"Bone and Sky"

[kellifer]

Title: Bone And Sky
Rating/Warning: Mature (language)
Wordcount: 8,279
Spoilers: None
Fandom: SPN
By: kellifer_fic
Category: Gen - wing!fic
Notes: Part of my gen wing!fic verse. Thanks to *superfox* for the superfast beta. All mistakes are mine. Thanks to the awesome poisontaster - some of these words are hers. (Further info in the author's notes at the bottom.)
Disclaimer: Written for entertainment purposes only. No money, no sue.



"Look, Ma!" Jeanie was up on the table, two towels knotted around her neck so that one trailed behind her on either side. "I'm Sam Winchester!"

Kelly sighed and put down the laundry basket in time to catch Jeanie as she leapt from the table into space. The sturdy six year-old hit her solidly, knocking her back a step, but they'd been through variations of this often enough that Kelly kept hold of her. Jeanie was giggling, blonde curls every which way.

"Again, Ma!"

Kelly slid Jeanie down her legs and plucked the towels off before pushing the little girl in the direction of her bedroom with a swat to her butt. "Not right now, sweetheart. Go play quietly with your toys, okay?"

"Aw, Mom…"

"Go on, now."

Jeanie stomped off, grumbling under her breath and Kelly picked up the forgotten laundry basket and went back into the kitchen, plopping down into one of the chairs with a sigh. "You know, you'd think she would’ve learned her lesson from the last time, when we had to take her in to get stitches, but no…"

Karen laughed, stirring sweetener into her iced tea. "Well, can you blame her? He is a damned good looking boy."

"Both of them are," Fay agreed, fanning herself theatrically with one hand and fluttering her eyelashes. "I sure wouldn't kick either one of them out of my bed."

"Hmmm." Karen tapped her spoon against the glass's side, head tilted thoughtfully. "But with wings like that, how would you get him in the bed?"

"Oh, it wouldn't be that hard," Kelly said without thinking. "If he was sitting up, or—even better—if you were in a chair, you could…" She broke off when she realized Karen and Fay were staring. Her face bloomed with heat. It was possible she'd spent entirely too much time thinking about naked Sam Winchester. "What?"

"You giant slut!" Karen accused, laughing even as she said it. "He's young enough to be your son!"

"He is not!"

"Well. Your nephew, maybe." Fay grinned, looking at Karen.

"Hey! I'm not that much older than Kelly!" Karen smoothed her hair self-consciously.

"And you'd schtup that boy in a New York Minute if you weren't married already," Fay said serenely, picking up another cookie from the plate in the center of the table. "I know I would."

All three of them broke down in uncontrollable giggles, Kelly hiding her face in one of little Brian's onesies.

"Mom!"

"What honey?" Kelly tried to swallow back her laughter enough to be coherent, raising her head to see Jeanie leading Dean Winchester through the house.

"Mr. Dean Winchester is here to mow the lawn!"

Kelly choked, Fay squeaked and they all went off again.
000

"Something wrong?" Sam asked over dinner that night when he found himself carrying the lion's share of the conversation.

"I think maybe the town is cursed or something." Dean sort of mumbled it into his mashed potatoes, so Sam wasn’t really sure that was what he said, but it was something like that.

"What? Cursed? What makes you say that?"

Dean shrugged, looking uncomfortable. "Dunno. Just seems like every place I go, all the women take one look at me and start giggling. It's like clockwork. It's weird. They blush too. It's like high school all over again." He brightened a little. "They do usually feed me afterwards, though."

“So how many dinners have you had tonight?” Melinda called from the kitchen, Freddy pushing his way through the saloon doors that separated it from the dining room. He was arriving with seconds and Dean flushed red, knowing that his seconds might possibly be jeopardised by his answer.

“Mhfmhmmm,” Dean managed through another mouthful of potatoes. He didn’t know what Melinda did to them but whenever he or Sam tried to make them, they never turned out quite the same.

“I swear Dean Winchester,” Melinda clucked, pausing in the doorway to eye Freddy scraping more roast onto his plate. “I don’t know how you’re not three times your size.”

“Good genes,” Dean said with a toothy grin. “First born always gets the best of everything.”

“Hey!” Sam protested, bringing a wing up and around to cuff Dean on the back of the head. Dean narrowed his eyes at his little brother. It was criminally unfair that Sam could attack him and not even pause in his eating to do it.

“What? Just because you put on the pudge if you eat a second bowl of ice cream, don’t take it out on me,” Dean said.

“Pudge? I do not!”

“The belly’s cute. All the ladies find it fetching,” Dean said, leaning over and fluttering his eyelashes.

“If anyone’s a little meatier than they used to be, it’s you,” Sam accused, stretching out a leg to push Melinda’s chair back out from the table when she came back in with full hands. She smiled at him as she dropped into her seat.

“Are you calling me fat?”

“I’m just saying that we had to go buy you a new pair of jeans last week because you popped the button on the last ones.”

“Boys!” Melinda interrupted, laughing. “Before this deteriorates into hair-pulling, let me just say that there’s nothing wrong with either of you from where I’m sitting.”

“Melinda,” Freddy snapped, looking scandalised. “You’re gonna give ‘em big heads.”

Dean and Sam both opened their mouths and Melinda held up a hand with a grin. “Enough! Who wants coffee?”

Both Dean and Sam put up their hands, looked at each other and started chuckling. Dean volunteered to go fetch, rifling through Melinda’s cupboards as soon as the doors cut him off from view. He was looking for something specific and made a little snort of triumph when he found just exactly what he needed. Dean palmed the small bottle he’d been hunting for, promised silently to buy Melinda another when he was next in town and leaned over to flip the switch on the kettle to boil the water.

000

“Dean!”

Dean was sitting out the front of the farmhouse, an arm slung over Hell Hound, munching on toast. He heard the sounds of Sam thumping about the house, looking for him before he was finally spotted through the screen door. Sam came hurtling out, looking furious.

“Do you think this is funny?” he demanded, turning an alarming shade of pink. The exact same shade that his wings currently were.

“It’s freakin’ hilarious!” Dean said, slapping his thigh through giggles. He yanked his phone out of his front jeans pocket and snapped a picture, right when Sam advanced on him, bright pink wings fanned out in the morning sun.

“Kill you… dead… I swear!” Sam grated, practically incoherent with rage, fists balled at his sides and dancing from foot to foot.

“It’s just food dye, Sammy. It’ll wash off and you’ll be back to your usual snow-white self in no time.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed and he suddenly went eerily calm, hands relaxing. “Oh it’s on,” he promised.

000

“What’s so goddamn funny?” Freddy demanded, kicking one of Dean’s feet. He was underneath an old Plymouth and realised he must have been giggling since he’d gotten in. Just the look on Sam’s face and the bright pink wings would set him off every time he thought about them.

Freddy on the other hand, seemed to be having a bad morning and was unusually surly. Usually more evenly tempered than a saint, Freddy had been crotchety off and on for the past week. The laughter vanished as Dean flipped through the possibilities in his mind, coming back to the same thing time and again.

It had to be Melinda.

Dean pushed himself out from underneath the car and sat up, rubbing his hands off on the rag he’d put down beside himself. “Everything okay?” he prodded. He’d been meaning to show Freddy the photo of Sam but had taken one look at Freddy’s thunderous face first thing and had thought better of it.

“I pay you to work, not flap your yap,” Freddy grunted, disappearing into his office with a slammed door and Dean frowned. He’d known Freddy for going on six months and it was the first time Freddy had said anything even vaguely rude. The man didn’t even swear.

Lunchtime rolled around and usually Dean grabbed a burger down the road but he’d forgotten his wallet. He thought it was probably an unwise thing to do considering Sam was out for blood. He crossed the street to the Impala and wrenched open the driver’s side door.

Hundreds upon hundreds of ping pong balls flooded out, pooling around Dean’s legs and bouncing off down the street. A couple of kids on the other side of the road raised arms and let out hollers of glee as Dean stood dumb struck. Freddy’s foul mood was pushed to the back if his mind with the enormity of what had just happened.

Sam had messed with the car.

000

“Hey Mrs Peters,” Dean greeted that afternoon. He’d certainly been having a weird day. Freddy had not deigned to come back out of his office and Dean hadn’t trusted himself enough to drive all the way home without committing Sam-icide when he got there so he was a little hopped up on the three chocolate bars that had been his lunch substitute.

Apparently someone also thought it was okay to grab his ass.

Dean spun around, his temple connecting solidly with the underside of the car’s hood he was working on with a Hey! or protest. Kelly Peters was standing behind Dean, looking down at her own hand as if it had a mind completely all of its own and had successfully horrified her. “Careful with the goods,” Dean added with an attempt at a grin. He liked Kelly, did odd jobs for her every few weeks because her husband wasn’t home much, currently serving overseas. Dean had always had a bit of a protective yen for the wives of servicemen.

“I’m sorry… I…” Kelly had flushed bright red and was still staring at her hand, maybe expecting it to explain itself. “I’ve never…”

“Nah, it’s alright. The ladies can’t control themselves around me, I understand,” Dean said, trying again for levity because Kelly’s frozen mask of abject horror and embarrassment was starting to worry him.

“I’ll just… go,” Kelly said, backing away.

“Wait, your car’s-” Dean tried to call her back but Kelly had turned and fled.

Dean felt eyes on him and turned to see Freddy leaning in the doorway of his office, arms crossed. “What the hell was that?”

“Hell if I know,” Dean shrugged.

“She’s a married woman, Dean,” Freddy said, eyes hard and Dean’s mouth dropped open.

“I wasn’t-”

Freddy didn’t let Dean finish, snorting in disgust and turning away, slamming the door of his office again. Dean just stared at it mutely before turning back to the work at hand.

He liked engines. They rarely, if ever, freaked him the fuck out.

000

There was a single ping-pong ball on Dean’s pillow when he got home and went into his bedroom to dump his jacket. Sam was nowhere to be found, as expected. Dean wasn’t really in the mood for revenge, a little disappointed with himself that his only token effort was to grate up some of their foul, cheap soap and mix it in with Sam’s leftover yoghurt.

Dean was making himself a sandwich when Sam finally appeared, the clatter of Hell Hound’s nails on the boards of the porch heralding his arrival, followed only a few seconds later by the gentle kathump-ump of Sam touching down. He’d been ranging further out lately, seeing how far he could get without tiring too much. His speed and agility were also improving as the weeks and months wore on, Dean not even able to connect anymore when they took out the paintball rifle.

Sam tipped Dean a grin as he came into the kitchen. His little brother had never understood the subtle nuance of the well-played prank. You didn’t gloat, merely played audience and then moved on, the other person’s awareness of how awesome you were for pulling it off the only reward. Sam still did the thing where he licked his finger and gave himself an air point that bugged the crap out of Dean.

Sam leaned into the fridge and came out with a bottle of milk, the ping-pong ball from Dean’s bedroom balanced on the top. Dean had drawn shaggy hair and a fairly good likeness of Sam’s bitch-face if he did say so himself on the thing. Then he’d mashed it flat with a hammer.

The destroyed ball prompted an amused snort from Sam as he took a belt of milk straight from the bottle and then wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand. Dean knew that he was the one regularly accused of being a slob, but Sam had his own slob-ish tendencies that had obviously never been weened out of him, even with his short stint living with one of the fairer sex.

“Hey, Sammy?” Dean started, looking at his poor excuse for dinner and then giving a thumbs-up when Sam pulled a pizza from the depths of the freezer. “You know that thing I said about the town maybe being cursed?”

Sam had ripped the top of the frozen pizza box free but paused, face drawing down into concern. “Yeah?”

“I’m thinking maybe I was right.”

“What? Why?”

“Well,” Dean said, scratching at the back of his head. “Freddy has been acting really weird, like grumpy, and Kelly Peters grabbed my ass at the garage today.” Dean watched Sam for his reaction, his younger brother always his barometer and when Sam’s expectant look collapsed into annoyance, Dean wasn’t quite sure what he’d done.

“Nice,” Sam almost snarled, opening the oven door with his foot and practically tossing the pizza inside. He put his hands down on the kitchen counter, back to Dean and rigid, wings hunched up around his ears which Dean had come to recognise as a bad sign.

“What?” Dean prodded, perplexed. His brother could be unpredictable at the best of times but for even Sam to go from zero to pissed off so quickly was unprecedented. “What’d I say?”

“You know,” Sam said, turning back around wearing the classic bitch-face Dean had only too recently recreated on the ping-pong ball. “You could’ve just said something.”

“What are you talking about?” Dean demanded, truly lost. He was starting to think that maybe he had to lump Sam in with the rest of the town in the crazy pill-taking stakes.

“You’re getting itchy feet and you want to leave. We finally find somewhere to settle, where we can maybe stay and you want to leave so you come up with some wishy-washy reason why we have to.”

“What?” Dean said, mouth dropping open. “No, Sammy, that’s not it at all. Something’s just off, you know? Can’t you feel it? I need your freaky brain to actually pick up on the vibes here or something.”

“If you wanna go I’m not stopping you,” Sam said, seething. “I let you go the last time but you came back on your own. What? Do you resent me or something, am I tying you down?” Sam was practically screaming as he finished his tirade. Dean had stepped backwards, hands up and palms out. “Just… god, just go if that’s what you want,” Sam added through clenched teeth and slammed out of the kitchen.

Dean stood for a moment, unable to grasp just exactly how he’d managed to upset Sam so much in such a small space of time. When he heard the front door open and slam closed he dashed to the front of the farmhouse, only to hit the front porch when Sam was already in the sky.

“Come back here, dammit!” Dean yelled into the night sky, knowing it was useless.

000

When Sam didn’t appear the next morning and his bed hadn’t been slept in, Dean drove to Freddy and Melinda’s in the hopes that he’d just needed to crash with someone to cool off. Dean knocked for what felt like hours when he finally heard the sound of feet coming down the hall. Melinda’s car was in the drive so he figured she was home and had maybe just been out the back.

Melinda opened the door a crack, Dean only able to see a sliver of the right side of her face from where she was standing. “Hey Dean,” she greeted, sounding tired and shaky and Dean was immediately concerned.

“Everything okay?”

“Sure, everything’s fine,” Melinda said, sounding the kind of fake-bright that made Dean frown harder. The phone started to shrill from the depths of the house and Melinda turned slightly when she heard it. Dean let out a growl of dismay that had her turning back quickly but it was too late. Dean forced and arm through the door and brought a hand up to Melinda’s face, forcing it up to the light with his fingers. Melinda’s left eye was almost swollen shut, a vivid circle of blue bruising around the edges of the puffy skin.

“What the hell happened?” Dean demanded and Melinda grimaced.

“Nothing, I went face-first-”

“I swear to god, if you say you ran into a door…” Dean said, letting the sentence hang.

Melinda’s face crumpled and Dean reached forward, pulling her through the door and into his arms. Melinda buried her face for a moment before she took a deep breath and seemed to pull it together, her expression firming when she stepped back. “Something’s going on,” she said and Dean threw up his hands.

“Thankyou!” he said and Melinda blinked at him. “Sam went off the deep end last night and flew off. Correct me if I’m wrong but up until very recently I’m sure Freddy didn’t think it was okay to smack you around.”

“He’s never done anything like this,” Melinda agreed vehemently. “He won’t even play-wrestle me because he’s always worried he’ll hurt me, big as he is.”

“Mrs Peters grabbed my ass,” Dean added and Melinda barked a laugh.

“What? Kelly? Now I know something weird is going on.”

“Let me take you to Annabelle’s place,” Dean offered and Melinda looked like she was going to argue for a moment before she nodded. “I’m going to figure this out. It would help if I had wonder-brain to help me but my research skills haven’t completely atrophied.”

“You know,” Melinda said. “I think Pastor Murphy rented Eloise Newton’s garage to store stuff just before he disappeared. I always thought it might be the folding tables and other things he used at the church fetes but… well, since knowing you boys I figure maybe he had other uses for a big empty space.”

“Okay, thanks,” Dean said with a smile. “Go grab some stuff, it’s probably best we keep you away from that big lug of yours just for the time being.”

000

“My goodness,” Eloise said when Dean knocked on her door and told her what he was after. “I almost forgot Jim had some stuff here. I never use the garage and I think the padlock’s rusted closed. I should have had you boys come around and take a look when you got here.”

“No problem,” Dean said with a shrug. “You got anything I could break the lock off with?” Dean wanted to say something about the fact that Eloise’s eyes were rimmed with red like she’d been recently crying but he knew getting to the bottom of whatever was happening was his best bet in helping everyone at once. He had tried Sam’s cell phone a few times without much hope of a response and left increasingly irate voicemails as he had driven back from dropping Melinda off.

Ten minutes later, with a crow bar for a lock pick, Dean stood in front of Eloise’s now open garage, scraping cobwebs aside. He was expecting the garage to be packed to the rafters with clutter but there was only a single locker sitting in the middle of the floor. He raised an eyebrow when he noticed that although everything else had a thick coating of dust, there was a perfect circle of clean floor surrounding the locker.

“Just what were you up to, Pastor J?” Dean huffed as he entered, moving around the locker carefully. As he got closer, the hair on his arms stirred and Dean frowned. “Aw hell,” he sighed in resignation and stepped right up to the locker.

Nothing happened.

Dean let out the breath he’d been holding and hunkered down in front of the locker, hands walking over the surface. There was an ornate tumbler lock and Dean hefted it in his hand, knowing that it wasn’t likely that the crowbar would get him into it but willing to give it a try. He was starting to get the feeling that time was slipping away and Dean didn’t want to think just what was happening.

A shadow fell over him and Dean spun in place, hand going out to the crowbar and only relaxing his grip when Sam moved out of the shadows of the doorway. “What’cha doing?” he asked, head canted sideways to look at what was behind Dean.

“Where the hell have you been?” Dean demanded.

“I just…I don’t know what happened,” Sam said, hands twisting the bottom of his shirt. “I don’t even really remember what I said but… I get the feeling I was a major jerk.”

“No more than usual,” Dean relented with a grin and Sam ducked his head.

“Anyway, I was pissed off and I couldn’t… I couldn’t calm down. I flew for ages and the further away from this place I got the better I felt. I hit the town limits and I couldn’t even remember why I was mad.”

“So why didn’t you come back last night?”

“I started to, but I got pissed off as soon as I was halfway home and… it didn’t feel right. I turned right around and headed back out. I made it to Bobby’s in two hours.”

“Bobby? What’d he think?”

“He’s not sure but he’s heading here now. Be here in a few hours. He’s checking with some people on his way to see if maybe Pastor Jim had something on the go here and that’s why he settled.”

“What, like a long-term evil he had to keep a lid on?”

“Maybe,” Sam said, shrugging. “Anyway, he drew this on me and when I came back in I felt okay.” Sam lifted his shirt and there was symbol of radiating lines and swirls on his left pec. “I went to the farmhouse first but you’d left already.”

“So,” Dean said, waggling the crow bar. “Wanna see if we can crack this thing open?”

“Wait,” Sam said, entering the garage and hunkering down next to Dean. He touched the edge of the locker with his fingers and then pushed just a little. The thing scraped and something etched on the ground underneath was revealed.

Dean grunted and turned his head sideways, putting a hand flat against the locker so he could move it more. A greasy, sick feeling rolled through him and Dean snatched his hand back, putting it to his head. “Woah,” he breathed.

“What?”

“I don’t think we should move this anymore,” he said, standing and rubbing his hands off on his jeans. The sick feeling ebbed away as he stood and moved backwards. “I think maybe Jim was keeping something here, something in that locker that we don’t want to mess with.”

“Dean, if it’s affecting the town we gotta do something.”

“Yeah, I know that but I don’t think it’s a good idea to just pry the box open. Ever heard of Pandora?”

“Yeah, maybe-” Sam didn’t get to finish his thought as the locker rattled and then jumped in place. Both brothers watched the etched black lines that had been underneath it bleed into the ground and disappear. “Oh that’s not good,” Sam said, scooting backwards as the locker jumped more violently in place.

“We did not do that just by moving the damn thing!” Dean complained as the tumblers on the lock started spinning. The locker jumped again as Dean and Sam backed out the garage. The sick, greasy feeling hit Dean a second time, much more violently and he staggered, leaning over and losing his makeshift breakfast in one violent spasm. Dean felt Sam’s arms come up under his own and yank backwards just as the garage doors blew off their hinges in a shower of splintered wood and the locker’s lid flipped open.

Something dark blue and fast streaked out. Dean got the fleeting impression of sharp angles and jagged lines and then he was being lifted. Dean thought it was Sam for a second before what felt like icy splinters penetrated his shoulders and back and Dean screamed. There was a flash of movement from the corner of his eye and then Sam’s hands were on him, trying to get a grip, Sam cursing low and loud right by his ear.

Dean tried to help but the pain was overwhelming. There was a loud kaboom from somewhere below and then the pain vanished and he and Sam were falling in a flail of limbs and wings. Sam hit first, letting out a pained oath when Dean landed on top of him. There was the pounding of feet and then Bobby’s face appeared in Dean’s line of sight. “What the fuck was that?” Bobby demanded, leaning down to offer Dean a hand up, the other holding his shot gun.

“Damned if I know,” Dean grunted, letting himself be hauled upright and then turning to check on Sam. Sam had what looked like a nasty gash on his forehead but seemed okay otherwise. He knuckled blood out of his eye as Dean got him under the armpits and set him on his feet.

“It went that way,” Sam said, pointing South and unfurled his wings. Dean got a fistful of the back of Sam’s shirt just as he took a couple of steps forward and Sam looked back at him.

“No way,” Dean barked. “You’re not just tearing off after it.”

“It could hurt someone!”

“You’re not even armed,” Dean pointed out and Sam rolled his eyes and put a hand out for Bobby’s shot gun. Bobby just blinked at him.

“Dean’s right, you can’t go after something like that. I don’t know what Jim thought he was doing but that looked like a Skelter.”

“A what?” Dean and Sam both asked in unison.

“Hell footsoldier type, but very specific. Created to kill a single person or creature. They’re what you call up when you want the job done right and you’re sure because you can’t call ‘em off once they’re set on a target.”

“Why’d it attack me then?” Dean asked.

“Don’t know. It’ll usually only…” Bobby looked away and then back again, taking his cap off and scrubbing a hand over his head. “Aw hell Jim,” Bobby sighed.

“What?” Dean demanded, clapping a hand to Bobby’s shoulder and giving him a firm shake.

Bobby gave Dean a look he couldn’t interpret and moved past him, heading for the garage. He took a look at the locker and then turned back to both boys, concern flooding his features. “Let’s go back to the farmhouse,” he said, waving a hand at the Impala and his truck pulled up behind it.

“Bobby?” Sam said.

“Just give me a little while to sort it out in my own head. Plus, I think we all need a stiff drink for this.”

000

Bobby had a whiskey in front of him before he’d elaborate. He was sitting at Dean and Sam’s kitchen table, turning his glass around in his fingers. His free hand was resting on top of an ancient looking book that had made Sam’s eyes gleam when he’d seen it. Bobby flipped the book open and turned it around so Dean and Sam could see the page he’d opened it to. He tapped a finger over a picture of something that was almost hard to look at, a figure that seemed to be made of nothing but teeth, claws and shadow.

“Most demons use Hell Hounds and the like to carry out their dirty work, drag unwilling souls down below,” Bobby explained. “Every now and again they use one of these, but not lightly. There’re some lines even demons don’t like to cross.”

“A monster the monsters are afraid of?” Dean asked, incredulous.

“Somethin’ like that,” Bobby confirmed with a nod. “Mostly because it’s overkill. You only need something like that… hell, if the intended victim is protected in some way.”

“I don’t mean to sound like a broken record, but why did that thing try to kick my ass?” Dean asked, looking back at the book. Most of the inscriptions around the picture were in a language he’d never seen before. He recognised the odd word or two in what might have been Latin but he’d never been word-perfect in that either so he figured he had no hope. Sam, on the other hand, was studying the pages avidly. Dean just knew his little brother was dying to go fetch a note book and their dad’s journal to see if he could puzzle it out.

“Most demons and lower beings aren’t too concerned with collateral damage but Skelters are different. They can only attack the person they were created to destroy.”

“It hit Sammy too,” Dean pointed out, getting fingers under Sam’s chin and tilting his now patched forehead towards Bobby.

“The only other being it can hurt is a Guardian.”

“Ah, well, that makes sense,” Dean said, nodding. “It was trying to get Sam through me.”

“No, Dean,” Bobby said, expression neutral. “I saw it all from below. That thing had a hold of you and was trying to keep Sam here at bay.”

“What the hell are you saying?” Dean asked slowly. He looked at Sam who met his confused gaze.

“I’m saying the Skelter was trying to kill you.”

“That’s just crazy,” Dean dismissed with a wave of his hand. “I’m the big brother, Sammy’s mine to protect. I’ve always known it.”

“You don’t think I feel the same?” Sam asked and Dean looked at him.

“Yeah, but it’s different,” he argued.

“How exactly?”

“When mom died I carried you out. From the second dad put you in my arms I just… I knew okay?”

“Dean, it may seem a little cliché,” Bobby said, putting a hand on one of Sam’s wings. “But don’t you think Sam fits the guardian bill a little more closely? Haven’t you ever wondered just why he’s like he is? I doubt it was just some genetic hiccup like an eleventh toe or an extra nipple.”

“Sam’s the demon magnet. Hell, Casen went to a lot of trouble to try and snag him.”

Bobby looked between both boys, tense and a little resigned. “Destiny’s a funny thing. You can get a whiff of it but not know quite exactly where it’s coming from. Plus, demons have a hard-on for the melodramatic. They’re probably all salivating about the idea of a winged man being brought low.”

“I still don’t get what you’re saying here,” Dean said. His hands had clenched into fists around his own glass of whiskey and he eased up with conscious effort, not wanting to get a handful of glass shards. Sam was merely watching, keeping his opinions to himself like usual, possessive arm curled around Bobby’s book like it could give him all the answers.

“Look, I don’t really know what’s going on myself but… well, I knew your daddy pretty well but nothin’ much about your mom. Maybe all of this is coming from her side.”

“All of what?” Dean asked, still feeling lost. He wasn’t going to accept what Bobby was saying, he couldn’t. The very second he’d been handed a bundle of blankets and baby in a burning house he’d felt the press of duty, heavy and reassuring. In Dean’s mind, Sam had always been the important one, absolutely no debate.

“Someone powerful wants you dead and buried and that usually means something’s on the cards they don’t like. If we knew more about your mom-”

“Stop it,” Dean growled, slamming a hand down on the table, palm flat.

“Your daddy told me once that he thought maybe Sam was-”

“Enough!” Dean roared, standing fast, his chair skidding and then falling over behind him. Sam had blanched, eyes wide.

When did you start thinkin’ maybe he wasn’t yours?

Dean had asked the question himself when he was nineteen and Sam fifteen. He hadn’t wanted to but he’d seen the way his father had sometimes looked at Sam. It was soon after that discussion, unfortunately overheard, that Sam had taken steps to get the wings removed, unknowingly opening himself up to a man of pure malice. Dean looked down at Sam who had put a hand up to his mouth, fingers digging into his top lip and for the first time wondered if maybe… just maybe Sam had mutilated himself just so his dad wouldn’t look at him like he was a stranger, a cuckoo’s egg.

Maybe just in case Dean ever started to.

Dean hated that Sam had lost a lot of his memories, most of them centering around the wings, but one thing he’d been glad of was that Sam had not had the memory of that conversation to eat at him. The last thing Dean had ever wanted was for Sam to remember that there was a small part of John that doubted and that Dean had seen it.

Bobby seemed to realise what he’d done because he huffed and shrugged, putting a hand back to one of Sam’s wings and tugging gently. “Well, like I said, I don’t know just what’s going on, I’m mostly talking out of my ass. How about I leave my book with you, see if you can make heads or tails.”

Sam had relaxed his grip on the book before him but now curled it against his chest again. “Sure. I mean I’ll take a look.”

“Everything I’ve heard says Skelters can’t be destroyed but I don’t believe that. Anyone can figure it out it’s you boys.” Bobby’s gaze swung to Dean. “You wanna help me get my things out of the truck?”

“Sure,” Dean agreed, following Bobby out the front of the farmhouse and to his truck. “Don’t do that again,” Dean said when Bobby opened the cab of his pickup and leaned in for his duffle. Bobby leaned back out with his eyebrows drawn down.

“Dean, you and Sam are adults now. I’m going to be telling you what I think even if you don’t like it.”

“Sam doesn’t… he doesn’t need to know-”

“What? That maybe he’s not all Winchester? Hell son, don’t you think he would maybe have those kinds of thoughts every time he looks in a mirror?”

“He heard us once, me and dad talkin’ about that. He took it pretty hard and I… just don’t want to do that to him again.”

“I understand that but sticking your head in the sand is no kind of answer. You gotta look at every possibility.”

Dean kicked at Bobby’s tires absently. “The kid’s been through enough, you know?” he said, squinting back up at Bobby through the afternoon sunlight.

“Hey!” Sam called, shouldering through the front screen door with the book held aloft. “We can kill it!”

Bobby and Dean blinked at him. “I thought you could figure something out but I wasn’t expecting you to do it so fast,” Bobby said with a good-natured grumble to his voice.

“There’s a dagger you can use to kill a Skelter,” Sam babbled, enthusiasm making him bounce around like Hell Hound when he’d had ice cream. “Jim has the thing here.”

“How do you know that? I don’t remember seeing this,” Dean said, taking the book from Sam and looking at the etching of the ornate blade that was on the open page.

“I cleared out the attic when you left… while you were gone,” Sam said. “I remember seeing it. I just have to dig it out.”

“Now hang on,” Bobby interrupted. “I know about that thing and while it’s helpful to have it, you’re only halfway home with the weapon. It can’t be wielded by just anyone. It’s a spirit weapon.”

“Can’t be,” Dean said with a shake of his head. “Sam said it’s in the farmhouse.”

“It’s got a presence in the mortal world, sure,” Bobby explained. “But you might as well try smacking the Skelter with a pillow for all the good it will do. It’s a spirit blade which means a spirit has to use it.”

“You’re kidding,” Dean said.

“Wish I was,” Bobby huffed.

000

As the sun went down, they moved through the house reinforcing protections and making sure the salt lines were intact. Bobby had explained that Skelters, while vicious and pure demon, were limited like all other evil. The normal safe guards repelled them. Jim Murphy had temporarily trapped the Skelter targeting Dean but how or when none of them knew.

Sam, reading further, also found the reasons for the town going a little whacky. Steeped in evil, when the protections around the Skelter had started failing, pure sin had seeped out. Dean, much to his amusement, had found his Pandora’s box simile scarily apt.

“So we saw signs of wrath and lust,” Sam said. He was standing on a chair so he could re-carve the protective runes over the lintel on the back door.

“And gluttony,” Bobby said, Dean turning around with a full mouth and a raised eyebrow.

“That’s how he always eats,” Sam remarked.

“Hey!” Dean protested, wiping his mouth off with the edge of his sleeve. “Everyone’s a critic.” Dean watched Sam get down from the chair and move towards the front of the house and up the stairs. As he went Dean heard Sam mumbling something and brushing his hands over any available surface.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Bobby said and Dean turned back to him.

“Pardon?”

“You’re like your Daddy, the bull-headed part anyway. I got to wonderin’ just what kind of darned fool thing John would come up with in this circumstance so I know what you’re thinking.”

“I’m not thinking anything,” Dean said, rapping a closed fist against his temple and making a hollow pock sound with his mouth. “See, like Sammy’s always saying. Empty as a barn after the horse has bolted.”

“Oh really?” Bobby raised his eyebrows. “So you won’t mind me discussing with Sam-”

“Wait,” Dean said, putting his hands up.

“It ain’t gonna happen,” Bobby growled. “Not while I’m here. Did your daddy ever tell you just why I ran him off my property at the business end of a shotgun?”

John hadn’t but Dean knew it was because sooner or later, John’s single-minded determination always managed to rub people up the wrong way. Caleb had never been fazed because he’d been pretty much the same and Jim had the patience of a saint, surprisingly enough. He figured people like Daniel Wilkes and Bobby only lasted so long because usually months passed between visits.

“I was doing an exorcism, little girl. Suffice to say it went bad. John tried to coax the damn thing into himself.”

Dean blinked, not really knowing what to do with that information. It sounded just like his dad to do that kind of thing and he couldn’t really fault him for it. With a kid at stake… with Sam, he would’ve done the same.

“It’s the only way,” Dean said, not even bothering to deny what he had in mind now. He was only surprised that Sam…

Bobby and Dean’s eyes met the moment Hell Hound took up barking from somewhere upstairs and there was the sound of breaking glass. Dean spun and thundered up the stairs, already knowing what he was going to find. When he hit the attic there was a small, velvet lined box lying open on the floor and the skylight that Jim had put in himself was broken.

“Dammit Sammy,” Dean breathed.

000

“It’ll seek out desecrated ground,” Bobby explained as they tore through the town center, Dean with his foot almost flat on the Impala’s accelerator. He was only grateful that it was a little late in the day for most people to be out and about.

“There’s an old chapel with an attached cemetery that was relocated.”

“That would fit,” Bobby said, nodding. “Lord save the Winchesters from themselves,” he added in a low grumble.

It took another hour and twenty minutes to find the chapel Dean had referred to, out on the outskirts of Sanctuary and mostly overgrown. Twenty minutes to drive to it and then an hour of stomping through the undergrowth, Dean getting more and more frustrated. Tripping over the low remains of what had once been a wall was pure lucky chance and Dean scanned the skies directly above. Dusk had tinged the skies purple and Dean cursed, knowing his flashlight was back with the car. He and Bobby had separated to search and he couldn’t even see the older hunter in the gloom.

A sharp crack was Dean’s only warning as six foot five of little brother landed right on top of him. Dean tried to roll with it but still ended up with an elbow and a knee in uncomfortable places. He sat up slowly and put his hands out, coming into contact with feathers and wetness.

“Sammy?” Dean croaked as the last light of the day failed and they were plunged into inky blackness.

“No, Dean. You gotta get out of here,” Sam said, Dean watching him push slowly to his knees, head hung down between his shoulders and one of his wings dragging at a funny angle off his frame.

“Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Dean demanded, leaning forward so he could get two good fistfuls of Sam’s shirt to haul him upright. Sam let out a pained exhalation at the movement and Dean eased his grip, sliding one arm around Sam’s waist so he could hang onto his weight better.

“I just had to hold onto the knife,” Sam said, his feet dragging as Dean tried to manhandle him in what he hoped was the direction of the car.

“When you died?” Dean snapped, feeling anger and terror so overwhelming that he couldn’t tell them apart. “What kind of plan is that?”

“Yours I’m guessing,” Sam grunted and Dean rolled his eyes.

“I wouldn’t do something so dumb,” Dean said, tightening his hold on Sam and only easing up when Sam squeaked.

“Liar,” Sam huffed and Dean could hear the fond exasperation in his voice. Dean lowered Sam to the ground carefully when he reached a stand of trees and rubbed his palms into his eyes.

“Bobby was right, save us from our own stupid selves.” Dean leaned down and dug into the front pockets of Sam’s hoodie and then the waistband of his jeans. He found the blade tucked against Sam’s side and pulled it free.

“Dean!” Sam barked, getting a surprisingly strong grip on Dean’s forearm when Dean tried to step back.

“You wanna give that to me?”

Dean froze, all the hairs on his neck standing up on end. He could see his shadow thrown against the tree Sam was resting on, light behind him. Sam had slid sideways and he was now squinting into the light, mouth dropped open in an ‘o’ of shock.

“Pastor Jim?”

Dean turned slowly as gentle laughter issued forth. “Took you boys long enough,” Jim said. “I thought I was going to be stuck here forever.”

“How-?” Dean began but Jim, looking just like he always did in collar and black slacks, gentle nimbus of light around him, held up a hand and smiled.

“Trick of the trade,” he said. “Unfinished business and all.”

Jim put his hand out just as something unfolded itself from the shadows and lunged. Dean reacted on instinct, tossing the blade like he had tossed weapons to his father hundreds of times and Jim caught it deftly, the blade lengthening and casting out an orange glow in his grip. Jim turned just as the shadow folded itself around him, all teeth and shrieking. Dean stumbled backwards, landing awkwardly half-on Sam and putting an arm up over his eyes and hooking the other around his brother.

Dean cracked open an eye when his shoulder was jostled. “Just what the hell are you doing?” Bobby asked, hunkered over in front of them with his hands braced on his knees.

“I think it’s dead,” Dean said, more than a little awed. He looked around Bobby and could see a ring of blackened earth and the knife sitting in the middle of it, upright in the dirt.

“Well, what happened?”

“Later,” Dean said, turning over so he could get a look at Sam. His younger brother looked like he’d gone a few rounds with a meat grinder. His face was bruised and swelling and one of his wings looked broken. Dean glanced over his shoulder at Bobby who darted forward immediately to help lift Sam.

000

“Maybe we should give him one of those neck-cone things like they put on dogs,” Dean said from his perch on one of Melinda’s clinic tables. “Or you know, if birds break their wings, don’t you just put them down?”

“Shut up,” Sam grumbled. He’d ended up having a few fine fractures but nothing actually broken on his right wing, stabilised by a splint that Melinda was able to fashion. Dean was delighting in the fact that he was earth-bound for at least two months and yet again being treated by a vet. They had been forced to go to the tiny community hospital for Sam’s other injuries but the Doctor had been at a loss as to what to do with the wing. They’d had enough trouble fitting him on the table to be X-rayed.

“So, have you heard from Freddy?” Dean asked tentatively. The whole town was going through the motions of recovery but Melinda had handed Dean the keys to the garage mutely the day before, telling him with worry in her eyes that Freddy was taking off for parts unknown for a few weeks.

Melinda paused, hands on Sam’s wing where she was checking that he hadn’t torn any of the fine membrane or damaged flight feathers. She sighed, burying her face in the downy underside for a few moments and Sam looked at Dean with a concerned frown. “He promised to call,” she said, resurfacing. “And he will. He just needs to sort some stuff out.”

“Okay,” Dean said, feeling powerless. He hated that there was so much collateral damage in their line of work and wondered if maybe the little town would have been better off if they’d never come.

“Don’t you dare blame yourself,” Melinda said, catching Dean’s look. “From what I understand, Jim set something in motion way before you even knew we existed so I won’t have you beating yourself up.”

“Yeah,” Sam piped up. “That’s what I’m for.”

“Hey,” Dean said with a scowl. “You’re still on very thin ice buddy. Don’t think I’m going to forgot you nearly getting yourself killed anytime soon.”

Dean left Melinda and Sam to it, knowing they were going to be a while as Melinda wanted to check over the X-rays they’d received carefully. Dean stepped out onto the sidewalk, watching the normal mid-morning traffic pass by. He still couldn’t get his head around the idea that Sam was maybe some kind of guardian and he himself was part of a grand master plan. Bobby had been careful to warn them that the Skelter might not be the last thing that came at them.

Dean watched a gaggle of kids across the street in the park running around, most of them with the arms stuck out by their sides, flapping them up and down and letting out high-pitched peals of laughter. Little Jeanie Peters even had makeshift wings strapped to her shoulders made of coat hangers, elastic and bright green cellophane.

“She promised not to jump off anything else if I made her those,” Kelly Peters said by Dean’s shoulder and he turned his head to look at her. “Sorry, saw you from over there and just wanted to come across and say hi and also find out what I need to bribe you with to never tell anyone what I did.”

“You’re lucky I don’t have to brag. It’s just common knowledge that all the ladies love me,” Dean said, watching Kelly pink up prettily. Karen Andrews was across at the park in amongst the kids and she waved a hand. Dean waved back.

“It’s good you boys being here,” Kelly said, still watching her daughter. “We all miss Pastor Murphy a lot and you… you and your brother go some way towards filling the void.” Dean watched Kelly jog back across the street, being almost bowled over by Jeanie in her enthusiasm.

“You ready to go home?” Sam asked, the gentle sound of the clinic door rattling behind.

“Yeah Sammy,” Dean said with a small smile. “Yeah I am.”
------

Author's Notes - I don't usually do these but what the hell...

The first 566 words of this story were written by poisontaster who wrote an awesome little ficlet for the last story in this series and I loved it so much that I had to absorb it into my canon (with her permission of course... thanks PT!).

Some of my favourite all time stories are part of an ongoing universe and I guess this is because I myself love to world build. I will most of the time write short little ficlets but my one true love is the bigger story, fleshed out, three dimensional. I like to finish the town as it were, know the people, have a resident in every single little house and be able to see their lights on.

Having an ongoing 'verse means I get to play and be able to introduce a much larger myth arc. I'm having a lot of fun and I hope you are too. This is my longest story in this 'verse... it might be a trend.