A/N: Thanks for the review guys. I think this story may take awhile to get going, but hopefully it'll pick up soon... The song title for chapter two is taken from Mr. Mister. Enjoy!

Stairway to Heaven

Chapter Two: Broken Wings

Sitting shoulder to shoulder with his brother and watching late night television was something that Sam knew would never grow old. It was enough to make him rethink asking Jess to marry him, because if it meant giving up his brother…

"So, law school, huh?"

"Yeah," Sam sighed and shifted so his left side pressed more firmly against his brother.

"Well, that didn't sound too enthusiastic." Dean shifted so he could look at Sam and the electric blue glow of an infomercial lit one side of his face. "Sam?"

"I just…I mean. I love Jess. And she doesn't know anything about…you know. But…I've lived four years without you." Sam paused, swallowing hard. "I miss this, I miss talking to you, I even miss Dad. I miss Bobby, and Jim, and Caleb, and Joshua. I miss traveling and getting to see new things. Don't get me wrong, I like having a place to call home. I love knowing an area like the back of my hand. I love Jess, I like having real friends. I like being normal…but I'm not sure it's enough." Running a hand down his face, Sam took a minute before starting again. "I know we agreed it would be easier to just cut all ties…but I've been going crazy. I pick up the phone and think about trying to find you almost everyday, and it's been getting worse. And I've been getting these…I'm not sure what they are…"

"They comin' with the migraines?"

Sam nodded. "Honestly, Dean, it's been scaring the shit out of me."

Dean swallowed hard this time. "When we were kids, Mom would tuck us into bed at night. Well, you'd be out in your crib hours before I went to bed, but Mom would tuck me in, and every night before she turned off the light, she would tell me that angels were watching over me."

Sam knew better than to interrupt, could see how hard this was for his older brother, so instead he just leaned closer, offering solid support. Dean waited for what seemed like forever, before starting again.

"I always wondered why she was so sure…you know, after everything that happened…"

Sam could see the tears that threatened to fall, but Dean wouldn't let them, angrily brushing them away with a rough swipe of his hand.

"Sam, what do you know about Nephilim?"

"Uh…in the Bible, they were supposed to be the offspring of angels and the children of men…" Sam tried to evaluate whether or not he was on the right track. Unable to read Dean's expression, he continued. "Goliath, who was unnaturally tall, was thought to be one of the Nephilim…"

At this, Dean snorted. "Go on."

"There really isn't any mention of them past the early books in the Old Testament…"

Dean nodded. "I wouldn't expect you to know too much, there isn't really any lore or anything…"

"I took a couple religion courses, but there wasn't really anything that we hadn't learned by the time I was thirteen…"

Dean grinned. "Told you they couldn't teach ya anything, Sammy."

"Yeah, I know, Dean's always right."

"Couldn't have said it better myself." Dean grinned, but just as suddenly, the smile was gone, seemingly leaving the pitch black room even darker. "About six months ago, I started getting really bad headaches and back pains," he said suddenly.

"Are you…"

"I'm fine, Sammy. Just listen to me, okay?"

"Okay, Dean."

Dean patted Sam on the knee, and continued. "I was having really weird dreams at night, things about flying. Dad was worried, thought that maybe something had gone wrong on the last hunt, since we had to perform some crazy ritual…" Running a hand through his hair, Dean seemed to contemplate the best way to continue. "Dad started researching like crazy, but it just kept getting worse. I was seeing fiery swords and the pain was so bad I could barely move. He finally called Bobby--it took a lot to get him to do it, since Bobby threatened to fill him with buckshot the next time he saw him…no Sam, it doesn't matter why. He called because at that point, he thought he had no choice. He was certain I was dying or worse. Bobby said he needed to do some research, call a few people, and he'd call back by the end of the day.

"Turned out that I wasn't dying. But for Dad, I think it was worse than dying." Dean cleared his throat, reaching for the beer that he'd left on the end table, taking a long sip. "I was laid up, I don't remember much, but this pain…and then I thought my back was tearing open, and I screamed…"

Dean's hand was trembling and he carefully placed the bottle back on the table, giving Sam a quick grin when his younger brother caught his hand. "In that moment, I would have rather died then keep feeling that…I passed out eventually. When I woke up, Dad was outside, on the phone with Bobby, and I was on my stomach, and there were…"

Dean stood suddenly, shucking his jacket and pulling off his tee, turning so his back faced Sam. Right beside each shoulder blade were large, lumpy mounds of flesh, scars almost. And then, suddenly, they were rippling and undulating, the motion reminded Sam of what he had been feeling so often recently, and two large black, feathered, wings erupted, the light from the television catching the glossy feathers.

Sam gasped, and reached out, gently touching the trembling wings, and then he turned Dean, forcefully, and pulled him into a tight hug. "Oh, Dean."

Those two words caused the dam that Dean had been holding back to break and shatter into a thousand tiny pieces. He pressed his face into Sam's shoulder, letting the warm tears soak his brother's shirt, letting his brother take over, letting it all go, just for now. Because where Dad had screamed obscenities and exorcisms, Sam had whispered condolences and promises. Because where Dad had attempted to rip the wings out of his son's back, Sam had run a soothing hand through the feathers.

"Everything will be okay, Dean. Because we're together now."

"Sam…Mom was an angel, and we're, we're…"

"Shh…"

Sam stepped into the role of protector with ease, guiding Dean to the couch, using soft words and touches to calm and soothe, just as Dean had always done with him. He ignored the fact that what had happened to Dean was happening to him, filed away for later the fact that their mother was an angel, and their father had probably very nearly killed Dean--since that would be the only reason Dean would have left. He squashed the thought that there was probably some big catch to all of this, and instead just focused on calming his brother, on working the lines of agitation and exhaustion from his face, and soothing away any lingering pain with his touch.

"I don't know what to do, Sam." It was closest his brother had ever come to sobbing, to begging for help. "Oh, God, I don't know what to do…"

Sam pulled them back towards the couch, silently amazed, watching as Dean's wings easily folded in against his body as they tumbled down, even as his brother clutched the folds of his shirt to him, pulling himself as close as possible, allowing Sam to comfort him in ways he hadn't been comforted since their mother died. Sam didn't say anything, just smoothing a hand over wings and bare skin, letting Dean know that he was there, that everything was going to be okay.

Finally, Dean calmed, relaxing against his younger, and much taller, brother as his breathing evened and his tremors tapered off. "M'sorry," he started pushing himself off, but was surprised to find Sam tighten his grip.

"No. Just relax. We'll go to the library tomorrow after breakfast. We'll figure this thing out."

"Do I have to research," muttered Dean, and Sam let out a sharp laugh, reaching with one abnormally long arm to snag the blanket off the back of the couch to wrap around both of them.

In minutes, Dean had dropped off to sleep, wings retracting under Sam's hand, leaving the rough scars that were the only tell-a-tale sign of where they had been. Sam followed soon after, pushing away thoughts of angels and flying, and giving into a deep, dark, nothingness.

Sam wasn't surprised that he woke first, despite the fact that it was Sunday and he definitely didn't have class. He was just glad that the campus library had Sunday hours, and he gently pulled himself out from under his snoring brother, slipping into the bedroom to retrieve clothes, and then the shower.

Dean was still out cold when he got out of the shower, so Sam headed for the kitchen, pulling out what was left of his pancake mix, and scrounging around in the cupboard until he managed to find a nearly empty bag of chocolate chips. The sound of sizzling pancake batter drew his brother like a bear to a picnic basket, and within seconds, Dean was in the doorjamb, rubbing absentmindedly at one eye.

"Gonna get a quick shower," he muttered, and was gone and back before the pancakes had finished turning golden brown, water still running from his hair and down his neck. "Mmm…pancakes!" He stuck his head in the fridge, pulling out a cold bottle of Aunt Jemima, and rattling around until he came out with half a stick of butter.

Sam smiled, and passed him a plate stacked high with the chocolate chip creations, causing Dean's megawatt grin to go off. Sam took a stack half the size of his brother's, turning off the skillet and joining him at the table.

"Deez aw gud." Dean's mouth nearly stuck together between the chocolate chips and syrup, and Sam had to look away to keep from losing his own breakfast.

"I'm glad."

Dean just smiled again, a piece of pancake falling from the corner of his mouth and onto the table. Taking a large gulp of the coffee that Sam had made, Dean cleared his throat. "No, seriously, Sam. These are really good. At least college has taught you how to cook, man. Way better than the last time you tried to make toast."

"Shut up, Dean." Though it was too late, the image of a burning motel room already on his mind. "It's not my fault that there wasn't a toaster."

Dean started laughing.

"Besides, you're the one that left the lighter out."

"Yeah, well," Dean winced. "You promised not to tell Dad."

"You promised not to tease me!"

Dean paused, clearly thinking. "Huh, I didn't, didn't I? I wasn't teasing, though. Just stating that your cooking has improved."

Sam groaned and swore to himself that he was definitely going to get him back by making him do lots of research later.

"Sam…"

"Yeah, Dean?" Sam looked up from his pancakes and saw a look that he didn't like on his brother's face.

"Sam--I'm sorry about last night. Bawling, and all that."

"Don't be. I've always run to you when I've got a problem. And you can always come to me. We're brothers."

"Damn, Sammy. What did I say about chick-flick moments?"

Sam just grinned, glad that Dean had gotten the message.

*~~*

The library was nearly empty, as it should be on a Sunday morning, so Sam and Dean were able to snag a table in the far recesses rather easily. Sam went to see the librarian, spinning a tale of a religion essay on the differences between angels, the Fallen, and the Nephilim, and while Dean teased him about his supposedly brand new BFF, Sam followed the librarian around, accepting a large stack of books and promising to find her if he needed anything else.

Sam quickly divvied the stack up, making sure Dean's was larger than his, all in retribution for the cooking comment. Dean glared, but didn't say anything, just flipping randomly through the first book while tapping out some arrangement that Sam was sure had to be from Iron Maiden. It was followed quickly by Led Zeppelin, and then Dean was loudly humming AC/DC. Clearly, Dean knew how to torture Sam better than Sam knew how to torture Dean.

It only took twenty minutes for Dean to be granted a break by Sam, and his older brother flounced off, clearly pleased with himself. He was back fifteen minutes later to attempt to torture Sam, who handed him twenty bucks and asked him to go get him a coffee from Starbucks. That gave Sam a grand total of half-an-hour and a total bust.

As Dean started another guitar rift, Sam was scrabbling for another way to rid himself of his brother, when his cell phone began vibrating across the table. Snatching it up and glancing at the caller id, Sam grinned, and flipped it open.

"Hey, Jess."

He paused, smile dropping from his face as he cleared his throat. "Oh, sorry, Mr. Moore. I just looked at the caller id…Is everything alright?"

Dean jumped up as all the color faded from his brother's face, reaching out and placing a steadying hand on his shoulder, keeping him from falling out of the chair. "Sam?"

"Last night…a fire, in her room…Oh, God." Sam sank back, one trembling hand reaching up to cover his brother's, the other barely keeping his grasp on the phone. "Of course I'll be there," he whispered hoarsely. "No, don't worry about me. I'll find a motel or something." Distantly, he could feel Dean's hand squeezing his shoulder, the other one rubbing soothingly over his neck. "No. I'll be fine," the words caught in his throat and he realized that he'd disconnected the call already, and was speaking into empty silence. A strong arm wrapped around the front of his shoulders as he nearly pitched forwards, and the hand splayed across his neck rubbed vigorously.

"Sammy, Sam…"

"Jess is dead…a fire…Dean…"

He was being held, he could feel Dean's arms, but at the same time, he couldn't. He heard a soft keening, distantly realized it must be him, that the scalding heat running down his face must be tears. And then there was movement. He was rocking, being rocked. There were words, an entire litany of words. He couldn't hear the words, but he could hear Dean's voice. He still had Dean. He still had Dean.

Eventually his head cleared, and he could still feel Dean, holding him vice like against his chest where they both leaned against the library wall. Dean was on the phone, his voice sharp and fast, a sure sign that he was worried.

"Where is he, Bobby?" There was a pause, and Sam pressed closer to his brother, letting his eyes close as he listened to the rhythm of Dean's heart and felt the rise and fall of his chest. "He won't pick up the damn phone! I know he doesn't want to see me…but…I don't have time to explain right now, Bobby, but I think the demon is going after Sam…his girlfriend died in a fire last night."

Sam's breath hitched, and he let out a choked sob.

"Hold on a sec, Bobby. Easy, kiddo. I've got you. I've got you. Shh…" Sam pressed his face into the crook of Dean's neck, inhaling the comforting smell that was all Dean, and taking a deep, shuddering breath. "That's it. Just relax. Yeah, Bobby, I'm still here. Umm…Jessica Moore I think…Yeah, I'm gonna take him back to the apartment…you don't have to do that, Bobby…next flight out? Call me when you land and I'll give you the address…would you call them? Thanks. No, I'll see you soon."

The phone snapped shut, and Dean slipped in in his pocket, pressing his nose into Sam's mop of hair. "Bobby's coming, Sammy. We're gonna take care of this, I promise."

"M'sorry, Dean…"

"No. I know you loved her, Sam. I could see it in your eyes. You're allowed to hurt, Sam. It's okay to be broken. As long as you let us help put you back together, okay, kiddo?"

Sam nodded tightly against Dean's neck.

"Good. C'mon, let's get you back to the apartment and into bed. Things will seem better after some sleep." And a butt load of alcohol.

A/N: Read, review, and let me know what you think. Suggestions, questions, comments, predictions, and crazy reviewers all welcomed. Flames will be used to make s'mores.