being one of those things we never talk about."

Dean nodded, accepting the answer, not hiding his relief. Sam filled him in on the plan to meet their father at their new home in Montana and his brother simply nodded.

Their dad was no longer an issue. They no longer had the added feeling of that weight on their shoulders.

"I think we should hang out here for the rest of the day." Dean said.

Sam blinked, somewhat surprised at the seemingly random subject. Then again, as Dean always said, it wasn't random; you just had to be in his head to understand it.

Dean misinterpreted Sam's silence and launched into explanation. "I mean. I'm still kinda beat, it'd be different if you could drive, but I'd really rather not fall asleep at the wheel. Besides, we do have time to spare."

"Yeah, okay." Sam said quietly.

With everything that had been going on with their father, he had let himself forget the real reason why all of this was happening. He let himself forget that his best friend was dead.

A random thought struck him. "I need a suit."

"Huh?" He could follow Sam's thought process no better than Sam could follow his.

"A suit." He repeated. "For the funereal."

"Right." Obviously, the thought hadn't occurred to his brother either.

"Or, you know," Sam went on. "At least something nice. I think all I packed was jeans and T-shirts."

"You aren't known for your fashion sense." Dean agreed, trying to lighten the mood.

Sam humored him, not wanting to dwell on the subject anymore than he did. "At least I don't have a leather fetish."

He half smirked at his little brother, "My leather fetish is what the girls dig."

"What kinda girl do you think you're gonna attract with that?" Sam too, was smirking.

Dean outright grinned, and his eyes lit up excitedly. "The fun kind."

Sam rolled his own eyes. Leave it to Dean to turn a conversation like the one they'd just been having, into one with allusions of a bondage fetish. His brother really was quite a guy.

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Sam's nerves were making themselves known, that was for sure. They had been growing steadily throughout the day. Seeming to recede only when he was joking around with Dean.

Sam couldn't tell if his brother had picked up on that, or if he was simply trying to relive his own stress, but it seemed as if they had talked more in those few days than they had in weeks.

They had been scouring the small town of Citewood, Kentucky all day. They had found a small, comfortable and, most importantly, affordable, clothing store that specialized in formal wear.

Sam had purchased, or rather, Dean had purchased, with help from a fake credit card while Sam stood back and cringed inwardly, a pair of nice pants. Slacks, technically, he supposed, but he hated that word. As well as a nice collared shirt and tie. All of it black, of course.

Out of respect, and a desire to be there for his brother, Dean too had purchased a black shirt. Almost identical to Sam's, yet he point blank refused to wear a tie. Ever. Claimimg he had a pair of black jeans in the car that would complete his attire.

They had stopped and had a full meal, as Sam had set his mind on earlier. Chatting and joking idly the entire time. In fact, the only part of the day that had been tight with any kind of tension had been when they were buying, well, stealing, but Sam didn't want to think that, their new clothes. And they had been out of that place in a record fifteen minutes flat.

They had come back to the motel early, Dean falling asleep rather quickly, for Dean anyway. Sam stayed up almost all night, reading a book he'd picked up earlier that day, as an effort to distract himself and keep the nightmares at bay.

Sam had always been prone to nightmares. Especially when he'd been younger and had first started going on hunts with his father and Dean. Images he had seen, or images he had made up based on the sounds he had heard, the ones not even his brother could shield him from. They all attacked his subconscious as he slept, and for years he'd been afraid to do just that.

It had been easier when he was a kid though. When he was young and had a bad dream, he'd simply roll out of whatever bed he might of been sleeping in, and pad over to wherever Dean was sleeping. Which was, more often than not, only a few feet away

He'd crawl in and curl up next to his brother, the comforting feel Dean next to him was all he needed, to know that he was safe. Dean would never admit to waking up when Sam did this, but always, within seconds, he had his arm curled around his brother, rubbing his back soothingly.

A part of Sam wished he could do that again now. Just curl up next to Dean and let his bid brother assure him that noting bad was going to get him. That he was safe.

But he knew he couldn't. And not just because a sixteen year old sleeping in the same bed as his twenty year old brother was weird. He knew that if he tried to relive his old childhood memories again right now, that it wouldn't be the same.

Dean could no longer provide the comfort and assurance that he once had. Because Sam was no longer a scared little kid suffering from night terrors. Sam was growing up, and facing the tragedies that the world seemed dead set against throwing at him. Dean could no longer fix everything the way he used to be able to.

Sam had the comfort that his brother constantly provided during his childhood firmly engrained into his memory. Chiseled there for the rest of time, and if he tried to redo it, they would be tainted, ruined. Sam wasn't willing to do that.

So he sat alone on the lumpy mattress, reading some mind-numbing book to pass the time. Wishing desperately for the sun to rise, while at the same time dreading it's arrival. The break of dawn meant a new day was there, meaning he was one day closer to saying goodbye to his best friend forever.

He clung to the remaining days of the trip, because, in their own way, they were reassuring.

For the next two days, Dean and Sam drove across the country. Never for as long as they had that first night, stopping twice along the way to rest in almost identical, crappy motels. Although, all were lacking any type of monster, like the one they had fought at that first one, which both brother's counted as a silent blessing. Neither was very up for hunting as the days wore on.

The trip was comforting, because Sam knew what to expect. Drive, joke with Dean, drive some more, stop at motel, talk to Dean, eat, sleep, or stay awake reading or watching TV, the sun would rise, and they'd repeat the process. The Impala and Dean. That's all Sam needed to feel safe.

They say nothing good lasts forever. And they're right.

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"We're here." Dean could tell by the way his brother's eyes were glued out the car's window, not blinking, that his words were obviously not needed.

"Yeah." Sam answered anyway, and swallowed thickly.

They had reached Huston at the perfect time. If there was one thing Dean was good at, it was organizing driving time. Yet he felt little pride in this achievement.

In fact, he questioned briefly whether or not this was the right thing to do at all. Sam seemed to be having trouble catching his breath, and they weren't even out of the car yet.

They had pulled up in front of the church, after stopping at Alex's Aunt and Uncle's house to ask directions.

"How are Aunt and Uncle distant relatives?" Dean asked, partly because he wanted to know, but mostly because he needed Sam to say something, to assure Dean that he was all right as they headed back to the Impala.

Sam cleared his throat after a moment and said, "It's actually more like Barbara," The Aunt. "Was Alex's mom's brother's wife. Then they got divorced, and Ben's her new husband. Or the husband after the new husband. I don't really know. Hell, Alex didn't even really know. They never talked."

For someone they never talked to, the Madison's sure knew how to give the guy a funereal. Seriously, if half this many people showed up at his own funeral, Dean would be absolutely amazed.

The Catholic Church parking lot was littered with about three million dollars worth of cars, literally. Their impala had to be the cheapest car there. And the one most well cared for, he assured himself, taking a small measure of pride in that, stopping to pat her hood lovingly before proceeding inside.

It was only after they passed a woman in about two pounds of diamonds that Dean remembered Sam telling him that Alex's parents had been rich. Ah, he decided, the reason behind Mrs. Madison's first marriage.

So far, it seemed that Sam had only recognized a few of the dozens of people there. Two guys, dressed much the same way as Sam, looking just about as awkward, had come up to his little brother as soon as they'd waked in.

Sam had introduced them, before Dean had hastily made an excuse and headed in the other direction. Sam would want a moment or two alone with Alex's former roommates. He'd been sticking to Dean more so than he had been, even at the hospital. Although that probably also sprung from Sam's natural shyness as well, his aversions towards large groups of unknown people.

Dean positioned himself near the priest and two distraught looking women, one he recognized as Barbara Madison. Crying and mourning like that was probably her way of getting attention, Dean thought disgustedly, shaking his head. He hated people like that. He'd walk over and tell her as much too, if he hadn't been busy keeping an eye on Sammy.

He was far enough away to not be able to hear what was being said, but defiantly close enough to see any signs of distress that Sam might display.

On the other side of the crowded church, Sam was feeling quite distressed, but he didn't let it show, anywhere other than his voice, which was now pleading softly,

"No way, you can't ask me to do this."

"Sam." Aaron, one of Alex's two roommates, currently standing in front of him, said desperately. "You knew him the best, its only right."

"You guys both lived with him for years," Sam reminded.

"Yet he was closer to you. Go figure." Chris snapped angrily. This guy had never liked him, and probably blamed him for Alex's death.

"Quiet." Aaron snapped at him. Sam had the fleeting thought that they regarded each other in a way quite reminiscent of that of a husband and wife. Maybe they were dating, Sam thought, and the ironic humor of it made him want to smile for a moment.

"You realize that we're the only people here that even knew Alex, right?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, I picked up on that."

"No one else here can do it, and I only agreed because Chris hates public speaking, and well," he sighed. "We didn't know if you were coming."

Sam shot a quick glance at his brother. "Of course I'm here. I owe Alex that much, at least."

"Then you owe him this too." Chris bit out and Aaron shot him another look, to which Chris glared stonily.

Sam felt guilty. If he hadn't become a part of Alex's life in the first place, none of this would have happened, he'd still be alive. Sam took a deep, calming breath and shot another look at Dean, who was beginning to look worried.

"Alright." he spoke after a moment. "I'll do it."

Aaron reached over and squeezed his shoulder tightly, whispering, "Thank you."

Chris smiled slightly and Sam thought that it was probably the biggest show of affection he had ever gotten from the guy.

"I'll go tell the priest." Aaron said, and Chris followed him, thus ending any possible awkward moment before it had a chance to fester.

Sam was breathing deeply when Dean returned to his side. "Geez Sammy," he said immediately. "You look like crap. Are you alright?"

"It's like, ninety degrees in here, I'm gonna pass out, I swear to God." He snapped nervously, tugging at the collar of his shirt.

"You're in a church." he teased distractedly. "And it's more than that. Do you feel sick?"

"Yeah," Sam said and snorted to himself. "I just agreed to go up there and talk, speak, give a speach." He shook his head lightly.

"Up where?" Dean asked, sounding slightly confused, but focusing more on what his brother was saying, instead of trying to gauge whether or not he really was about to pass out.

"There." he motioned to the podium where the priest would undoubtedly be standing to talk about Alex within moments.

"Sam?" he asked. Suddenly realizing why his brother was pale, sweaty and shaking.

"I'm an idiot." he said. "I, what the hell was I thinking? I can't..."

But his voice was cut off by the one of the old man, clad in a white robe, priest attire, now standing at the dark, polished wood, podium, clearing his throat loudly.

The service was about to start. Groups of mourners settled into the rows of seats, tissues at the ready, some already discarded. Dean and Sam joined Aaron and Chris in the front row. Chris had his eyes so firmly fixed to the front of the church, where Alex's closed coffin lay, that Sam wasn't even sure he noticed them.

Aaron however, shot him a grateful look and nodded briefly, ensuring Sam that the priest had been informed of the last minute changes.

Dean wanted to say something to Sam, anything to get his kid brother to stop shaking violently in the seat next to him. But nothing could be said.

Alex's funeral had just begun.

End chapter.

A/N: I'm really sorry about the long wait for this chapter. I've been distracted – I actually started writing another fic, a Supernatural one that I hope to have posted pretty soon after Helicopters is finished. Of course I inherited my father's definition of 'soon' so it may not be for months. On a more relevent note, I already have chapter seven of Helicopters written, so the wait won't be nearly as long – for those of you still bothering to read. Lol (I hope). After that, there's going to be an epilogue, and that's it. In the mean time,

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