A/N: WOW! Thanks so much for the reviews guys, that's the most yet! You're awesome. I must say, psicat76's review had me laughing hysterically, comparing John's subtleties to that of a bulldozer. You made my night. This chapter is dedicated to SaintsGhost, who requested Dean wings (and who I sent a PM last night about Ring Dings, let me know if you didn't get it). Right, thanks again guys and ON WITH THE SHOW! P.S.--This chapter title is taken from Real Life.
Stairway to Heaven
Chapter Seven: Catch Me I'm Falling
Dean watched as his Dad carefully pulled the last of his 'necessities' from the truck bed, wondering where exactly the grenades and landmines had come from, and why he'd never seen them before now. Sammy was leaning against the hood of the Impala, thumbing through some book or another. Dean suddenly felt like he was twenty again, and that Sam was the sixteen-year-old who had gone an entire week not talking to their father after he had forced Dean to go on a hunt with a concussion. But Sammy's silence wasn't coming from anger or concern this time. He was clearly nervous about interacting with the elder Winchester, and Dean really couldn't blame him. It wasn't everyday that your father kicked you out of the house and told you to never come back.
They were both distracted as Sam's phone started ringing, 'Barbie Girl' filtering through the darkened garage. "What the heck, Dean?" Sam questioned, fishing the phone out of his pants pocket, wondering when his snickering brother had had time to change his ring tone.
John rolled his eyes, hoping that he would be able to finish reorganizing Dean's trunk sometime before the next new year. How the boy found anything in that mess he'd never know.
"Hello?"
Sam shifted, and then pushed away from the car, pacing in front of the hood. 'Who is it?' Dean mouthed, and Sam responded with a silent, 'Bobby.'
"Jim said the hunt was a bust, huh? Thought it was a set up?" Both boys turned to look at their father, suspicion clear in their eyes. John shrugged and decided that he was getting foam inserts for the Impala's trunk.
"Really?" Sam snorted, a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips. "Does sound like a classic Winchester set up." His eyes darted up to meet Dean's, and then returned to the ground. "Jail, really? Wow, Caleb must've been pretty pissed."
John flinched at that. He hadn't meant for them to get caught…
"M'okay." His voice wavered slightly, and Dean knew that Sam was busted. "No, really Bobby, I'm fine. Just haven't been feeling too hot, so, uh, we decided to stop early. It might take a little longer than we thought to meet you…"
His eyes shot up and caught John's, and seeing the approval at the lie, Sam continued.
"Nothing serious, just been pretty wiped, and you know how big of a mother hen Dean is."
A strangled sound left his brother's throat.
"Yeah, he's been doing that whole 'male bonding' thing," Sam smirked as Dean fumed.
"Give me that!" he snapped, snatching the phone from Sam's hand as his brother doubled over in silent laughter. "That's a dirty no good lie, Bobby…I have not been cuddling!"
Cuddling, John thought, normally that was Sam's forte…
"Sam," he called, tuning out Dean arguing with Bobby over the points of cuddling vs. male bonding, "Come here and help me with this, you're ten times more organized than your brother."
Sam brushed past Dean, who was now getting the low down on Jim's fake hunt, and leant over the trunk with his dad. "This isn't half bad for Dean."
"That's not saying much," John muttered.
With Sam's help, the trunk was ready to go in under five minutes, and Dean had finally gotten Bobby off the phone. Sam slipped into the back seat without being asked, and Dean took the passenger seat, glad to see that Sam decided to stretch out in the back. As John pulled out of the garage, Dean turned, snatching up the cassette tapes from the floor, pawing through them eagerly.
"Put in Air Supply," John ordered, merging with traffic.
"What, no," Dean snapped, moving the box away from John's searching hand.
"What's the rule, Dean? Driver picks the music…"
"Shotgun shuts his cakehole," Sam supplied from the back.
"Traitor," Dean mumbled, handing the box over to his father.
It was going to be a long ride.
*~~*
Dean remembered why he hated family road trips now.
The music generally sucked when he wasn't driving.
His dad had usually created some new way to quiz his hunting skills.
And Sam always ended up sulky and silent in the backseat.
He tried to fall asleep, but he was concerned about leaving Sam awake with just John for company.
"Can we please put in a different tape now?" Dean's fingers reached for the tape deck and got smacked away.
"No, we're stopping here."
The shabbily lit motel didn't win Dean's vote of confidence, but he knew better than to say anything by now. Their dad immediately went to rent a room, and Sam sighed from the backseat, rubbing at his forehead.
"You okay back there?"
"Hmm…oh, yeah," Sam's hands dropped self-consciously. "Actually, my head's killing me."
"We'll get settled in and get you some painkillers. And real food."
"So french fries?"
"Exactly."
John appeared a second later, starting the car back up and moving towards the end of the lot, taking the last parking spot and gesturing to the room at the end. "Alright boys, duffels and salt."
"Yes, sir." The automated response fell from both their lips, the synchrony something learned from years of practice.
Dean was out first, but he waited for Sam, watching as his brother pushed long legs from the car and grasped the edge of the door to help himself up. He froze for a second, swaying in place, eyes pinching shut. Dean put a hand on his shoulder, guiding him back to the seat. "Just sit for a minute, Sammy. You haven't eaten anything in awhile, it's probably starting to get to you."
He grabbed up both their duffels, John taking his own and the one with the weapons. "Sam okay?"
"I think he'll be better after he eats something," was Dean's only response before shutting the trunk, returning to Sam's side. "Ready to go?"
"Yeah," Sam pushed himself up again, stumbling behind his brother to the door.
Sam's vision was doubling now, and he was starting to wonder if this was really just a simple hunger headache. Dean, meanwhile, was griping about the fact that he and Sam were going to be forced into sharing a bed. Either that or one of them was going to be taking the floor.
Noticing Sam's lack of color, Dean dropped the duffels in the middle of the floor, and rounded on his brother. "Go lay down, Sam."
"M'fine," Sam muttered, still heading straight for the bed and crashing face down on it.
Dean snatched the car keys from his dad's hand. Part of him was afraid to leave the two of them alone, but they needed food, and that wasn't something that he could trust his dad with. "I'm going to get food."
"Good," John nodded. "I'll get the room set up. Sam, why don't you take a shower? Might help that headache you've got."
Knowing an order when he heard one, Sam dragged himself off the bed, scooping sleep pants up from his duffel, and staggering towards the shower. "Please don't kill each other while I'm gone," Dean implored of his father, before heading out to find the nearest fast food joint.
*~~*
John was nervous about being left alone with his youngest.
Admittedly, they hadn't parted on the best of terms.
And they hadn't reunited on the best of terms either. Especially since it resulted in a panic attack. Hopefully Dean would be back before Sam was even out of the shower.
*~~*
The water in the shower was lukewarm at best and doing nothing to soothe Sam's aching muscles. The headache was steadily growing worse, and Sam was now leaning against the scummy tiled wall, willing his limbs to stop trembling. Realizing that he should probably get out of the shower before he collapsed in it, Sam shut off the water, stumbling blindly out and grabbing up the sweats, slipping them on just as his vision began to darken.
As his eyes exploded in blinding pain and his knees gave out, Sam managed to call out for the one person he wondered if he could even count on to help him. "Dad!"
*~~*
John was so busy salting the windows he would have missed his name being called if it wasn't for the sound of a body hitting linoleum that followed. Dropping the canister, he flew towards the bathroom, worst fears taking over and nearly sending him into a panic mode. Kicking open the door, the first thing John noticed was that the entire bathroom was pee yellow.
The second was his son lying on the floor.
Sam's body was horizontal, curled on its side, revealing the angry looking scars where his wings would normally be. John could see his eyes moving rapidly under closed lids, almost like he was dreaming on the bathroom floor.
"Daaad…"
Sam couldn't see. But he could hear familiar breathing next to him. Eighteen years of sleeping in motel rooms with the same man meant that he could recognize his father's breathing almost anywhere.
"Dad?"
"I'm right here, Sammy," John whispered, kneeling next to his son and wincing as he saw the blood trickling from his nose.
"Sammy. Are you alright? Where's Dean?"
Dean. Where was he, where was Dean…
"Deeee…"
John's heart clenched and he reached down to pull his son into a half sitting position against his chest, ignoring the fact that his shirt was soaked almost instantly from the water that Sam didn't have time to dry off. "No, buddy, it's Dad, Daddy's right here," John whispered into the wet hair.
Someone was screaming. Dad? Dean?
"Run, Sam. Run! Get out of here."
"Can't leave without you. Not without you and Dean…"
"Nooo…Daaaadd…"
John tried to press the white towel to his son's nose, tilting his head back slightly as he pinched, hoping to stem the flow.
"I'm sorry, kiddo, this is my fault, all my fault. I should have been there protecting you boys…"
Where the hell was Dean when he needed him?
Sword, fire, pain, burning, his back, was he on fire…
"Uhh…"
Sam stilled against him and John figured this was his best chance of moving him. Sliding one hand below Sam's knees and another around his back, John stood swiftly, worried about how easy it was for him to lift his 6'4" son. Moving quickly, he had Sam on the bed furthest from the door in seconds, placing him on the edge closest to the wall, knowing full well that Dean was going to want to occupy the other side.
The towel was red now, and though the flow had slowed, it had yet to stop, prompting John to get one of the disposable ice packs from the first aid kit and place it under Sam's neck. Glad to see that his son was just unconscious now and no longer having some sort of fit, John covered him up and proceeded to finish salting the door and windows, hoping to distract himself from the too still form that he'd left on the bed.
*~~*
Dean was having his own problems.
He'd had to park the Impala in an ill lit area, entirely too far away from the pub that he was purchasing the food at. It was cool in the early November air, and Dean's jacket was probably still wrapped around Sam's shoulders, since the kid had taken it like a security blanket and had yet to let go.
The bar was noisy and did nothing for Dean's already sour mood. As usual, his dad had managed to throw a giant corkscrew into his life without even trying. He had no idea what they were doing, why they were here, or why he should even give his dad the time of day. But as usual, he'd been unable to say no. And as much as he hated to admit it, he'd missed his dad, missed having someone else be in charge. It was kinda nice to know that there was someone else to do all the dirty work. He just needed to follow.
But at the same time, he wasn't sure whether or not his dad was just going to try cutting off his and Sam's wings. He should probably keep a close eye on him until he figured that one out. Worst case was, he could call Bobby. He'd give his dad the benefit of the doubt first, though.
The guy behind the bar attempted to pick him up, and Dean wasn't really in to being tactful tonight. He'd more or less told the poor man to drop dead, that he didn't swing that way. Dean had snatched up his food and left, only to be confronted by a couple of stupid kids thinking they could hold him up on the dark street not even a minute later.
Which is where he was now.
A couple of kids with baseball bats after his wallet were what pushed him over the edge. This cake had been baking in the oven since he'd sprouted wings for the first time. Over the next six months, multiple layers had been added, when his dad left, when Jess died, when Sammy nearly had a mental breakdown, when their dad decided to freakin' show back up and start running their lives again…and these kids were just the icing on top of it all.
He could feel the sharp spike of pain, but had no desire to stop it this time, almost reveling in the freedom as his wings ripped through his black shirt, funny how they matched both his attire and his mood, and snapped open, fanning his irate frame. He looked like a half-crazed angel holding a bag of takeout, not overly menacing, but it apparently was enough to scare the two idiots.
"What…wh…what are you…" the one stuttered, baseball bat clattering useless to the ground.
Dean couldn't resist. "I'm your worst nightmare," he hissed. "I am…" The two kids had taken off before he could even finish. "BATMAN!"
Shaking his head ruefully, Dean realized he felt better than he had in a long time. Maybe this suppressing the wing thing was a bad idea. A dry breeze blew past him, and his wings spread further, feathers ruffling in the cool wind. They attempted to flutter experimentally, and Dean turned to look at them, snapping, "Oh no you don't, I am quite happy here on the ground, thank you, very much." With that they folded neatly behind him, blending in with his t-shirt. Nodding his satisfaction, Dean continued to the car, happily whistling a nameless tune.
He should of figured that his dad and Sam would have come up with some way to ruin his two seconds of peace. How many times had he come home to find the two of them going at it?
In fact he was a little surprised that there wasn't any ear drum shattering yelling going on when he rumbled up. And then he realized that all the lights were off in the motel room. Wrapping one hand around his gun, the other still holding the take-out, Dean rapped quickly on the door and stepped back, ready to shoot whatever otherworldly creature came through.
Turned out, it was just his dad that opened the door, and John gestured him in, motioning for him to be quiet with a finger to his lips. Carefully, Dean stepped over the salt line, and dropped his load on the table, immediately noticing Sam laying flat out on his back under the bed covers. Poor kid must have been wiped…
Dean started unpacking the food from the bags when he turned to glance at Sam again, catching his pale features by the yellow bathroom light. Sam was on his back. Sam slept in all sorts of strange, contorted positions, most of them appearing way too uncomfortable for Dean to even attempt, but he rarely slept on his back.
Dean's eyebrows creased and he took a hesitant step towards the bed, turning towards his father who had already opened one of the styrofoam containers and was chowing down. "What's wrong with Sam?"
"Passed out in the bathroom…it was like he was having some sort of fit," John paused, putting his sandwich back in the container. "He kept calling for you and me, and his nose was bleeding…don't worry, I got it to stop." He nearly flinched under his eldest son's accusing glare. "He's just sleeping now. He woke up about ten minutes ago, said his head hurt really bad, so I gave him some painkillers and he dropped off."
"No wings?" Dean questioned, moving closer to his brother, checking to make sure Sam really was 'just sleeping'.
"No, no…" John looked up, the filtered light from the bathroom catching Dean's back, and that t-shirt was a lot glossier than it should have been. "Dean? What happened? What did you do?"
"Huh?" Dean turned, confused. "I just got some takeout." He stretched his arms, working out the kinks from sitting in the car all day, and his wings stretched themselves, sending a light breeze through the room as they flapped experimentally.
"Really? Then you wanna explain what those things are doing out?" John gestured at the gleaming feathers.
Dean grinned suddenly. "Scared a couple of kids off that thought they could get my wallet."
John stood suddenly, anger flitting across his features. "Damn it, Dean!" he hissed. "You're going to get yourself killed!"
Sam moaned and turned slightly in his sleep, causing John to jerk his head towards the door. Unsure of what was going on, Dean reluctantly followed his father outside, leaning up against the Impala and facing the pacing man.
"You wanna tell me what you're talkin' about?"
John turned sharply on his heel, surprised that Dean was questioning him. Dean just met his gaze with a steady look of his own, and shrugged.
"So, you gonna tell me what you're doin' here, or not?"
John sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, suddenly tired. "What do you know about archangels, Dean?"
"So Sammy was right? There are angels comin' after our asses?"
John nodded and waited for his son to finish cussing up a blue streak before continuing.
"So what the hell are we supposed to do? There's a demon after Sam, angels after both of us, and I can't wait to see what happens if this somehow leaks out to the hunting community…"
"Dean."
"And Sam looks like a good wind will topple him over and…"
"Dean," John's voice was firm and left no room for argument.
Dean sucked in a deep breath, just now realizing that his wings had unfurled and were hovering behind him. He concentrated on tucking them in, happy when they seemed to comply, still unused to this new slide of muscle and sinew. Glad that the parking lot was dark, Dean slumped further against the car, and indicated that he was ready to listen to his dad.
"I've been trying to research the Nephilim for the past five months. I put the demon on hold, which is part of the problem. If I'd been paying closer attention…" John sighed. "What happened with Jessica…"
Dean couldn't help the natural reaction. "It's not your fault, Dad." He had to absolve his hero.
John just shrugged. "It's hard to research something which supposedly hasn't existed since early biblical times. Eventually, I managed to track down someone like you." He swallowed hard and looked away from Dean.
"You have some sort of ingrained defense mechanism. Both you and Sam should have it, at least, that keeps the archangels from sensing you."
"But…" Dean prodded, sensing trouble.
"When you use your powers, it sort of sends out a signal, like a beacon almost, and they can hone right in on wherever you used them at."
"So, my wings…"
"No, not wings. I think those are just physiologically a part of you. No, I mean other powers."
Dean scratched his head, confused. "Uh…don't you think that sometime in the past six months I would have…you know…shown some sign of 'other powers' if there were any?"
"You did, sport. This morning."
Rubbing his hand over the back of his head now, Dean tried to remember anything odd about that morning--well anymore odd then things were right this second. "Not ringing a bell."
"You thought Sam was in trouble, Dean, and you threw me clear across the field."
Dean paled, suddenly remembering that his dad had been leaning over the car, and then just wasn't there anymore. He remembered that he had been in pain…
"That's why you hustled us out of there so fast," Dean whispered. "And that storm that came out of nowhere?"
John just nodded.
"Sammy…what about Sam? Is he gonna have powers, heck, what kind of powers do we have…"
"Woah, slow down." John held up a hand, trying not to smile as Dean's curiosity took off. "From what I was able to gather, they're different for everyone. The pain that you experience with," he gestured towards Dean's back, "you know, goes away the more you use them, and from what I understand, control comes with time. Still, it seems that when you get really freaked out that you have some sort of flight or fight instinct…literally, and…"
"Yeah, I think I got it, Dad."
"Look, you boys need to lie low for now. You can keep hunting and all that, but you shouldn't be attempting to use your powers, or whatever they are. At all. That's an order, Dean."
"Hey, don't look at me," Dean held his hands up defensively, "the last thing I want to do is attract the entire heavenly host down to flambé us." His stomach growled suddenly, breaking the quiet night, and John smirked.
"C'mon, let's go finish off that food you got."
Dean slept well that night, glad to know that his dad was between him, Sammy, and the door. If anything came through, they'd have to get through John Winchester first, and they'd be hard pressed to do that.
Dean supposed he should have seen it coming. There seemed to be a whole heck of a lot that he was missing lately.
The sound of Sam shifting around next to him was what woke him.
He shouldn't have been surprised. Not really.
It figured that he'd only be met by an empty bed and a scribbled set of coordinates.
He ignored it at first.
Until he saw the disappointment on Sam's face at the sight of the neatly made bed, and his heart nearly broke. Again.
A/N: Hmm…a hunt the next chapter, how exciting. I just can't wait. So, how are we all doing? Let me know. Flames will be used to heat the boxed macaroni and cheese that I am just now going to make. Much love.