A/N: I wasn't going to post this tonight, but I had some very kind reviewers and thought that they deserved it. Hope you guys enjoy. So, welcome to chapter three, this chapter title is taken from a song by Bonnie Tyler.

Stairway to Heaven

Chapter Three: Holding Out for a Hero

When Dean came to check on Sam, he found that he wasn't sleeping like he was supposed to. He was sitting on the floor, an open cardboard box next to him, silent tears running down his face as he stared at a picture in an iron wrought frame. Dean slid down the wall next to him, glancing over his taller brother's shoulder to look at the picture. It was Jess, knees pulled up to her chest where she sat on the park bench, arms wrapped around her legs as she looked out over the pond which glowed orange in the setting sun. Clearly she hadn't known that the picture was being taken, a melancholy happiness was reflected her profile, and Dean knew in that instant what had drawn Sam to this young woman.

Sam started to lower the picture into the box, but Dean's hand shot out, snagging his wrist and drawing his brother's attention. The younger man glanced at him through watery eyes, and Dean swallowed hard. "Why don't we keep this one, kiddo."

Sam nodded tightly, placing it over to his side, and reaching for a neatly folded pile of clothes, dropping them right into the box. His hands were trembling now, and he reached for a jewelry box, anger piercing through him as the tremors caused him to miss it, not once, but twice, before Dean reached out to grasp both hands and pull him towards his older brother.

Sam fisted the shaking hands into Dean's shirt, hiding them from his sight, simultaneously burying his nose into the dip between his brother's neck and collar bone, drawing a tremulous breath. Dean's arms had slid around him, pulling him closer, soothing over tensed back muscles, and running through tangled curls. He didn't say anything now, there was nothing to say that would make this better. Both their lives were falling apart at the seams, and there was nothing left to hold onto during this freefall but each other, and hold on they would.

"I gotta finish packing," Sam muttered suddenly, but he didn't make an attempt to pull away. "Her parents are gonna want her stuff…"

Dean pressed a hand to the back of Sam's head, holding him in place. "It can wait, Sam."

"Okay, Dean," he whispered, closing his eyes and letting the tears slip down and soak his brother's shirt.

Dean's legs began to go numb not long after, and even though he felt sick to his stomach, and he knew Sam probably felt even worse, he also knew that the kid needed to eat. "C'mon, Sammy. Why don't you go get a shower, and then we're going to go find someplace to eat."

It was an order.

Sam could follow orders. It was about all he could do right now, so it was a good thing that Dean was there to give them.

Sam nodded and stood on shaky legs, moving to the half empty dresser and pulling out new jeans and a button down, before stumbling off to the shower. He reappeared ten minutes later, hair wet and dripping down the back of his collar, eyes dry and bloodshot, and paler than one of the Egyptian cotton sheets on his bed. But he wasn't crying anymore, and the tremors were barely noticeable, so Dean took this as an improvement. He guided Sam out to the Impala with a hand on the small of his back, making sure his brother was secure in the front seat before getting in himself, intent on driving aimlessly and blasting his music until he found some place half-way decent to eat. Sam seemed to catch onto his ploy mighty quick, and finally directed Dean to an out of the way café on the other side of town. Dean watched as Sam settled on a bowl of soup, and ended up deciding on the same, his own stomach not up to much more. Though Dean added two beers as an afterthought, ordering Sam to drink his, and following it with another one. "You trying to get me buzzed?"

"Maybe," Dean grinned, "How else am I gonna get you in bed with me?"

"Good luck getting me that drunk," muttered Sam, taking another long sip out of the bottle.

"C'mon Sammy, you couldn't hold liquor four years ago, I highly doubt you've changed that much." Dean's smirk widened. "What, you up to three beers now before you pass out?"

Sam flicked a piece of wet straw paper at him, but a smile still pulled at the corner of his mouth, which had been the entire point of Dean's irritating him anyway. In response, Dean picked up his own straw, rolling his own straw paper in his mouth before stuffing it down the straw. "Aww, Dean, don't…"

The taller man ducked as Dean blew and the passing waitress ended up with a large wad of white on her butt. Sam turned wide-eyed, looking from the unknowing waitress to Dean, who had paled considerably. "Oops…"

"Man…Dean…"

The waitress turned, and Dean's guilty face disappeared, though Sam's face turned flaming red as he ducked his head. "You boys doing okay?"

"We're doing great, uh, Carla." Dean flashed a quick grin. "But, Sammy, here, he was wondering, oomph." Sam's foot connected hard with his shin, and the next words came out slightly breathless, "If he could have another beer."

"Dean," Sam hissed, "You're gonna make me into a freakin' alcoholic!"

"Nah, your liver could use a little exercise anyway." Dean smiled when Sam snorted, glad to see that his brother was bruised and beaten, but not totally broken. His pocket began vibrating as the waitress walked away, and Dean pulled out his cell, flicking it open. "Yeah?"

He paused for a second, and then held up his finger to Sam, walking a little ways away, where he could still see his younger brother, but at the same time far enough away that he could listen to the conversation on the other end. "Hey Jim," Dean smiled softly at his brother who smiled back, and Dean's chest tightened at the lost look in the hazel eyes. "He's better than I expected…but he's hurtin' real bad. You don't have to…Joshua, and Caleb? No, I think it'll be good for the kid. He's missed everyone…look, Bobby's on his way here now, but he can't get a hold of my dad either…yeah, I was just hoping…Sam could really use him right now…I left at least a dozen messages…Nah, it doesn't matter, Jim. We'll be okay. Good, I'll see you in a couple of days then. Thanks."

Sam's eyes trailed him as he made his way back to the table, snatching up his beer as he sat down. "That was Pastor Jim. Joshua and Caleb are on their way to his place tonight, and they're heading our way tomorrow. Found a flight out early tomorrow."

"They didn't have to do that," he muttered, flushing again.

"I told them that, Sammy. They want to." The waitress chose that instant to return with the third beer and two bowls of soup. "Thanks." He paused, tasting the soup and making sure Sam did the same before continuing. "I asked Jim, but he hasn't heard from Dad either…"

"It's okay." Sam stirred absently at his soup before taking another bite.

"No, it isn't, Sam." Dean nearly growled, stabbing mercilessly at his soup. "He doesn't just get to walk out. He was wrong about telling you not to come back, and he was wrong to leave when you, and I, both need him."

"Dean, it's okay. Really. I stopped being mad at Dad a long time ago. And right now…I hurt too bad to be mad at him again." Sam took another bite and pushed the bowl away. "Can we go?"

Dean looked at his own unfinished bowl and nodded. "Yeah, kiddo. Let's get out of here."

The ride back to the apartment was quiet, the only sound that of Blue Oyster Cult, and even that Dean turned off before they were halfway back. Within five minutes Sam had settled himself in at the kitchen table, surrounded by a large stack of books, his laptop, and an empty notebook, coupled with a large mug of coffee. Dean never understood how he could look at three books and five web pages at once, and since he had no desire to get involved in the research that Sam was clearly using to distract himself, he told Sam that he was running out and would be back soon, and to call if he needed anything.

When he returned forty-five minutes later, Sam was still in the same position, half-empty mug now ice cold, and two new books added into the mix. Bobby had called while he was out, and could show up at any time, but he didn't tell Sam, instead just pulling out three different containers of Ben and Jerry's as well as a stack of movies, plopping them right on top of the large tome that Sam was attempting to decipher. Sam glanced up, about to protest, when there was an insistent knock on the door, and they both stood, each grabbing a weapon, and headed towards the door.

Dean flung it open and immediately grinned, pulling the older hunter into a hug, and slapping him hard on the back. "Bobby! Just in time for movies and ice cream!"

"Gee, if I had known I was headed for a slumber party, I would have brought my nail polish." He stepped back, inspecting Dean, and apparently satisfied, turned to Sam, pulling the tall young man into a tight hug. "Hey, Sam."

"Hey, Bobby," Sam said quietly, holding on a little tighter than normal. "It's good to see you."

"You too, kid. You too." He pulled back, clearing his throat, and trying to ignore how awful both boys looked. "So, I heard something about ice cream?"

"And movies!" Dean shouted over his shoulder, sliding into the kitchen and snatching up the ice cream and DVDs. "All the Poltergeists and the Exorcist!"

"Oh, goody," muttered Sam.

"Pull out the couch, Sammy!"

Sam sighed, but did as he was told, pulling out the couch to reveal the bed, and Bobby followed him to the hall closet, returning with an armful of blankets as Sam hauled the pillows. Dean handed everyone a pint and spoon, dashing to put in the first movie.

They ended up pressing Sam between them, Dean flush up against his younger brother, and Bobby giving him some room, but not much. Sam wriggled around, trying to find a more comfortable position, especially since his back was starting to ache and his head twinge, but nothing seemed to help, and Dean ended up snapping at him for shaking the bed.

"Yeah, Sam, Dean can't cuddle you if you keep movin' around."

"Men don't cuddle, Bobby. They bond."

"Like superglue, apparently," Bobby muttered, winking at Sam.

"Sorry, my back hurts," he mumbled, sinking down into Dean's side and tossing his empty pint container to the floor.

Dean winced knowingly. "It's probably gonna get worse before it gets better, Sammy."

"I know," he sighed. "They've been getting worse all week."

That wasn't good. Dean knew from personal experience that Sam was close to doing whatever the heck Dean had done before him. This was the last thing that Sam needed to be dealing with right now, especially since the stupid demon was likely out to get them. And then, to be dealing with Jess' death…

"Shit, Dean," Sam gasped, pressing himself further into Dean, turning on his side so he could bury his head under Dean's arm.

"Holy…" muttered Bobby, reaching out a hand to touch the muscles that he could see moving in Sam's back.

Sam whimpered slightly, reaching out hands to fist into Dean's shirt. "Just relax, kiddo. Don't fight it, it'll just make it worse. I don't think it's gonna happen so soon, but it's definitely coming." Dean rubbed a soothing hand through Sam's hair, causing his brother to relax minutely. "That's it Sam, just relax…"

"'Kay, Dean." Orders were good. He could follow orders. Now all he needed was his Dad, because he was really good at giving orders…His head suddenly felt like it was exploding and…

Jess was pinned to the ceiling, a red stain blossoming across her stomach in a sick parody of a smile. Her eyes were wide with terror and pain, and then the flames erupted from behind her, swallowing her whole and quickly encompassing the room…

His mother was staring down at him…

Soft feathers surrounded him, and in his hand he held a fiery sword…

The wind rushed through his hair, around his body, holding him safe, guiding him to freedom…

Jess was screaming.

He was screaming.

His dad was screaming…

"Sammy! Sam! C'mon, you bitch, say something!"

"Jerk," he murmured, trying to clear his head, and moaning as jackhammers took off instead.

"Dean?"

"I don't know, Bobby…"

Sam dashed up suddenly, ignoring how the world was horizontal and spinning, instead lurching down the hallway by rote memory, and collapsing on hands and knees as he paid homage to the porcelain god. Someone was holding him up, because otherwise he'd be drowning in a pool of his own vomit, and someone else was running something cool and wet over his face and neck. He wanted to thank them, say something, anything, but the only thing he seemed capable of doing was expelling ice cream, soup, and beer, a combination he never wanted to taste again in his life…

Eventually he was left dry heaving, trying to catch his breath, but with nothing left to be expelled. He was pulled backwards, and soothing circles were being rubbed over his chest, helping him to calm his breathing as he tried to match it to the deep breaths he could feel against his cheek where it rested against someone's chest. There were voices, but he couldn't be bothered to listen, instead content to just lay back and let the pain seep from his bones, leaving behind aches and pains, that hurt, but were bearable, making him into an exhausted mound of flesh, unable to lift his own head if he wanted to.

"Hey, Sammy," a callused palm ran over his forehead, and Sam's head lolled towards it, eyelids peeling back. Bobby's visage wavered, and Sam closed his eyes, willing his stomach to stop rolling. "Why don't your idjit brother and I get you back into bed, I think you'll be more comfortable there than on the bathroom floor."

"M'good," Sam mumbled.

Someone snorted behind him, causing his head to bounce.

"Stop movin', Deanie," he whined.

A deep chuckle caused him to bounce more, and he latched his hands into the vibrating fabric to keep himself from falling. Suddenly, he was being hauled upright, but just as quickly, he began falling, stopping somewhere between the sky and the ground, and then floating forward, eventually landing on something soft and being wrapped in something warm, where he could just drift…

Minutes, hours, or days later, Sam surfaced, where he found a pair of bright green eyes staring at him, the lightly freckled face pulled into a smile. "Hey, buddy, it's good to have you back."

"Hey, Dean." Sam swallowed hard, trying to work past swollen tongue and sore throat. "What happened?"

"Nothing much, you blacked out. But don't worry, while you were out, Bobby and I managed to pack up most of your stuff."

"Pack…"

"Yeah, Bobby's already got some guys lined up to move it to his place…"

"Oh. What time is it?" Sam sat up, rubbing at his eyes to clear the grit.

"Nearly noon."

"Crap. I need to call and cancel my interview!"

"What interview?"

"I had an interview for a full ride to law school in the fall…"

"Can you reschedule?" Dean was already figuring out how soon Sam would be ready for an interview…

"I don't want to."

"What?"

"Law school…it was for when I was with Jess."

"And now," Dean asked softly.

"I have a demon to kill. Wings to sprout, literally. And who knows what else. That is, if the passenger seat in the Impala is still open?"

"Always," Dean smiled, offering a hand to help Sam up from the fold out. "I'll call, you go get a shower. We were gonna hit the road in a couple of hours anyway."

"Thanks, Dean."

"You'd do the same for me, Sam. Now go take a shower, you smell like stale beer and vomit."

"Gee, thanks," Sam muttered, still grinning as he stumbled off to the bathroom.

"Not a problem!" Dean hollered after him, whistling to himself as he disappeared and went to go find both Bobby and his missing duffel.

By the time Sam had finished his shower, they had most of their stuff packed into Bobby's rental. Forty-five minutes later, the Impala was squealing its way from the curb, Bobby not far behind.

As the street shrank in the mirror, Sam vaguely wondered if this was what if felt like to be drowning, a suffocating weight on his chest and no energy to stop the listlessness from taking over before he was swept up and dragged away. A hand on his knee startled him, forcing him to take a deep breath, and for a second, he is sure that everything will be okay…'Cause Dean is always there to pull me out.

A/N: Howdy doody--let me know what you think! Flames will be used to boil water, with which I will make hot chocolate!!