A/N: I'm glad you guys enjoyed the Batman scene. (And I'll have to side with Dean and agree that Batman is way cooler than Superman). You guys are wonderful for sticking with me this far. I will fully admit to enjoying writing this chapter (I've got to be some sort of sicko). Hopefully you'll enjoy it too…Oh, this chapter title is taken from a song by Martika.
Stairway to Heaven
Chapter Eight: Toy Soldiers
It took Sam a few minutes to identify the rustling sound. Duffels being packed. And that loud thumping was the sound that Dean made when he walked around and was really ticked off about something. Sitting up, he rubbed at his bleary eyes, shaking off the last visages of the migraine from the night before. His stomach felt hollow and empty, and his legs were a little shaky, probably because he had stopped eating not long after Jess died. He realized now that this had been a stupid idea. It wasn't doing him any good, and it wasn't doing Dean any good. And now that their dad was there…
He saw the hurt in his brother's eyes before he even noticed the empty bed. And then he understood the packing. Their dad had left, and they were leaving.
"What are we doing, Dean?" Sam asked quietly, standing and poking through his bag for a set of, somewhat, clean clothes.
"Got a hunt," Dean muttered, eyes darting to Sam and away.
"What is it?" Sam asked turning so he could see his brother better.
"Don't know. Just got the coordinates this morning."
That's when Sam noticed the scrap of paper next to the battered leather journal on the table. "Oh, no," Sam snapped. "He doesn't just get to leave and expect us to, to…" Dean's jaw clenched and Sam stopped. "I'm gonna take a shower."
"Hey, you okay?" Dean asked suddenly. "When I got back last night…"
"Yeah," Sam poked his head out of the bathroom. "Just a really bad migraine." And voices in my head. "I'll be fine after we get breakfast." The water turned on and Sam shouted to be heard over the spray. "And breakfast does not consist of HoHos!"
Dean slipped the box of snack cakes he'd been about to open back into his duffel. Figures his little brother would have known about that. Waiting until he was sure Sam was in the shower, Dean pulled out his cell phone and stepped out the front door, hoping his dad would be stupid enough to pick up his own phone.
*~~*
Sam took what had to be the quickest shower of his life.
Partially because he didn't want to leave Dean alone for long, and partially because he had just realized that he was famished. He felt better than he had for days, though, clear-headed, and not nearly as tired as he had been. Even if their dad had bailed on them. In fact, he still had no idea why their dad had even shown up in the first place. It was something that he was going to have to get out of Dean, which was going to be like pulling teeth from a crocodile. If he wasn't careful, he'd be liable to lose his hand.
Dean was outside when Sam reappeared. Snatching up a cold-cut that had been left on the table the night before, he took a large bite, and moved towards the door where the duffels were packed so he could put away his tooth brush and shaving kit. Which was when he noticed his brother swearing profusely into his cell phone. Glancing out the window, and wondering why it was so easy to lip-read four letter words, Sam's stomach plummeted.
He had little doubt who Dean was talking too.
And the man deserved it after ripping the rug out from under him like that.
Sam had seen the note. Just a set of coordinates.
No, I'll see you soon. No, bye. No nothing. Just a set of coordinates that a quick internet search showed was for a place called Goobertown, Arizona.
Most dads gave their kids a pat on the back, a hi-five, or a hug when they left town. They at least had the decency to say goodbye.
Theirs did the next best thing. He gave them a job.
Wincing as he saw Dean rub a tired hand over his face, Sam made an executive decision. He was driving, Dean could sleep.
*~~*
Dean should have realized that there was an ulterior motive to Sam's insistence that he drive. Sam said it was so he could get some sleep. But how was he supposed to do that when there was some opera chick singing about who the heck wanted to live forever filling his poor baby?
Sam had said that Sarah whatsit would help him sleep…Bingman, Britman…whoever she was, she was slowly killing off the last of his brain cells, he was sure of it. Reaching over, Dean flicked the music off, earning a glare from Sam.
"Keep your eyes on the road!"
"I know how to drive, Dean."
"Yeah. Like the time you drove right into that garage door?"
"I think that a poltergeist had something to do with that," Sam snapped, nerves wearing thin. "And if you guys had listened to me when I said it was a malevolent spirit…"
The mere thought of their dad made them both drop off into silence again.
Dean hoped that this hunt was just a simple salt and burn, because the two of them were so out of sync, and so out of practice, right now, that anything else was liable to blow up in their faces. No thanks to their father of course.
John hadn't picked up the phone, no surprise there, but Dean had left him a few choice words anyway. And then he'd called Bobby, informed him that they were going on a hunt and not to expect them anytime soon. Luckily, Bobby hadn't pressed Dean about the fact that something was clearly bothering him, and so far, Sam hadn't started pushing that button yet. More likely because he wanted to survive the car ride than for any other reason.
Sam punched on the radio, filtering through the static filled channels before reaching a relatively clear country station. Dean tried to resist the urge to bang his head against the window, repeatedly, but settled for glaring at the sun instead. How dare it shine today. Noticing the concerned glances that his younger brother had started shooting him about five minutes ago, Dean worked quickly to keep his brother from initiating another chick flick moment.
"So, Goobertown, huh?"
"Yeah," Sam let out a breath he didn't even know he'd been holding, just glad to get some sort of reaction from his brother. "You know there's this town in Austria named Fucking…"
God, his brother was such a dork.
*~~*
Rule number one. We do what we do and we shut up about it.
Rule number one and a half…there is never such a thing as a simple salt and burn.
If Dean hadn't been pissed at his dad before, he definitely was now. He had waltzed in, dropped a freakin' bomb in his sons' laps, and disappeared before it could go off.
Easy for their dad to say not to use their powers.
He wasn't the one with the avenging angels on his tail.
He wasn't the one that had to watch Sam nearly die, just because they'd gotten sloppy, careless, and rusty from years of not working together.
The hunt had seemed simple enough.
Sam had slid right into the research like it was some sort of second skin, and Dean had gone around hitting up, and on, the pretty ladies around town, seeing what they knew about the disappearing kids. They'd come to the same conclusion at roughly the same time, Sam calling Dean just as he'd been pulling out his cell phone to call Sam.
"Dean, I think I know who the spirit is…was."
"Yeah, I think I do too."
"There was this widow…"
"More like black widow," Dean had piped in, and then wondered at the sudden silence from the other end of the phone. "Sam, you still there?"
"How did you know I was going to say that, Dean?"
"Say what?"
"Black widow, I was going to compare her to a black widow."
"Hey, I'm not just good looks, Sam, I do have a brain too you know."
And then they'd blown it off.
Probably their first mistake.
So, it turned out that there was a woman, some number of years ago, who married multiple times but killed off each of her husbands. She only had one child, but it was rumored that he'd fallen down the steps and died before he turned ten. After that, she'd never had any more children and apparently had once said that if she couldn't have kids, then no one could. Dean wasn't feeling very forgiving of poor parents right now, so told Sam that they should light her up. Problem being, she'd died in a house fire. No body.
And the house fire brought up bad memories for Sam, which meant another round with the wings.
"We've got to go in tonight, Dean, before another kid disappears."
"Oh, and what, you're gonna waltz in like a freakin' fairy godmother?"
Sam just glared, before stomping off and plopping in front of his computer.
Dean sighed and absently ran his hand through his hair before dropping it uselessly to his side. "Sam…"
Sam looked up and could see the apology in Dean's eyes. Offering his older brother a weak grin, he settled his wings further against him and glanced back at the computer screen. Figured dad could blow their relationship to hell in less than 24 hours.
Dean turned away from Sam, peering out at the darkening sky. He couldn't help but glance back at his brother. While Dean's own raccoon eyes had faded days ago, Sam's had only gotten deeper as he slept less and less. Are you even ready for this hunt, kiddo?
Sam's head jerked up, eyes puzzled. Dean wasn't even looking at him. He probably wasn't supposed to hear his brother say that, so Sam figured it would be best to keep staring at the glowing screen. Besides, he was trying to figure out what object the spirit could possibly be attached to… There isn't even anything left of the house, what could she possibly be holding onto…
"Well, that's why we gotta look at that new warehouse they built on top of it."
"Huh?"
Dean turned from the window, wondering if Sam was losing his hearing on top of everything else too. Because life didn't suck enough. "You heard me, bird brain." And again with the wing jokes, thought Sam.
"That's 'cause the wing jokes are funny."
Sam glanced up again, eyebrows creased in consternation. Dean wasn't paying any attention to him, though, instead digging through the weapons bag to check and make sure everything was ready. Maybe he'd been talking out loud when he thought he wasn't. It was something he'd done a lot when he was little, and it had usually landed him in a heap of trouble with Dean. Strangely, Dad had never managed to overhear him, and he figured that was probably one of the few reasons he made it through his childhood intact.
Distracted, Sam totally missed the flying t-shirt. It caught him off guard and smacked him right in the face, causing him to nearly jump ten feet in the air as his chair overturned and wings flared out. Pulling the long-sleeved black tee off the top of his head, Sam sent Dean a disdainful look. "A little warning next time would be appreciated. Jerk."
Holding up the shirt he noticed that two large slits were cut in the back. "Put that on, bitch," was Dean's only response, and Sam tried to hold back his grin. He knew that pouting would always get him his way. "And wipe off the puppy dog face, I'm gonna puke!"
Sam quickly pulled the shirt over his head, but it took him a little longer to figure out how to get the wings through the slits. "Uh, Dean? M'kinda stuck."
For a second, all Dean saw was a three year old that had put his jacket on backwards and ended up with the hood over the front of his face, bawling because he thought he'd gone blind. In an attempt to get the wings through the slits, Sam had somehow gotten his arm stuck through the head hole and the other one out one of the slits. His muffled voice was coming from somewhere inside as his wings fluttered nervously, most likely making it all the more cramped.
Pressing his lips together, hard, Dean sat on the end of the bed, trying to force down the giggle that was about to bust out. He couldn't help it, and a second later it bubbled forth, and then broke like a dam as he flopped onto his back holding his stomach tight.
"Deeaann…" Sam whined. "C'mon, man…"
"Oh, God, Sammy…" Dean wiped at his eyes and doubled over again as his brother walked right into the end of the bed, following the sounds of Dean's laughter, and fell over bouncing helplessly on the mattress.
This started a fresh round of laughing and whining, with Dean mumbling, "It hurts…" and clutching at his stomach. Sam tried, and failed to sit up, all while informing Dean what a horrible brother he was.
Eventually, red faced, Dean reached over and worked the shirt off of Sam, pulling it back over his head and slipping the wings through the pre-made slits before the younger Winchester even registered what was going on. Dean couldn't help the quirk on the edge of his lips at the look on his miserable brother's face, and he set off into another round of silent laughter when Sam stormed off to the bathroom.
By the time Sam returned, dusk had fallen and Dean had managed to compose himself. He had the weapons selection laid out on the bed and tossed the leather jacket towards his brother. "Put this on, it'll hide the bulk. Once we're out of sight you can take it off, cause they'll blend in with the shirt from far away."
"Yeah, now everyone will just think I'm Quasimodo."
"Start singing, and I will lock you in a bell tower," was Dean's only response as they repacked the duffel and headed towards the car.
It was supposed to be mostly a recon mission, and if they happened to run into the spirit, then they would be prepared. The real reason they were going, though, was to try to figure out what the spirit could possibly be attached to.
Their second mistake, was splitting up.
"You check the upstairs, I'll poke around down here."
Sam looked up at the catwalk and glanced at Dean. He thought about ribbing his brother about fear of flying and heights, but enjoying the hard won look of ease on Dean's face, decided against it. "Sure thing, Dean."
Dean watched as the tall figure disappeared around a stack of crates, looking for the stairs that would bring him up to the iron walkway. He smiled as he saw his brother's wings flex experimentally, and then settle, glad to be released from the leather jacket that had imprisoned them. As soon as Sam's head disappeared, Dean turned in the other direction, intent on finding something to burn so they could end this hunt.
In the distance, he could hear Sammy clamoring up the stairs, and he wondered if the kid was just trying to make as much noise as possible, or if it was because the warehouse was ridiculously quiet. He moved down another isle of boxes, flashlight moving flippantly around as he waved it randomly to the left and right.
A sudden chill went up his spine and he turned quickly, sawed off loaded with rock salt at the ready, but there was nothing there and Dean blamed it on the cold November night air.
Glancing upwards, he could see Sam across the warehouse, flashlight bobbing as he moved slowly over the catwalk, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Which, apparently, there wasn't.
The third mistake was just the fact that they'd become too complacent. When your whole life is full of the unexpected, why would you really be expecting anything out of the ordinary to happen?
Truth was, things went downhill pretty fast.
One second Dean was turning the corner into another long row of boxes, and the next he was looking directly at a young boy. Thinking it was one of the kids that had disappeared, Dean knelt down and held out his hand.
"Hey, buddy," he said softly, keeping his tone even. "I'm here to help. I'm gonna get you out of here…"
The kid was pale, like he'd been locked up too long, and the dark bags under his eyes made Dean immediately think of Sam. Until he flickered out, reappearing inches away from Dean's face. Sam didn't do that.
Shit! Sam! was Dean's first thought. They had been wrong. It wasn't the woman. It was her son.
He didn't realize that his unconscious exclamation was heard clear across the warehouse. Dean didn't see Sam stop on the precarious catwalk, and turn to look towards the small figure of his brother down on the ground. His intense concentration was what drew the boy's attention, causing the next set of events.
The kid disappeared again and there was a loud cracking sound, followed by the screech of metal against a concrete wall. Dean turned, eyes widening as it caught the figure of his falling brother. He was running, he'd never be fast enough to catch Sam, but he had to, he had to…
"SAM!"
His brother was unconscious, he had to be the way he was plummeting, back towards the ground, wings hanging limp…
"SAM!"
Another burst of speed, there was a strange twinge from his back and then…
"I gotchya, kiddo, I've gotchya." He cradled Sam closer, noticing the blood already clotting on his forehead. Sam must've gotten smacked by the collapsing catwalk when that stupid spirit tore it down…
There was a cool breeze, and Dean found that odd, because they were in the middle of a warehouse, but he ignored it, instead focusing on his more pressing concern, his brother. "C'mon, Sam, time to get up."
Sam moaned and turned a little in his arms, eyes opening and closing several times before he seemed to finally be able to keep the open for good. And then they were as wide as saucers, and Sam was scrabbling to get a tighter hold on his older brother. "Shit, Sammy, calm down, just take it easy…what's wrong?"
Sam just looked down, and then back at Dean, before glancing down again.
Following his gaze, Dean suddenly understood his brother's panic.
They were floating a good five feet off the ground.
Dean's own panic rose and the breeze stopped, both boys plummeting the remaining few feet to the ground.
Sam saw the blank look on Dean's face and realized that his brother had frozen in shock. Rolling in midair, not enough time to recover, Sam positioned himself so he was on the bottom of the two of them, grappling until Dean was above him, seconds later striking the ground as the air was crushed from his lungs and searing pain ripped through…He wasn't sure what it ripped through, but God, it hurt…
Dean landed on top of Sam, and momentarily both stunned and winded, didn't realize something was wrong until a soft moan came from under him. Rolling off his brother, Dean pushed himself upright on shaking arms, struggling to take a deep breath. "Sammy…you…okay?"
That's when he noticed how pale Sam looked, the cut on his head reopened and slowly dribbling blood. His eyes were screwed shut, and his breaths were short, drawn through his nose, like he was trying to push back the pain. It was a technique Dean had tried on occasion, but it usually ended up with him biting through his lip.
"Sam…"
He was distracted as the temperature plummeted. Scanning the wreckage, and thanking the powers that be that they hadn't landed on the twisted metal, Dean spied Sam's abandoned gun. Glancing at Sam, who had yet to respond, Dean realized he needed to do something quick, before that little brat showed up again.
Dean dove, hand wrapping around the cool double barrel, and twisted as he slid across the floor. His eyes caught the sight of the small boy bending over Sam, who still hadn't seemed to notice the spectral figure, and Dean fired, breathing a sigh of relief as the child dissipated. "Sam!" he called, hurrying to kneel by his downed brother's side, ignoring the pull of abused muscles.
His wings flared out, sheltering both of them as Dean attempted to assess what exactly was wrong with his baby brother. "Dean," word held more pain then one big brother could deal with.
"You betchya, Sammy," Dean said, glad when Sam's eyes opened. Reaching into his pants pocket, Dean pulled out a small penlight, glad to see both pupils respond.
"Get that out of my face, Dean," Sam muttered, turning his head and gasping as it pulled.
"What did you hurt, Sam?"
"M'not sure…Dean!"
Dean swiveled, the face over his shoulder wavering and disappearing. He pulled the last of the rock salt bullets from his pockets, reloading the shotgun. Sam was pushing himself up behind Dean, ignoring the vertigo that overtook him . "We gotta get out of here, Sammy. We'll have to finish this job later."
Dean turned towards his brother, attempting to gauge whether Sam could make it out under his own steam or not, when something whizzed by his head, shattering against the wall behind them. Dean swiveled just as another hunk of concrete flew by, nearly catching the side of his face. "Stupid kid," Dean muttered, searching for the ghost.
The room tilted suddenly on Sam, and he pitched forward, head finding Dean's shoulder. "Easy," Dean whispered, eyes still canvassing the room. "Just take it easy, Sam…"
Out of nowhere, a bright light appeared, a middle-aged woman materializing. "Crap," Dean muttered. They were screwed.
But the woman didn't even acknowledge the two boys huddled on the ground. Instead she turned towards the child, arms on her hips.
"Jacob…" she hissed, and a shudder traveled down Dean's spine. Her voice was like ice. "Jacob, you've been a naughty boy…"
The child glared angrily at the woman. "You hurt me!"
"I had to, Jacob. You were hurting all those people…"
"I didn't want a new daddy! So I got rid of them!"
Oh, had they gotten this one wrong. Good thing their dad wasn't here to see this.
"Jacob."
"YOU KILLED ME!"
Suddenly the two figures rushed at each other, and where they met, flames ignited, quickly engulfing the dry boxes and crates.
"Sam, we've got to move," Dean warned, pulling his brother to a standing position, no longer having time to take stock of his brother's injuries. "C'mon, kid, let's go!"
Dean tugged hard and Sam stumbled behind him, biting at his lip to keep back the moan. They cleared the threshold and made it all the way to the Impala before Sam dropped to his hands and knees, a grunt of pain the only acknowledgement of the gravel that suddenly bit into his skin.
In the light of the raging fire, Dean suddenly understood what was wrong.
The orange glow caught glistening blood and matted feathers of what could only be Sam's misshapen wings.
A/N: Okay, okay, you've caught me. I like to torture the boys! I confess! Ohh…what are those handcuffs for…
Well, while I'm running from the FBI, feel free to leave me a review. Or a flame. So I can put it in my flame thrower to get rid of the guys on my tail…
Much love.