A/N: Woohoo! I broke twenty reviews, and I couldn't do it without you guys! WARNING: Bipolar boys ahead (aren't emotional roller coasters fun?) and chick-flick moments sure to ensue. You have been warned. This chapter's title is taken from a song by the Talking Heads. ENJOY!

Stairway to Heaven

Chapter Six: Road to Nowhere

"What are you boys doing parked on the side of the road where anybody could see you like, like, that!" he snapped, gesturing towards the wings that were protruding from Sam's back. "Anybody could stop, someone might be after you and…" John took a deep breath, watching as his youngest paled considerably and stumbled back towards the car, collapsing into the passenger seat.

Shiny happy people holding hands…

Sam tried desperately to take his own deep breath, but he couldn't get enough air.

His head was spinning and Jess was dead.

One hand clutched at his chest as he bent over, wings wrapping him in his own protective embrace.

Dean was mad, he'd stormed off…

His chest hurt, it hurt, it hurt…

His dad hated him. He hated him.

Jess was dead. It was his fault. His fault.

John watched as all the color drained from Sam's face, and his worry spiked, further fueling his anger. "Where's your dim-witted brother? Isn't he supposed to be watching you?"

Sam shuddered, pressing further back into the Impala, away from his father. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he choked, a rough wheeze pulling from his chest as he tried to replace the oxygen he'd used to expel those words. "Sorry."

Sorry for everything.

For Stanford.

For Jess.

For not being able to help Dean.

For hating hunting, for wanting more.

Sorry. Dean, m'sorry, m'sorry, m'sorry, don't leave.

"Sam. Sam you need to calm down. That's an order, son." The gruff man took a step forward but forced himself to stop when Sam flinched away. "Sam. Calm down."

He was trying to calm down. He'd been trying to calm down since Jess died. He'd been trying to calm down since these wings decided to attach themselves to his back, and he'd been trying to calm down since his dad threw him out of the house four years previously and told him not to come back.

Was his dad a total idiot? Wouldn't he calm down if he could?

"Can't…" he forced out, regretting it as the world spun, and he was forced to lean against the cool leather of the Impala. "Dad…"

Darkness was lingering at the edges of his vision now, his dad was yelling, ordering, bullying, but that wasn't what Sam needed. Dean…

*~~*

Dean stumbled through the brush, refusing to let the angry tears fall from his eyes. His life sucked. Their life sucked. And it sucked worse because they both had a taste of normal, only to be denied the chance at it for the rest of their, apparently, goddamned lives.

Top it off with the fact that he probably was damned, not because of his actions, but because of what he freakin' was…

If Dean believed in reincarnation, he'd wonder if perhaps he was unfortunate enough to have been a mass murderer in one of his past lives and it was now all coming back to bite him in the butt.

Stopping to lean against a large tree, letting the rough bark scrape at his back, Dean took a few deep breaths, calming himself. The spikes of pain slicing through his back and head were distracting, but not debilitating, and now was not the time to be sprouting wings.

Truth was, he was tired. Five months of fighting whatever this was, it took a toll on him, mentally and physically. Five months of refusing to give in…

Dean was almost ready to give in now. Not much longer before he hit the ground and shattered into a million pieces…

Maybe he should go find the freakin' archangels himself. Hey dumbass, over here, come kill me now!

Yeah, and then what? His spirit could turn evil and wander around possessing people? No wonder his dad had ditched.

His dad had ditched and he'd tried for five months to fight this thing. Five months before he finally went for help, went to Sam…

Only to find Sam worse off than he was.

Which meant Dean had to be the strong one again.

Had to hold on tight and lie with all his might so Sam would have a fighting chance. Because Sam was all that was left to fight for. The only thing left to hold onto. Problem being, when your rock has fallen off the cliff face, what was left for you to hang on to?

Running a hand through his short hair, Dean took another steadying breath, turning to head back to the Impala. Sam would probably be worried by now, and the last thing Dean wanted to do was add any more to that kid's already overflowing plate. He could almost imagine the state Sam would be in, probably muttering platitudes.

Dean, m'sorry, m'sorry, m'sorry, don't leave.

The kid would think it was all his fault. Because Sam internalized everything.

Picking up the pace, sudden worry cutting through his chest, Dean pushed through the rough bramble, ignoring as branches and thorns reached out in an attempt to snag his clothes and make him stumble.

All at once, without a doubt, Dean knew something was wrong. He batted at the leaves in his face as he began running, his world narrowing down to the path in front of him.

Dean.

"SAM!" he hollered, bursting out by the roadside, and freezing in place, gravel skidding from his quick stop and his body swaying as gravity attempted to assert its hold. There was a man, leaning over the Impala, he had to have seen the wings, was probably trying, going to hurt Sam…

The pain in his head intensified, and his knees gave way, hitting the dirt. He never even registered the face of the man as he turned, instead only seeing a threat to his brother…

"Get away from him!" the words came from between clenched teeth, for a second Dean thought he was going to bite straight through his tongue…

Then the pain was gone, and the man was lying a good ten feet away from the car, sitting on his rear and looking rather stunned.

"Sam!" Dean shouted again, pulling himself up and stumbling towards the car, reaching into his waist band for the ivory-inlaid handgun, turning midway to level it on the… "Dad?"

His hands were shaking, and Dean clicked the safety back on, afraid he might shoot his own foot off. Dad. He came, Dad came…

A ragged gasp distracted him, and Dean whirled, father already forgotten when his eyes finally found Sam.

"Jesus, Sammy," he slid smoothly into the passenger seat, reaching out to tug at the shivering ball that at some point had been his younger brother.

Dean admitted that he should have seen the total breakdown coming.

Sam had seemed way to easy going about this whole thing.

That should have been the first sign that they were treading in dangerous water.

Sprouting wings at your girlfriend's funeral shouldn't look that easy.

"Come on, kiddo, I've gotchya." He tugged again, and Sam's long limbs unfolded, collapsing like spaghetti into Dean's lap as he took quick, shallow breaths. "Easy, you gotta take deep breaths, Sammy, deep breaths." One hand rested on Sam's back, between the wings, rubbing the bare skin there, the other fisted in Sam's hair, pressing his brother's ear to his chest so he could match the breathing to his own.

"That's right. In…good, now out…"

Finally Sam managed to draw a couple of deep breaths, trembling limbs regaining strength so they could wrap around Dean, much like a baby monkey that they had once seen at some zoo.

Of course, Dean should have remembered that there was a third party to this entire exchange.

"Dean."

He jumped, surprised. How could he have forgotten that their dad was there? How were they going to stay alive if he couldn't even focus on his immediate surroundings anymore?

At the sound of their dad's voice, Sam had taken another short breath, following it in quick succession with a number of others.

"Sam, it's okay. It's okay. I know dad scared you, but I promise, he isn't mad at you. I'm not mad, you just gotta calm down…"

He attempted to glare at his dad, but his vision seemed to be blurring and something wet was sliding down his face. Was it raining? Inside the Impala?

"Dean, we need to go."

Sam's breathing had relaxed somewhat, but Dean knew that whatever conversation they were about to have was going to blow that right out of the water. "Sammy, I've gotta go talk to Dad, but I'm gonna be right outside, okay? Can you hold onto my jacket for me until I'm done?"

Sam didn't want Dean to move.

No. Scratch that. Sam didn't want to move.

It would take too much effort and he'd just managed to get comfortable.

But Dean was moving.

For a second he thought about fisting his hands into Dean's shirt, and his breath hitched. Dean stilled. "M'okay, Dean," he whispered, pulling away, and sliding over towards the driver's side. His breaths were still jittery, his entire body shaking like he'd overdosed on steroids, but it was going to be okay, because Dean was there now.

"I'll be right outside, Sam," Dean whispered, slipping off the leather jacket that smelled like both their dad and Dean, passing it over to the younger man, who curled up under it immediately, eyes slipping closed.

Dean scooted out, and quietly shut the door behind him, turning to face John Winchester. "Dean, we have to go now."

"We? We have to go?"

"Yes, Dean, now," John snapped, rubbing absently at his backside where he'd landed.

"No, Dad. I think the only one that wants to go anywhere is you. You made that painfully obvious five months ago."

"Dean, now is not the time for arguments," John glanced around, noting that the nonexistent wind had picked up, and reached out, grasping Dean's arm and shaking him roughly. "Get in the Impala, and follow me."

"Dad…"

"If you want to keep Sam safe, you will do what I say now, Dean." John knew he should have felt guilt at the look of panic that flashed across his eldest's face. Ten, heck, even five years ago he probably would have. But right now, John wanted both his boys safe, and if hurting Dean was the only way to do that, then he would trample all over him. "Now get in the car, and follow me."

"Yes, sir," Dean whispered, eyes wide as he dashed for the driver's door. John set a quick pace back to his own truck

"Come on, Sammy, you gotta move over so I can get in."

Sam slid over, head falling against the window as he hiked Dean's jacket higher, eyes closing, even as his arms and legs continued their jig. "Where are we…going?"

"Don't worry about it, kiddo. You just get some sleep, and I'll wake you up when we get there."

"Dad?"

"Yeah, he's comin' too, Sam."

"Good."

"Good?" Dean asked, signaling to get back on the road, and then flooring it behind his father, wondering where the sudden rain had come from as he flicked on the wipers.

"I missed him," Sam muttered, body convulsing once more before finally falling still, leaving him exhausted. As sleep dragged him under, he finished his thought, leaving Dean with a cold empty feeling in his gut. "Even if he doesn't love me anymore…"

Following behind his father's watery tail-lights, Dean was glad that the other man was safely ensconced in his car, because if he was standing in front of him, it was likely that he'd put his dad right on his ass.

*~~*

In the cab of his truck, John swore at the sudden rain.

He should have gotten to his boys earlier. Days earlier.

But he needed everyone else out of the picture. It had been hard enough to devise a hunt that would be big enough to distract Jim, Caleb, and Joshua. He'd been too late to keep Bobby from coming out, but luckily Dean had convinced him that it would be better for the boys to go to the funeral alone and meet up with him later. Clearly, though, it hadn't been soon enough.

Truth be told, he'd been surprised at how bad off his boys were.

The wings had been a real shocker, but part of him couldn't help admiring how graceful his youngest look, how strong…

Until he saw the dark circles under his eyes, the fine tremble in his hands, the fact that he could practically count the kid's ribs…and then that panic attack. Clearly Sam was in a bad way.

The thing was, Dean wasn't much better off.

For starters, it looked like he'd broken his nose recently, if the swollen eyes were anything to go by.

But he'd lost weight too. Not as much as Sam…but still. And the lines of pain and exhaustion that marred his young face…

The kicker had been when Dean had thrown him nearly clear across the country, but Dean didn't seem to realize that he'd done it.

The problem being, the second he used those otherworldly powers, John knew that the arch angels could sense him. So he had to get the boys away from there, and fast, before they showed up.

Judging by the storm, they were well on their way there, and he still may not have gotten them out in time.

And then, to see Dean holding on to his brother, crying…

Dean didn't cry.

At least, not in front of him.

Pounding his fist on the steering wheel, John stepped harder on the gas, hoping that there were no cops ahead.

Behind him, he could hear the rumble of the Impala as it followed, and part of John relaxed, glad to know, that for this second, they were together again.

*~~*

Apparently the panic attack had taken enough out of Sam to give him a dreamless sleep, and Dean was happy to see the wings retreat, for now, since he was pretty sure that if one more thing happened to them that he was going to prove that people really could self combust. As his father's truck leapt forward, Dean followed suit, squinting slightly to try to see better through the downpour. Driving at this speed, in this weather, in the Impala could very easily become a recipe for disaster, so Dean was trying to pay extra attention to the road.

Deciding some music was in order to help him calm down and unfurl the bunched muscles in his neck and back, he reached out to turn on the cassette player, only to hear REM leak from his speakers. Apparently Sam had found his tapes. Dean knew he should have pitched them when the kid went to college. Next thing he knew, the kid would have Belinda Carlisle or New Kids on the Block coming from the speakers. Or if he was really lucky, Sam would find that N*SYNC tape and he'd have to gouge out his ear drums.

The cardboard box of tapes was in the back, strategically placed out of Dean's reach. "You bitch," he muttered, glancing at his sleeping brother.

Sighing, he decided to try the radio, but for some reason there was only static and a strange screeching noise, so Dean quickly thumbed it off. Resisting the urge to bang his head against the steering wheel, or wake up his brother (one Sammy Special was enough for today, thank you), Dean settled himself in for a long, quiet, ride, with only the rhythmic pounding of the rain and his own tumultuous thoughts to keep him company.

*~~*

Noon came and went.

Dean's stomach didn't appreciate the fact that his dad was apparently anti-stop. Not that he had been big on stopping when they were little either. In fact, Dean could clearly remember Sam having an accident in the back of the car when their dad insisted that he should be able to hold it until they got to the motel when the poor kid had been holding it all day.

So when Sam started stirring and his low fuel light came on simultaneously, Dean took it as his opportunity to take control of this trip. Changing to the middle lane and pulling up to the right side of his dad, he jerked his head to the side, indicating that he was getting off at the next exit. The rain had died down, and Dean was going to take the opportunity to get out of the car and stretch his legs, if only for a minute.

His dad shook his head vehemently, and Dean resisted the urge to give him the one fingered salute, switching over to the far right lane and watching as his dad's face transformed immediately into one of impatient frustration. It only took a second for his dad to follow suit, though, so Dean decided to ignore the death glares his dad was probably directing him from behind and focus his attentions on his slow waking brother.

"Hey, kiddo, feelin' better?"

Sam rubbed at his eyes and stretched, joints popping loudly in the cramped car. "Yeah," he rasped, and then cleared his throat.

Dean scanned him over quickly, noting that he didn't really look much better, bloodshot eyes and pale complexion, but he was still breathing, so Dean had to admit that this could be a major improvement.

"Good. How do you feel about some chow? My baby needs gas and I figured you could do with a bathroom break and a box of Ring Dings."

Sam shot him a small smile. "Throw in a bag of Doritos and a Slush Puppy and we've got a deal." He peered forward suddenly, just as Dean hit the exit, clearly confused. "Where's Dad?"

"Right behind us, he didn't go anywhere." Yet.

Sam visibly relaxed, letting himself fall back into the seat. "Hey, my wings are gone!"

"Yeah, no nightmares."

"Uh, Dean?" "Yeah?"

"When we stop, can you get me a new shirt?"

"Afraid of drooling girls?" Dean grinned.

"No, Dean, unlike you, I don't do prepubescent."

Dean's smile fell away and he shot a dirty look at his brother, already trying to figure out how to get him back. "Just for that, no Doritos."

He signaled that he was heading to the gas station, ignoring the black truck that pulled up behind him, and immediately going for the trunk, popping it open and snatching Sam's duffel, slamming it, and then wincing as he heard his baby protest. "Here you go, Sam."

"Thanks, man." Sam caught the duffel as Dean tossed it through the open driver's door, immediately riffling through it.

John jumped out of the cab, slamming the door, but Dean totally ignored him, heading straight for the store, Sam clamoring to follow as he pulled a t-shirt over his head one handed, leather jacket still clutched securely in both hands. By the time John had rounded the front, both boys had disappeared inside, Sam heading straight for the bathroom in the back, and Dean heading for the candy isle.

He followed behind, going right for the counter himself, asking for 40 on pump 3 and pump 5, unsure what his boys' financial situation was. Dean came up behind him, arms full of Peanut M&Ms, Doritos, a box of snack cakes, and two slushies, one red, and one blue. "You didn't have to do that, Dad."

"I know, I wanted to."

Dean shrugged, dropping his items unceremoniously on the counter, ignoring the old woman chewing her gum like a cow behind the counter, adding a couple of energy bars to the pile and pulling out a wad of bills. Sam appeared a second later, glancing quickly at his dad before looking down, hiding behind his long bangs.

"Hey, Dad." Sam moved a little closer to Dean. He was wearing the leather jacket now, and it hung off his thin frame, accentuating the fact that he hadn't been eating.

"Hey, bud." John watched as Sam seemed to let out a breath that he'd been holding, as if he was afraid of what his dad's reaction was going to be. "You feeling better?"

Sam nodded tightly, shoving his hands into the deep pockets and wrapping the jacket closer, much as his wings had wrapped around him earlier. For some reason he wasn't sure he liked not having their weight at his back, and that mere thought sent a small pain straight up from his back to his temples.

Dean caught the quiet gasp, and he turned to face Sam, leaving the cashier holding a handful of change and no one to give it to. "Just take a deep breath, Sam."

Sam did as he was told, pushing back against the pain, and it subsided in his head, though not without leaving aching muscles behind.

"Better?"

"Yeah, thanks Dean."

"No problem," he turned back to the cashier, as if nothing odd had happened, shoving the spare change in his pocket and snatching up the bag and the slushies, passing the blue one to Sam.

All three men exited together, and Sam got back in the Impala, immediately ripping open the snack cake box and removing one of the plastic wrapped cake packs, passing one of the chocolate creations to Dean, who moved around back to pump the gas.

"So," Dean swallowed the last of the crème filling and watched as John filled the truck, figuring that now was as good a time as any to broach the subject. "Where are we going?"

John screwed the cap back on tight, replacing the pump. "I want to get at least across state lines before we stop, preferably a little further."

"We're in the middle of Nowhere, Nevada, Dad."

"Yeah."

Dean sighed, docking his own pump. "So we aren't stopping anytime soon?"

John paused, studying Dean for a second, and realizing just how tired his son looked. And Sammy looked ten times worse. He didn't really want to let the boys out of his sight in this state. "I know a place, a couple towns over. We'll stop there and store the truck, and then we'll all take the Impala."

Dean froze, his hand on the hood of the car. "Are you serious?"

"You look like you could use some sleep, sport. You and Sammy both. I'll drive, and then when we get where we're going, we'll talk things out."

Dean recognized an olive branch when he saw one. The thing was, he wasn't sure he was ready to accept it, and he sure as hell wasn't certain that Sam was ever going to accept one. Swallowing hard, Dean nodded. "Okay."

"Then what are you waiting for, let's get this show on the road."

A/N: All reviewers will be sent imaginary hugs, and all flames will be used to heat my house, since it is June, and very cold here (because the weather is schizophrenic!). Hope you enjoyed, let me know what you think. And I promise, there will be Dean wings in the next chapter for SaintsGhost. I'm just not sure when I'll have it posted.

~Ocean-Born-Mary