A/N: Sorry about the long wait guys. I can't promise when the next chapter will be up. I'm moving, again, and don't have much time for anything right now. I'm not going to abandon this though, so don't worry about that. Thanks for sticking with me! This chapter title is taken from Oingo-Boingo.

P.S. I thought I was being a little rough on the boys, so they get a physical break in this chapter…though not much of an emotional one…

Enjoy!

Stairway to Heaven

Chapter Ten: Dead Man's Party

Sam could count on one hand the number of times that Dean had truly pissed him off. Normally, that was their father's forte, and he would need more than his and Dean's appendages combined to count the number of times John had managed to do it. But currently, Dean was treading in dangerous water, and Sam had a feeling that his one-handed counting was going to have to move onto two.

They had been at Bobby's nearly a week, and Dean was clearly bored out of his mind. Still, Bobby was insisting that Sam's wings would need at least another week to heal, and that they shouldn't head out until then. That, and they still had no idea where the sword had come from.

To top it off, Sam felt that Dean was inherently jealous of Sam's flaming sword, and Dean's off-handed "you should get that burning checked out, could be something serious" was starting to get on his last nerve.

Almost an entire month of close quarters with Dean was enough to push any sane person over the edge, and one that had already been balanced on said edge…Sam was lucky to have held on this long. He was traipsing back from getting the mail when Dean's last offense occurred.

Snow had fallen the night before, an unexpected cold snap drenching the salvage yard in white. Sam shrugged his jacket up higher, blocking the cold wind from racing across the back of his neck only to feel something hard and cold splatter across the side of his face.

Turning, Sam caught Dean's mile-wide grin. "Hey, look, a snow angel!"

And Sam snapped. The mail fell into the drift as he took off on long legs, tackling his brother to the ground. Dean, who clearly had not been expecting the charge, collapsed backwards, snow managing to make it into his pants and down his shirt. "Whose the freakin' angel now, Dean?"

"Jeez, Sam," he griped, noticing the anger in his younger brother's eyes. Suddenly concerned, Dean lifted one leg and wrapped it tightly around Sam, efficiently flipping his off balance younger brother.

"Get off me, Dean!" he snapped, rocking back and forth, but unable to get out from under Dean's grip.

Dean tightened his hold, pressing Sam into the snow. "Take it easy, kiddo. Just take it easy. Okay?"

Sam stiffened, and then suddenly relaxed, his entire face crumpling. "M'sorry," he muttered.

"Sorry? What for, I'm the one that pelted you with the snow ball. You overreacted a little bit, heck, you over reacted a lot but…" Dean saw the guilt flash through the hazel eyes. "Sam…" he warned.

"Get off me."

"No, we're not going anywhere until you tell me what the heck you're apologizing for."

"Dean," Sam pulled the puppy dog eyes. "I'm cold, and I have a headache. Please, get off me."

"Mmm…No."

"Damn it, Dean!" Sam shoved hard, but Dean barely moved, clearly determined to stay where he was. "Just let me up, man."

"I'll sit out here in the subzero weather all day, Sam. But I'm not moving until you tell me what the heck is going on. You've been cagey all week, Sam."

"You came to me for help, Dean! I didn't come for you! I was just fine!"

Dean's face closed off immediately as he pulled back, jumping up and brushing the snow off his pants before stomping into the house, leaving Sam and the pile of wet mail stranded out in the snow. He returned a second later, car keys in hand, ignoring both his brother and the mail, jumping into the car and roaring out of the salvage yard.

Bobby appeared in short order, and sighing, bent down to help Sam gather the mail. "What did you do, Sam?"

"I didn't mean it, Bobby," was his only response as he slipped silently into the house.

Dean came back hours later, smelling like stale beer and cigarettes, though he didn't appear to have consumed any alcohol himself. Sam had already gone off to bed, telling Bobby he had a headache and thought sleep might help, though Bobby knew he just didn't really want to see his brother.

He had no choice, because Dean tripped right over his brother in the dark on his way to the couch. "Shit, Sam!" he hissed, rubbing his head where he'd smacked it off the end table.

"M'sorry, Dean." Sam sat up suddenly. "I didn't mean it. I'm just so scared I'm going to lose you."

Dean stopped rubbing vigorously at his head, turning to stare at his brother instead. "Woah, woah, where did that come from?"

Sam shrugged.

"Oh, no. You can't just blindside me and then drop it. What's going on in the freaky head of yours? Sam?"

"I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"That's just it, Dean, I don't know!" Sam yelled, standing suddenly. "We're angel things, I've got some demon on my tail, we've both got heaven's hosts after us, and flaming swords, and crazy powers. I mean, at least you get to throw people around with your mind, you don't have to…."

Sam turned, heading towards the kitchen, Dean hot on his heels.

"Have to what, Sam?"

"Nothing. Forget I said anything," he muttered, opening the cabinets at random.

"Sam…Have to what?"

Sam stood, hand halfway to a glass and trembling hard. Dean doesn't have to know. He doesn't have to know. If Dean doesn't know, it's one less thing that he'll have to worry about.

"What don't you want me to worry about Sam?" Dean pushed himself in front of his brother, crossing his arms and refusing to budge. "Not worry about you? Sorry, kiddo, it's my job to worry about you." Just like you worry about me.

"I am worried about you Dean…" That's why I can't tell you.

"Sam. Just because you're worried about me doesn't mean you can't talk to me."

Sam looked at him, confused. "Are you reading my mind?"

"Huh?" What!? No!

"There's no reason to snap," Sam sighed, pushing so his back was leaning up against the counter. It's not like you're seeing people die.

"Die!? Sam?"

"You are reading my mind!"

"You're seeing people die!?" Holy shit, holy shit…

"Get out of my head, and quit swearing!"

"I'm not…you get out of my head!" Bitch.

"I'm not in your head, you jerk!"

"What is all this yelling about," Bobby interjected, poking his head into the kitchen.

"Tell him to stay out of my head!" both boys hollered simultaneously, pointing angrily at the other.

"Oh, good Lord," Bobby muttered. "I'm going to bed."

"But Bobby…" Sam.

"It's his fault…" Dean.

"Goodnight, boys!" he tossed over his shoulder, taking the stairs two at a time in his haste to escape all things Winchester.

Dean rounded on his brother. "Couch, now!" he snapped, thrusting his finger angrily at the door.

Glaring, Sam marched off. Friggin' jerk.

I heard that, Bitch.

Get the hell out of my head, Dean!

Then stay out of mine!

Sam sat on the couch, sulking in the dark, arms crossed as he pressed himself as far back into the cushions as he could, listening to the sound of clinking cutlery as Dean stomped around the kitchen. He appeared a few moments later, and both of them were considerably calmer as Dean offered Sam a coffee cup, liberally topping it off with Jack Daniels, before filling his own with more alcohol than coffee.

"I'm sorry," Sam said suddenly. "I should have told you…but I just didn't want you to have to deal with anything else."

"Sam," Dean sighed, he hated chick flick moments. "You aren't something for me to deal with. You're my brother."

"I know that," Sam said quietly. "But sometimes I think you forget that I'm your brother too."

"No," Dean hedged. "I don't forget that you're my brother. I just forget that you're an adult. That you aren't ten anymore. That you don't need me to kiss your scrapes and make them better. That you're perfectly capable of picking up the pieces all on your own."

Carefully, Sam set down his untouched coffee and reached out to touch his brother's forearm. "Just because I don't think I need you to fix my problems, Dean, doesn't mean I don't want you to."

Dean just looked away, and Sam's hand dropped back to his side. "I know that I'm not okay, Dean. But you aren't either, and I don't want to hurt you anymore than you've already been hurt." Because Dad, and God, and Hell have been so good at doing that…

"You aren't going to hurt me, Sam. Contrary to what you believe, helping you…that helps me." Dean turned, green eyes boring into Sam's. "So tell me, honestly, what is going on, so maybe we can help each other. Now isn't the time to be keeping secrets, Sam."

Sam nodded once, tightly, and then cleared his throat. "I saw Jess die."

"You've been having nightmares?"

He shook his head. "No." His voice was raw. "I saw it before it happened." The only response from Dean was stunned silence.

"I saw you get killed by that vampire…and I keep having visions about you and me, and dad. And I'm afraid…" That they're gonna come true. That you're gonna die.

"I need another drink," Dean whispered hoarsely, draining his mug and then liberally pouring the Jack. "So, these…visions?" Sam nodded. "These visions…when do you get them?"

Sam shrugged. "Sometimes when I'm asleep. Sometimes when I'm awake."

"So there's no…" Set time?

"No, Dean." It's not like it's a freakin' doctor's appointment.

"Well, I didn't think it was a doctor's appointment, Sam."

"You're in my head again!"

Dean sighed. "Look. Let's deal with the visions of imminent doom first, and then we'll talk about privacy invasion."

"I don't know how the visions work, Dean. My head feels like it's going to explode, and then I just see stuff. Sometimes it comes true then…like with the vampire. Except I stopped that. And others…I've been having the vision with all of us since you came back. Before that, there was one with wings and flaming swords…and the one of Jess."

"So…you think you could see the lottery numbers?"

"Dean!" Sam huffed, reaching over and pushing at his brother, trying not to grin.

"Aww…c'mon, Sam. Think of all the money we could make!"

And just like that, all was forgiven.

*~~*

Bobby spent the next day researching psychic powers, while Sam and Dean played hide-and-seek.

Can you hear me now?

I'm not going to tell you where I am.

How about now?

Sam poked around the salvage yard, looking for his brother, who had decided that this was a good way to test the range of their apparent link. How about…hey, your car is gone! You cheated!

We were testing to see what our range is.

Yeah, in the yard!

I got hungry.

Sam huffed, stomping out to the house.

You want me to bring home some pie. Sam? Sam?!

Don't yell in my head Dean, I can hear you fine, and no I don't want pie. He paused, thinking. But a milkshake would be nice.

Sam just got some vague thought in response, and sighing, he went to help Bobby with the research.

"Where's your brother?"

"My guess is two towns over eating banana cream."

"So, he ditched?"

"Oh, yeah," Sam smiled. "You got anything for me to do?"

Bobby gestured to the large stack of books, "Help yourself."

"Not quite pie," muttered Sam, snatching one of the tomes. "But I'll take this over pie any day."

Bobby snorted. "I'd take the pie."

And then there was nothing but silence.

And the AC/DC song that Sam couldn't quite seem to get out of his head…

Dean stop singing!

There was nothing and then a quiet, Sorry. It was quickly followed with the A-Team theme song. He should have quit while he was ahead.

Sadly, it took Sam nearly twenty minutes before he realized that he too could irritate Dean in the same manor.

Nothing a little Celine Dion wouldn't fix.

Near, far, wherever you are, I believe that…

Oh, God, Sam, stop! Please, I'm sorry, okay?

My heart will go ooooonnnnnnn….

SAAAMMM!!!

Sam winced and Bobby looked up questioningly. "Dean doesn't like Celine," was all he said, as if that would explain everything.

Bobby opened his mouth, closed it, opened it once more, and then shook his head, opting to just not get involved.

Sam was quiet for a few minutes, and Bobby knew the silence was too good to be true. "So, uhh, why do you think I have a sword and Dean doesn't?"

"Does Dean need a sword?"

"Uh…no."

"Then that's why Dean doesn't have a sword. Next time he needs to decapitate something to save his brother's life, he'll probably get one too." Bobby paused. "And according to him, it'll be the bigger one."

"Yeah, well don't give him any ideas. He'll be thrusting me into dangerous situations just to see if he can get something that burns too."

"He does have a small thing for fire…" Bobby conceded, flipping the page of his book and pausing.

He scanned the page, once, and then again, before clearing his throat nervously.

"What is it? Bobby?"

"Nothin'," he muttered. "Gotta make a phone call."

Sam watched as the older man stood quickly, book dropping to the ground, and hustled off towards the kitchen and out the door. Curious, Sam picked the book up, flipping through the soiled pages, trying to identify what page Bobby had been on when he had the sudden urge to make a social call.

A strange picture caught his eye. It must have once been a charcoal sketch, copied and reprinted into the leather bound volume. A shadowy figure stood in sharp relief, hand held out over a bundle at his feet. From the bundle poked one tiny fist, and from the hand, a lazy drop of something made it's way down…

Sam scanned the rest of the page pulling out specific words, the rest blurring into an incoherent blob. The word demon stood out, followed quickly by blood, infant, six months, and perhaps most prominently, psychic powers. The book fell from limp fingers, and he stood up on numb legs, stumbling towards the kitchen, trying to find Bobby.

A whispered conversation carried through the window, and Sam froze, falling hard against the doorframe and sliding to the ground when it couldn't support his weight.

"Are you saying that you knew the demon bled into Sam?" Bobby sounded mad. More mad then Sam had ever heard him, and for some reason, he had a desperate urge to hide and not be found.

Sam…

"Damn it, John, you idjit!"

Sammy!

His wings flexed in their bindings, and then pushed hard, ripping through the gauze and his t-shirt, wrapping protectively around him, hiding Sam where no one could get him.

"You realize what this means? What this will do to those boys?"

Vaguely, Sam wondered why their dad would pick up the phone for Bobby and not for them.

Sam, answer me!

"The demon is only half the problem, John. You forgot about the avenging angels."

Sam huddled closer to the wall. He didn't want angels and demons, he didn't want wayward fathers. He wanted his brother. He wanted his girlfriend. He wanted his family. And he wanted to be left the hell alone.

Sammy, I'm comin', just hang on.

"You should be here for them, John….I know you think you're doing what's right by hunting down the demon…but when did this stop being about your family's safety and start being some crusade for your own selfish revenge?"

Sam, I'm comin' to get you kiddo. I'm comin'…

Finally, the voice penetrated.

Dean…

It was barely more than a whisper, but Sam felt the sudden relief flow from his brother and through him like a tidal wave.

Hey, buddy. What's going on?

Sam's arms locked tightly around his knees, and he pressed his forehead into his jeans, as if the pressure could make everything go away.

Sam, don't shut me out. Sam. I'm almost back.

Sam could hear the rumble of the engine, hear the tires on the gravel, heard Bobby's startled yell as Dean flew past him, and heard the skidding of wet boots on the tile floor before a warm body thumped down beside him.

Something poked at his wings, and then Dean's fingers appeared, gently spreading feathers apart. His eyes peeked between the gap, and then his entire head appeared. "You wanna tell me why I just broke light speed to get here?"

"Why don't you ask Bobby, or Dad," Sam mumbled sullenly. "Apparently they have all the answers."

"Dad?"

"That's who Bobby's on the phone with," Sam sighed, uncurling himself and flexing his wings experimentally, glad to feel nothing more than a slight twinge. Maybe they could hit the road soon.

Dean glanced at the screen door, and then back to Sam. "I don't want to hear it from Dad, Sam. I want to hear it from you."

"Okay," Sam grimaced. "But don't say I didn't warn you."

"Consider me warned and quit beating around the bush."

"I have visions because Yellow-Eyes bled into my mouth when I was a baby, and now I have demon blood in me."

Dean opened his mouth, and a strangled sound left his throat as he slammed it shut again, loud enough to make Sam's own jaw hurt.

"I'm a walking contradiction, Dean. An angel child with demon blood." Sam shook his head and pressed it back into his knees. "And Dad knew. Not about the angel part, but about the demon part."

He felt a sudden thought prickling in Dean's mind and propped his head up so that he could better see his brother.

"So uh," Dean started, "Does this mean you're going to get more powers than me, because, dude, that's like totally unfair."

And if Sam couldn't help the hysterical laughter that welled up suddenly and wouldn't stop until tears poured down his face, Dean didn't say anything, because really, nothing about any of this was exactly fair.

A/N: Hope you all enjoyed! Let me know what you think! Much love and happy summer days!