A/N: Welcome to Chapter Nine. Once again, I want to thank all you wonderful reviewers. This is a chapter for Sam--I think he needs a chance to get in on the action, don't you? Hope you all enjoy. This chapter title is taken from the Fixx.
Stairway to Heaven
Chapter Nine: One Thing Leads to Another
It had taken hours for Dean to straighten out the tiny broken bones.
He'd given Sammy a few painkillers, knowing that they wouldn't do anything, and was relieved when Sam passed out on the bed, leaving Dean to his work. That didn't stop Dean from running his mouth.
"When someone tells you to go jump off a bridge, Sammy, you aren't supposed to do it…" He winced as he carefully manipulated the tiny bones in the left wing.
"You know, now I've got that song by Mr. Mister stuck in my head…"
Carefully he washed the bloody feathers, their dark color making it hard for him to find the tear, until he discovered a tiny piece of white bone protruding from the soft down.
"You know, kiddo, you never do anything half way…"
Sam was, luckily, too far gone to hear any of Dean's crazy one-sided conversation.
As Dean began carefully wrapping both wings in thick gauze, he also began explaining to Sam the difference between cuddling and male bonding, informing his brother that he had never once cuddled in his life, but that male bonding rituals were some sort of evolutionary advantage…
Once the wings were both well padded, Dean folded them against Sam's back, wrapping the gauze around both Sam's wings and his chest, binding them close, just as he would have if Sam had broken his ribs. "I don't think your wings will be goin' anywhere for a while, Sam." Dean sighed. "You really are gonna look like Quasimodo."
Apparently, Sam still had nothing to say to him.
It didn't matter, Dean continued wasting his breath throughout the night, unwilling to sleep until he was sure that his brother would wake.
*~~*
It took them over a week to reach Bobby's.
Sam couldn't sit still for more than a few minutes before the pain became unbearable, and he couldn't lean back in the seat, making the car a miserable affair for all involved. He wore the leather jacket everywhere now, and since it was ill-fitting to begin with, the lumps in the back were hardly noticeable.
Dean made sure he pulled over to the side of the road every twenty minutes, letting Sam stretch and move around for at least five minutes before encasing him in the Impala for another twenty minutes of torture. They barely managed to drive three hours the first day, Sam's watery eyes prompting Dean to find a motel room before it was even lunch time. Besides, he was still rather sore from the fall, and so Dean made sure he heaped the blame for the stop on himself, not wanting Sam to feel any guiltier than he already did.
The pain seemed to keep Sam from sleeping after that first night as well. It meant no crazy dreams, but it also meant one totally irritating little brother who was so doped up on coffee and pain meds that Dean was contemplating knocking him out after 48 hours.
"Deeeaann…"
For his part, Dean managed to do nothing more than clench white knuckled fingers even tighter to the steering wheel. "Yeah, Sam?"
Sam's mischievous smile lit up his side of the car as he enquired, "Are we there yet?"
Dean's right hand tightened for a second as he nearly gave into the impulse to sock his brother. Instead he said nothing and cranked up Led Zeppelin.
Sam shifted uncomfortably in the passenger seat, trying to lean far enough forward to keep his mummified wings from touching anything. He was tired, but he couldn't sleep, because he hurt. A lot. And he was kinda irritated that Dean could sleep, which meant there was only one way to fix this…
"D…"
"Don't you 'Dean' me, Sammy."
Irritating his older brother.
"This music is making my wings throb…"
Dean shot him a skeptical look.
"Can we put on something else?"
Dean seemed to think about it for a second, and then added a suggestion of his own. "How about we play a game."
Curiosity peaked, Sam was silently hoping for a game of punch buggy, he nodded.
"Good, we're playing the quiet game, first one to talk loses. Go."
Road trips sucked.
*~~*
They were only a few hours out from Bobby's when Sam had his second mental breakdown and Dean nearly had one of his own. Dean had suspected that this one was coming for awhile, but unsure how to stop it, he'd dropped a couple of allergy pills into Sam's coffee, hoping that his brother would just conk out for the rest of the trip and Dean wouldn't have to have the obviously painful conversation.
Apparently, though, painkillers and anti-histamines didn't mix well in Sam's system and now his teary-eyed brother, who probably had no idea what he was saying, was apologizing profusely for their dad leaving again, convinced it was his fault because Dad hated him. And he wasn't letting anyone tell him otherwise.
"S'm'fult…"
"No, Sammy, it isn't your fault that Dad is an ass." Dean suddenly regretted drugging his brother.
"De…you m'd at S'mmy?"
"No, Dean isn't mad at Sammy, kiddo. Dean's mad at Daddy."
"Gooodd…" Sam slurred, eyes closing and head thumping against the window.
"D'n?"
Dean glanced over at his brother, noting the glazed eyes and suddenly worrying at the two bright spots on Sam's cheeks. Was his brother running a fever? "Yeah, Sam?"
"S'mmy wanna fly tooooo…"
"That's kinda a no-no right now, buddy. Your wings are definitely out of commission for awhile."
"Wanna fly like Deanie…" he started humming to himself and Dean took this to be the end of the conversation. Which was a good thing, because he definitely needed to be looking at the road when something large decided to dash right across it.
The asphalt was still wet from an earlier storm, so the Impala fishtailed when Dean stomped on the breaks. He turned to ask Sam what the heck he thought it was that had tried to commit suicide by jumping in front of a moving vehicle, when he noticed the loud snores emanating from the passenger seat. Sam was definitely down for the count. "Looks like it's just me," Dean muttered, pulling the car safely to the side of the road and flicking on the hazard lights. "Stay put," he pointed a finger at his comatose brother before sliding out the door and heading to the trunk, because it never boded well to go out unprotected. Better safe than sorry. Even if it was just some overgrown dog that had jumped across the road.
"Right," Dean adjusted his grip on the shotgun, making sure he had at least one extra clip in his pocket. "I'll be right back, baby." Patting the trunk lovingly, Dean dashed to the other side of the street, intent on figuring out what exactly had decided to play chicken with Dean.
*~~*
"Dean…no…don't…"
Everyone knew better to go into the woods by themselves, especially when it was getting dark out, why didn't Dean wake him up? Why did he have to poke his nose into something that was none of his business…
Sam followed his brother, watching as he poked around the woods, could see when Dean found the trail of broken shrubbery, recognized human footprints…
Could see the blood glistening on one of the green leaves…
"Dean…no…"
Dean bent down, examining the blood. It was clearly fresh.
"Hello? Is anyone here? Are you okay?"
Sam tossed in his seat, begging his brother not to go into the woods alone. But his brother was already gone…
A wisp of a figure stepped from the shadows. She couldn't have been much more than sixteen or seventeen. Long blonde hair, pale skin, right up there with one of Dean's busty babes…
She looked at Dean suddenly, eyes tilting up from beneath long bangs, and it was her eyes that gave her away. They were eyes that had seen too much, been alive too long. Sam didn't need the fangs to descend to know what she was.
Dean had his gun up, but it wouldn't be enough, and the Impala held his machete, secure in the trunk, too far away to save him…
Sam fell backwards in the seat, crushed wings pressing against leather and ripping a hoarse cry from his throat, but it was enough to drag him back into consciousness.
His eyes darted around frantically, noting the darkening sky, the empty car, and the steady ticking of hazard lights. Sam knew, without a doubt, that his brother was alone in the woods with a vampire. Diving for the door, Sam fumbled with the handle, ripping it open, and not bothering to close it as he dashed across the empty road.
He resisted the urge to call out for his brother, instead following the same path he'd already seen in his head, fearing that he may tip the vampire off. The foliage blurred into browns, reds, and oranges, but as he heard a gunshot ring out, Sam feared that he was too late.
Breaking into the clearing, Sam tried to focus on the sight in front of him, but his vision was blurry and his head was pounding. He could barely make out the pale figure, but could tell that it was bending over a prone body, gun out of reach of his brother's grasping hand.
Looking back, Sam would tell Dean that he honestly had no idea what happened. But Dean could remember the moment with perfect clarity.
One second, he was about to become dinner, breakfast, something, to a bloodthirsty vampire. He could remember the gun being knocked from his grasp, his wings rupturing in what must have been a self-defense mechanism. He stumbled, falling to the ground, and his fingers strained to recover the only weapon he had available, even if it was useless…
And then a headless body was on top of him, warm blood spurting across his chest and running down his arm, as Sam stood above him, flaming sword in hand.
His initial thought was to note the fact that Sam was clearly no longer stoned.
His second was the fact that his brother was clearly swaying, and liable to drop that fiery thing on him any second. And Dean wasn't really interested in becoming a flaming shish kabob.
The third was that this headless vampire was really heavy.
Sammy's knees gave out, and Dean dove to catch him, no longer thinking of his well being as the lifeless body rolled off him and dropped heavily to the ground. Bloody hands reached out to steady a wobbly little brother, much like he had when Sam was learning to walk, and the sword fell from numb fingers, fire suddenly out.
"Dean, you okay?" Sam was breathless, eyes trying to figure out where all that blood on his brother was coming from.
"I'm good, kid, how about you?"
"M'head hurts," he said quietly, pitching forward onto Dean's shoulder, "A lot…" Sam took a shaky breath and then pushed back. "M'okay, though…the blood?"
"Not mine, the vamp's. You ahh…did a good job, Sam." Don't know what the hell you did, but you did a good job.
"I don't know what I did either, Dean."
Dean opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, and then decided that now wasn't the time to ask Sam if he could read minds. Instead, he clapped Sam on the shoulders and pulled him up to a standing position. "How 'bout you help me torch this sucker, and then we get to Bobby's?"
Sam nodded, patting his pockets for the spare matchbook he generally kept on him, but Dean already had his lighter out. No gasoline made it hard to burn the body, but Dean managed to pile enough dry brush around that the corpse eventually caught alight. Luckily, the ground was still wet enough that it didn't catch the entire forest on fire. The last thing that they needed was the spirit of Smokey the Bear coming after them.
The two brothers stood side by side, elbows touching, and watched as the flames died down. Eventually, Dean nudged Sam and Sam nudged him back, both turning towards the car until Dean grabbed Sam's arm. "Uh, dude, aren't you forgetting something?"
Sam glanced at the lifeless metal on the ground and pulled a face. "Do I have to?"
"Look, I'm not the one that pulled a flaming sword out of my ass, so I'm not hauling it back to the car. We'll bring it to Bobby, maybe he'll know what it is…and how it works…"
"But what if it lights up when we're in the car?"
"Dude, it isn't a lightsaber or a chain smoker, and I hate to say it, but you're no Luke Skywalker." Dean seemed to think for a minute, and then conceded. "Let's not put it in the trunk…just in case."
They wrapped the sword up in a couple of their ruined t-shirts, carefully placing it in the backseat, as far away from any accelerant as they could. Dean glanced nervously at it every once and awhile, waiting for it to ignite his poor baby. Sam, on the other hand, finally gave into a week's worth of exhaustion, and curled up against the window, the curve of his back facing Dean, broken wings causing the position to look even more misshapen and uncomfortable than usual.
As soon as the Impala's tires hit gravel, Sam stirred, rubbing at his eyes to clear the sleep as they pulled up into Bobby Singer's Salvage Yard. The dog on the porch thumped it's tail welcomingly, and Dean smiled. "Some guard dog that is," he muttered, "You get…that thing, and I'll grab the duffels."
Bobby was at the door now, gun in hand as he waited for the Winchesters to make their way up to the house. "Took you to idjits long enough, you take a left turn at Albuquerque?"
"I wish," Sam complained, straightening with the sword, and wincing as it pulled at his abused wings.
They made their way into the house, Dean proceeding right to the study where he dropped the duffels on the floor. Sam followed him, looking around uncertainly for a place to stick the wrapped bundle. Bobby appeared a second later, three cups of coffee and a box of donuts balanced on a tray, which he placed on a scuffed coffee table.
"Thanks, Bobby," Dean said, snatching up one of the cups and dropping like a stone onto the couch, making the springs protest. He took a long guzzle, draining half the mug, and sighed in satisfaction.
"So, I'm guessin' you boys have a story?"
Bobby eyed Sam as he gingerly sat, still holding the bundle.
"Put it down, Sam, I doubt it'll spontaneously combust."
"You don't know that, Dean." But Sam put it down anyway, and shrugged out of the leather jacket, revealing the mummified chest.
"Damn, boy, what happened to you?"
Sam reached for his own coffee, suppressing another wince, and then grinned. "Dean dropped me."
Dean paused, a powdered donut half-way to his mouth. Indignantly, he dropped the donut back on the tray and turned towards his brother. "I did not drop you!"
Sam glanced at Dean, and back at Bobby, reaching for Dean's discarded donut. "He did, I'm just glad I didn't land on my head like last time."
"I was seven, Sam!"
"You still dropped me."
Dean opened his mouth, huffed, and then saw the half-eaten donut in Sam's hand. "That was mine!"
"Nowismine," Sam mumbled, his mouth full.
"Boys," Bobby warned. "I'm not too old to put you both over my knee."
"You wouldn't," Dean didn't look convinced, though.
"Don't test me, boy. Now, you want to tell me why it took you over two weeks to get here?"
Sam swallowed the rest of his donut, and turned to look at Dean, wiping powdery fingers on his jeans. They hadn't discussed whether or not to bring up their dad, but a slight nod from Dean was all the answer Sam needed. "Dad showed up."
"We talked about that already, Sam. He left his journal in your room."
"Yeah, and then he showed up. In the flesh."
The boys switched on and off in the story telling, filling in the gaps that the other didn't remember or wasn't there for.
"I didn't drop him, Bobby. My wings cramped up."
Sam snorted, but didn't say anything.
"Sam was a big baby so we had to stop the car every five minutes…"
"Excuse me, who decided to take off after a vampire without any backup?"
"A vampire? Boys?"
So Bobby listened as the boys debated about who was the bigger fool. The fool, or the one who followed him into the dark woods with no weapon and then suddenly pulled a flaming sword from thin air.
He spent the next forty-five minutes studying the sword, noting the strange sigils that were carved into the hilt. "I'm going to need to research these…are you boys sure it was on fire?"
"Here, let me try something."
Dean snatched up the sword and held it high. "FLAME ON!"
Unsurprisingly, nothing happened. Though it did earn a raised eyebrow from Sam and a look that clearly informed Dean that something had to be wrong with him from Bobby.
Dean just shrugged. "Figured it was worth a shot."
"Moron," Bobby mumbled, heading back for the kitchen. "I'm going to bed. You boys make yourselves at home."
Dean made Sam take the couch, saying that his wings weren't going to be healed for weeks, and sleeping on the floor wasn't going to help.
Just as Dean was about to drop off he heard Sam.
"So this doesn't count as crazy powers, right?"
"I guess not, since no one in flowing robes showed up."
Dean paused, a sudden thought flaring in his mind. "In the woods, how did you know where I was, Sam?"
Apparently, Sam had fallen asleep, because Dean didn't get an answer.
Not long after, Dean dropped off too.
A/N: And here I must leave you. For now. Let me know what you think. As of right now, I'm probably not going to be able to update tomorrow, just to give you an advance warning. Right, so, reviews are good…Flames…will be used to light my new sword!
Peace out.