Fly to the Angels
Chapt 5?
Summary: Dean has to face his own memories, a trip home, a estranged father, and his own mother.
Pairing: Sam/Dean (gen)
T/M - language warning. Quite prolific in this Ch.

A/N: Prompt from Tony Christie's Avenues and Alleyways 'Dream till the sunrise creeps in your eyes'

Disclaimer: I don't own the Winchesters or SPN. This is not-for-profit.

Thanks for the support and reviews and sorry for not replying. Me bad (time just flies by).

The shit really had hit the fan.

And if anyone asked him right now, what the hell had just happened, Sam still wouldn't be able to give a rationale answer. Because that's exactly what Jennifer did ask, outside in the garden, wide-eyed and terrified. He never had an answer then either. Not even one of the passing assurances and small white lies that he and Dean had got down to a fine piece of art.

The whole horrific night, from feeling himself being dragged violently away from a screaming Sari, to being absolutely petrified that Dean would have disappeared, evaporated by the white light or even worse, dead, his body limp and lifeless, for everyone to see, came together in a muddle of mixed memories and emotions, leaving him bewildered and disorientated.

Instead he'd found Dean dazed and, to his horror, broken. Although he hated it, Sam could deal with concussions, cuts, stitches and injuries that he could see. He would know what do and act accordingly, but this had been completely different, a Dean that he could never recall before, and a fierce protectiveness swelled up, from deep inside, until tears were brought to his eyes.

All he had wanted to do was get Dean as far away from the house as he could.

So he had ripped a small strip of his shirt, bundling it up, and gently dabbed it as his brother's nose, wiping it at his mouth and chin, where blood, a startling deep red against the pale and pasty pallor of his skin, had dripped and pooled and then stood, shuffling and bending, so as to pull Dean from his waist and arms up.

And Dean had let him, which just hurt him even more.

He had hurriedly propelled Dean, one arm around his shoulder, the other cupping around the front of him, hand spread out as palm and fingers laid flat against his stomach. They had stumbled along the way, as Dean fought to keep his balance, through the hallway, into the garden, and past Jennifer with the full intention of reaching the car.

But she had called, gasping questions, and reluctantly, they had doubled back.

"I've got to get him out of here" Sam had said quietly and quickly, wanting to spare his brother any unwanted scrutiny and embarrassment.

Jennifer's eye's had moved from her own children, who were still clutched to her, arms, hands, and legs all squeezing tightly, to Dean, concern widening them even further.

"I… I understand" she had replied uncertainly, watching as Sam shuffled slightly, turning sideways, so his body had shielded Dean from the caring, yet unwanted, looks.

Jennifer had not wanted to go back into the house, and so after leaving Dean in the passenger seat of the Impala, Sam had persuaded her neighbours to take them in, surprised at their friendly hospitality at the unkind hour of 2.30 in the morning. Sam, again, had been lost for words when asked what had happened and had let Jennifer take charge with some story of a burglary and late night intruders, freeing him to return to the still shell-shocked Dean.

He had driven fast and hell-bent, occasionally letting his hand and fingers ghosting over Dean's still form, until a motel came into view, the 'vacancies' sign flashing like a life-saving beacon in the dark of night. He would have, could have, driven further, as far as he could out of this fucking town, but the awareness that he had left Jennifer in the middle of the night and the fact that he had absolutely no idea of what had just gone down, rang clear in his mind. He knew he should have rung Missouri, but his sole focus had been Dean, and with Jennifer and the kids safely out of the house, Missouri could wait until he had calmed Dean down and given him some connection back to the 'here' and 'now'.

They had got a room, one near the end of the parking lot, away from the office, and leaving Dean on one of the beds, had gone into the bathroom and dampened a small hand towel. Dean had startled him though, finding him leaning heavily on the edge of the bathroom doorway, one arm stretched out and bracing the opposite edge.

"She's in me Sammy" Dean had stated, voice devoid of emotion, as he stared blankly at him.

Relief had washed through him as heard his brother speak and move for the first time since hearing Dean first gasp out to their mother in shock and awe, but he had felt slightly at unease at the way he had spoken and looked.

"Course she is" Sam had replied, striding forward, and taking him by the arm, and gently lead him back to the bed, "She's part of us all".

He had placed the towel against Dean's nose, gently wiping the blood, dried and encrusted around one nostril, with light strokes.

"No" Dean had replied, eyes drooping, "I can feel her".

"Shh" Sam had gently instructed, a foreboding feeling tight within his stomach, "Just go to sleep, let me sort it".

And now here he was, still no more the wiser, and unsure of what to do, as he lay on his side, watching Dean sleep, hoping for light and that familiar spark to creep into his eyes. A slight flushed look littered Dean's unnatural, fragile, porcelain features.

I really should ring Missouri, Sam thought to himself, as darkness crept up on him and sleep, finally, claimed him.

Dean awoke quickly, his eyes darting around him, searching for familiarity. He lifted his head, eyes finally settling on Sam's long-limbed form, one arm hanging, bent, and stiffly from his bed.

Dean continued to look at him for a few minutes, before letting his head fall back down on to the hard and flat pillow, taking in the room around him. One small window, on the other side of him, the bathroom to the left, a small table with two chairs to the right. Opposite the beds, there was a small kitchen equipped with a microwave, toaster, kettle and a small mini-fridge that hummed bigger than it actually was. Already dark with late night and early morning dimness, the walls and carpets were a dull rose-red shade, instantly reminding him of Sam crouching next to him, with a towel and flaky blood smudges.

His hand flew to his nose, glad to feel no wetness. He turned his head slightly, seeing a small-grey towel on the floor, in line with Sam's open limp and drooping hand.

He turned his head back quickly, his neck snapping tight with tension, and gasped. Something suddenly felt different, he was sure of it. He whipped his head around, eyes searching the dark, as something soft brushed his ear. But as he reached up, he felt nothing there. He thought he heard a whisper too. That was when the temperature suddenly dropped, and he could see warm puffs of air rise up, from his still body, to form a white transparent cloud in the darkness, above him.

After a hesitated second, Dean attempted to reach for his knife under his pillow, that he realised would not have been there in the first place, and what use would have it been anyway. But it didn't matter, because he couldn't move his arm. In fact he couldn't move. Period.

Head, arms, legs all suddenly heavy and unable to form any words on his lips, his throat tightening as his vocal chords were stretched and pulled, like an expanded elastic band, he found himself being pulled from the bed, as something dragged him upwards over the pillows and tight against the wall with such an intense pressure, he felt his ribcages pushing against lungs, until he was suspended taut and stiff across the ceiling.

God No, he screamed inside his head, don't let it end like this. Not with Sammy right here!

Eyes wide, terror reflected wildly in them, and heart beating so erratically that it appeared its sole purpose was to remind him that he wasn't dead. Yet.

He heard the whisper again.

"Dean" it was said louder this time, and much nearer, "I'm here".

Unable to move his head, he could only look out of the side of his left eye, as his breath, already tight against his chest, sharpened. This isn't happening, he told himself, this fucking isn't happening. Maybe the bloody nose, Jennifer and the kids in the garden, the motel and Sam and his bloody towel never really happened. Maybe he never left that room and that house.

"Dean, honey" the voice said "I'm here".

He continued looking, eyes tight to the side, as he realised she really was there. Or he was. In his state of mind, and disorientated, he really wasn't sure where 'here' and 'there' was.

"Mom" he whispered, vocal chords loosening just enough, for him to form the word. She was there, just to his left, within his touch, if only he could lift his arm to reach. He moaned, face red and wincing, a vein standing out, as he fought the frustration and hold.

He could see the white of her night-dress that he thinks he remembers her wearing the night she died, blonde hair spread out, like the fire itself.

"Shh, sweetie" she said gently, looking out the side of her own eye, her body in the same fashion as Dean's, "I'm sorry I never got to speak to you before, but there wasn't time".

"Mom" he gasped, voice breaking, one tear forming and dropping to the bed below, "I don't understand…".

"You have to listen to me" she said, as desperation filled her voice, "This shouldn't have happened, it's not right" she paused, "It won't be good for you or me".

Panic and confusion filled his every pore, trying to decipher what his mother meant, but all he could think of was that he was pinned to a ceiling having a conversation with his very dead mother.

"I don't…" he began.

"I don't know what happened" she interrupted, "But I know if we stay like this, it can kill you… damage us both" she paused again, her own soft voice breaking, "Very bad things could follow… and I don't want to see you get hurt Dean".

A gasped "Dean" snapped his attention directly below and he realised Sam was stood below, a terrified look on his face.

"Sammy" his mother responded, a calmer voice overtaking her previous desperation, as she too looked down, "I need you to listen to what your brother tells you" she paused and smiled reassuringly at him, "you need to get help".

"Sam?" Dean asked confused and weary.

"Sammy" their mother continued, "Do something… before it's too late".

"What the…?" Sam asked, eyes bright with fear as he looked from mother to brother, before finally focusing on Dean, eyes boring into him.

"Dean!" voice now loud and yelling.

From his hold, he could see a small drop of blood fall slowly towards the floor, leaving a red stain on the edge of the white bed covers. He glanced tightly again, towards his mother as more drops freed themselves and dripped with a vengeance.

"It's O.K." she whispered ferociously, before flames ripped from her, branching out like a tree in the autumn and he couldn't help but let out a strangled gasp.

"Dean!" Sam now screamed.

Dean continued to be held tight against the ceiling, his focus drawn to Sam, as the flames, spread out across the room, licking up and around his body. The flames roared in his ears, not only drowning out the screams of his brother, but his too, until there was nothing left of him or the room.

"Holy Shit!" Sam exclaimed flying up form his bed, eyes wide, as his arm connected with the clock, sending it crashing to the floor. It flashed 4.30 wildly up at him, as if angered by the abrupt impact, "Dean!"

Dean thrashed on his own bed, sweat glistening his brow, as Sam threw himself from his sitting position, so that he was on his knees next to his bed, arms reaching for him.

"Dean!" he gently called as he, brusquely, grabbed his shaking and convulsing brother by the shoulders.

"SAMMY!" Dean suddenly screamed, shooting up in the bed as glassy eyes searched the room, and a shaky body tried to wrench himself free from Sam's tight hold.

"It's me" Sam said, letting go of Dean's shoulders and taking Dean's face into the palms of his hands, forcing him to lock eyes with his, "It's O.K, I'm here".

Dean instantly stilled his frantic movements and Sam could feel the burning cheeks as they bristled against his palms.

"Sammy?" Dean asked, sounding small and tired, "It was… I was… she…" stumbling to a stop, Dean's eye's widened and his hand flew to his mouth, with a shudder.

Recognising the signs, Sam let go of Dean and quickly reached for the small waste-paper basket, thankful for it being within easy reach, between the two beds, and placed it directly under Dean's quivering chin. Dean grabbed hold of it, seizing it tightly to him, knuckles white, as he violently threw-up, his whole body heaving and gagging, with every expulsion.

"Shh" Sam said gently, moving to Dean's side, so he could place a reassuring hand on his back, moving it around in small strokes, something that he had found comforting from both Dean and their father when he was younger, "Take it easy".

Keeping his hand on Dean's back, he looked away, slightly repulsed by the sight, sound and smell. He'd always been what Dean called a 'sympathetic sickie' and on a few occasions, when he was a kid, he had actually barfed at the sight of someone vomiting.

"I'm sorry" Sam said after Dean finally stopped heaving and remained panting over the waste-paper basket.

"For what?" Dean mumbled.

"Everything" Sam said, pitching himself off the bed, "This is all my fault. I never should have brought you here".

"Sam!" Dean hissed, head bowed, "We had to come!... and I'm so not in the mood for your usual 'everything in the whole god-dammed world is my fault' speeches!" he paused, feeling his energy drift away, so he kept his head resting on the rim of the basket, his stomach threatening to propel its contents, or whatever, if any, were left, "What am I? Incapacitated?"

"Yeah!" Sam said, sarcastically "Because you have been a whole lot of sane lately".

"Dude! Insults" Dean coughed, wincing and then looked up quickly, "Please tell me you weren't in my dream".

"What? The one where I watched our mother's insides open and burst into flames?" Sam asked, pacing in front of the bed, "the one where I watched my brother get engulfed by flames and burn up?".

Dean paled and gasped, gagging over the basket, but nothing came up and instantly Sam regretted his gruff and abrupt tone, stalling him and rooting him to the carpet.

"I'm sorry" Sam said, "It freaked me out too… but I don't think it was a dream or not a normal one anyway".

"Great" Dean sighed, "So I'm only one bucket of crazy instead of two".

"Nobody's any amount of crazy" Sam said, thinking his earlier comment had upset Dean, as he rounded the other side of the bed, grabbing the bags from the floor, and dumping them on to the table, loosening the clasps with one hand, while he dug in his Jean's pocket, with the other, pulling his cell-phone out as he hurriedly dialled a number.

"Sam?" Dean asked, briefly looking up.

But Sam ignored him as he paced the limited width of the room.

"Missouri!" Sam suddenly said, stopping, his hands running through his dishevelled hair, "I know I should have called sooner…"

"Boy" Missouri asked, "What's happened?"

Sam quickly described the details, from when Missouri left to finding himself watching Dean and their mother burning away on the ceiling and rounded the conversation with, "I don't know… this thing was freaky Missouri…"

"It'll be alright honey" Missouri interrupted, "Just get Dean here".

Sam snapped the phone shut and continued to fumble through the open bag.

"Sam?" Dean asked again, face still close to the waste-paper basket, but turned sideways, looking at him, "What are you doing?"

"Getting us out of here" Sam replied as he fingered one of the few clean tops that would keep off an early morning chill. Pulling the bulky material out, he realised, disheartened, that it was the same Hoodie Dean had worn when he had returned from the hospital after being electrocuted only a few months before, trussed-up inside, making him look even more smaller and vulnerable than he already was.

"We're leaving town?" Dean asked, hopefully, and somewhat shocked.

"No" Sam said, smiling sadly as he took hold of the top, and headed back to Dean, regretting his choice of words, "To Missouri's".

"O.H" Dean said, letting him pull the bin away, as he plumped the hooded top out and attempted to pull it on over Dean's head.

"Dude" Dean exclaimed, pulling his head through the opening and shaking it like a dog, glaring at Sam "I'm not out of action".

Sam didn't say anything and stepped back, but to Dean's dismay, his hands were too shaky and heavy and he fingered the material in humiliation, rolling it between thumb and finger. Silently Sam helped, gently pulling both arms through, and then tugged the top down, gently smoothing it.

Dean blinked up at him, again trussed up, the hood tucked behind his neck, looking confused, small, and fatigued. Yeah, Sam thought to himself, as he ruffled Dean's hair, that fabric softener teddy bear would just love you right about now.

Missouri stood in her kitchen, busying herself with brewing coffee, and organising mugs. A plate of cookies had been organised neatly on to a plate and had been placed on to the kitchen table, her cell-phone discarded near by.

She stalled her activities, hair rising on her neck, as intuition kicked in.

"John" She said, not turning, "You know better than to sneak up on a psychic".

"I don't sneak" a voice replied from behind, "I do stealth".

"Well it doesn't work on me" she replied, moving the mugs to the table, "You're up late… or is it early?".

"Just walked by the house… everything seemed o.k. there"

"Right, about that…" she started and then stopped abruptly, smiling brightly at him, turning back to the brewing coffee.

"Are you expecting company?" he asked, taking in the four mugs and cookies on the table.

"Yes" she said, her back still to him, "Your boys".

"What?" John suddenly exclaimed, "When… you know I can't", he suddenly backed up out of the kitchen and into the hallway, "I've got to get out of here".

"They're already on their way" Missouri calmly stated, glancing at her watch, "In fact they should be here any moment".

He was already heading for the door, hand deep in his pocket, as he struggled to pull out his keys.

"John Winchester!" Missouri exclaimed, her voice rising in pitch and volume, as she whipped around on her heel, following him "Your boys need you".

John came to an abrupt stop at Missouri's front door, and furiously turned back, storming up to Missouri, standing firmly at the back of the hall.

"You've blocked the garage in" He seethed, "goddammit… open it up".

"Why wont you talk to your boys?" she asked, her eyes sad and fiery, as John paced in front of her.

"I just can't" John simply said, his face crumbling, "I want to… just not yet. Not until I know", he tiredly ran a hand over his face, rubbing his stubble as he did so.

"They need you John" Missouri spoke to him, her small arm reaching out, and squeezing his arm gently.

They were startled apart, by the sound of a car, a low rumbling, as it came to a slow stop. Both froze where they stood, Missouri wondering what John was going to do, John because he didn't know what to do.

"Missouri" Sam suddenly yelled, darting through the doorway, and then suddenly stumbling to a stop at the sight before him.

"Sammy" John breathed out, his voice sounding croaky and strangled in his throat.

Sam took slow and deliberate hesitated steps, mouth slightly agape, and then took several more forceful strides, swinging out, fist tight and hard, as it connected sharply with John's chin. The force was sharp and strong as it snapped his head sideways, and he instantly tasted blood on his lips, as Sam's face swam into focus, a snarl on his face.

He didn't get a chance to respond or move because Sam's hands bunched up tightly snagging the material of his green jacket in a vice like hold and he found himself being pushed viciously against the hard wooden panels.

"You fucking bastard!" Sam spat at him, "Not one fucking word except for your damn fucking coordinates! Do you know what you've done? Do you know what you've done to Dean?"

"Sammy" John tried to get out, but with every shove and shake, his head reeled from snapping hard back against the wall, "Stop"

"No" Sam hotly replied, "You don't get to…"

A gasp from behind, caused Sam to instantly let go of his hold as he kept one hand still grasping his jacket, as he turned around, and John caught sight of his oldest son standing in the hallway.

"Dad?" Dean asked, face pale as a fleeting hurt look crossed his features, before he blinked and glanced away.

"Son" John replied, taking in his ragged appearance.

"Dean?" Sam asked, "You. O.K"

Dean turned and faced them again. There was no warning, no imminent sign of what was to come, Dean's eyes just simply rolled to the back of his head, his body crumbling, as he smashed down hard against Missouri's hallway table, legs splintering under the impact, sending various items skittering away, as they both crashed to the floor, a mixture of broken wood and entangled limbs.