A/N: Well, I kinda wanted to have this out sooner. For those of you who didn't read Stairway to Heaven, you may want to read that first, though I'm trying to, kinda, recap what happened.

Right, I apologize for not starting this one sooner. In this past week alone I have had my car break down, twice, dropped a bookcase on my toe, caught my computer on fire, had a shower that refused to work and a pipe burst in my ceiling, which subsequently decided to drop plaster of paris on my head. So while I take to repairing my house, working, and going to school, I will try to have my updates out as quickly as possible. As long as my computer doesn't burst into flames. Again.

Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. Unfortunately. Because if I did…well…let's just say it probably wouldn't be pretty. Story title is taken from the song by AC/DC and the chapter title is taken from The Smiths.

Highway to Hell

Chapter One: Heaven Knows We're Miserable Now

"God, Dean, that reeks…what's in it?"

Dean glanced down at the offending take-out box in Sam's lap and shrugged.

"I'm throwing it out the window." Sam reached over to crank down the Impala's window, only to be thrown against the door as the car swerved wildly.

"Dean, what the heck!?" Sam batted at Dean's reaching hand.

"You can't throw out my burrito!"

"If it smells this bad now, what do you think it's going to smell like after you've eaten it?" Sam whined, holding the burrito out of reach and trying to crank faster.

"I'm warning you, Sam, put down the burrito and no one gets hurt…"

Sam's eyes went wide and his jaw dropped as he looked out the windshield. "Dean!"

"What, what is it!?" Dean turned quickly to look, slamming on his breaks and swerving to avoid…nothing. "What the heck, Sam?" He paused, noticing the open window and empty hands. "Where the hell is my burrito?"

"It's in a better place, Dean."

Dean's mouth tightened and he bit back a few not very nice words.

Friggin' Bitch.

"I heard that, you jerk."

A strangled noise, something between a grunt and a scream, left Dean's throat, and he redirected his attention to the road, fully intent on ignoring his brother.

"Aww…Dean, you aren't gonna pout, are you?"

Dean didn't even acknowledge that Sam had spoken.

"Deeaannn…"

Not giving in.

"God, you look like such a girl when you stick your lip out like that…"

"Grrr…" Dean's eye twitched and he rounded on his brother. Only to be met with a white takeout box on the bench between them.

Sam's lips twitched as Dean's look turned from righteous anger to confusion to frustrated older brother in a matter of seconds. "Sam…"

Sam busted out laughing. "The look on your face…"

"You better watch it, buddy…"

But Sam couldn't stop laughing.

"That's it Sam, you better watch out, or you're gonna end up bald again."

Sam attempted to sober up, but one look at his brother brought it all tumbling down again. "God Dean…my stomach hurts," Sam fell against the door, clutching at his stomach as he tried to get the hysterical laughter under control.

Dean opened his mouth to tell his brother off, and then realized that it was really the first time that Sam had laughed since an angel nearly beheaded him. Which had been followed quickly by the appearance of Sam's healing powers and their dad ditching, again.

Since then, they'd been driving around rather aimlessly.

Sam had found a couple of potential hunts, but Dean hadn't seemed overtly interested, so Sam had dropped the subject.

Truth was, Dean was still trying to come to terms with the fact that his brother was the potential ruler of Hell.

And it was kind of hard to reconcile that little tidbit of information with the six-foot-four twenty-two year old that was giggling, yes, giggling, in the passenger seat beside him.

So until he was sure that Sam was okay, he was going to stay away from anything that even looked demonic. Or deadly. Or demonically deadly. So no hunting. At least not these past two weeks. They'd headed south, away from the cold and the snow, and far away from that stupid cabin. He had a feeling that it wouldn't be long before something rained on his little parade, and given the run rate of Winchester luck, they were due for an unhappy experience right about…

"Shit!" Dean cursed as the tire suddenly shredded, the loud explosion and subsequent nails on chalkboard sound letting Dean know he wasn't going anywhere any time soon. Sam abruptly stopped laughing as Dean angled the car over to the side of the abandoned country road.

He was out of the car before Dean even asked, in the trunk looking for the locked tool box and jack so Dean could retrieve the donut from under the car, where they'd managed to jerry rig it, and get to work. "Thanks, Sam," he muttered, taking the proffered tools and lifting the car. Now all they needed was…

Thunder rolled ominously, and seconds later the heavens opened.

Almost instantly both boys were soaked, Dean's normally spiked hair plastered to his forehead, and Sam's heavy, dripping locks. "Couldn't I get a useful ability, like being able to control the weather!" Dean complained, voice raising with each word.

Sliding under the car, he continued his grumbling.

Sam knelt down, ready to hand whatever tool his brother need to him, when the spare tire suddenly floated out from underneath the car, causing Sam to squeak and fall backwards, his jeans immediately soaking through when his behind landed in a puddle. "Dean! Warn a guy next time! For all I know that tire was possessed!"

"Sorry," Dean grinned, popping out from underneath the car. "But, you have to admit that you deserved that."

"Watch it, I might still pitch that burrito."

"You wouldn't," Dean gasped, pretending to sound affronted. "Hold these…and don't pull a Christmas Story, wouldn't want to have to wash your mouth out with soap." Dean handed him the hub cap filled with nuts and bolts.

"Fuuudddggeee," Sam supplied, smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

"Ralphy!" he gasped, pulling off the remains of the shredded tire. "Shit," he muttered, sticking his thumb in his mouth and sucking.

"What?"

"Glass," he mumbled around his thumb.

"Let me see, Dean."

"Nu-uh."

"What are you, four? Let me see." Sam reached for Dean's wrist, but Dean quickly swung his entire arm up and out of reach, ignoring the blood running freely from the deep slice.

"No. It makes you sick when you do that stuff."

"It's not like I'm trying to bring you back to life, Dean," Sam sighed. "Lemme see."

"No," he muttered sullenly, still holding it out of reach, ignoring the rain that was running down the back of his collar. "You weren't coherent for two days, Sam. Then you spent the next two trying to bring your guts up because of that stupid migraine."

I'm fine when I use my powers. You aren't.

"Yeah, well you heard Bobby. He said it's because the demon powers are interfering with the angelic ones. That's why it hurts when I use either one of them. They're fighting each other." Sam sighed, and prepared himself for the low blow. "You can't repair the Impala one-handed, Dean."

"Then we'll call a tow-truck," Dean was already reaching for his phone. "I don't have any reception, give me yours."

"No. Give me your thumb."

"I'm not interested in a thumb war, Sam. Give me the phone."

In a Winchester battle of wills, everyone lost.

"Fine," Dean grumbled. "Keep the stupid phone."

Holding his bleeding hand off to one side, Dean gestured at the blown tire with the other, causing it to pop off and tumble to the ground.

"Ahh! You are so frustrating!"

Dean turned to reply and ended up with a face full of Sam's shirt as he tackled Dean to the ground. Desperately, Dean tried to wave his injured hand out of reach, but Sam was faster, pinning Dean down with his body weight and grabbing at Dean's arm. "Get the hell off me!"

"Shut up and give me your hand, Dean!"

"No!" I don't want to see you hurt…

Bucking underneath his brother, Dean attempted to throw Sam off, only managing to soak himself in the rapidly growing puddle. "Hah!" Sam grasped successfully at the flailing hand. "I don't want to see you hurt either, you moron."

Dean sighed as he felt the slight tingling that meant Sam had been successful in healing the injury. "Will you get off me now?" Not waiting for Sam's reply, Dean heaved, and Sam overturned, falling once again into the cold puddle.

"Some thanks," he muttered, wincing and rubbing at his head.

"That headache is your own damn fault," Dean muttered, picking up the donut. It would at least get them to the next town, where Dean could find a real tire. "Give me the nuts and bolts." He held out one hand expectantly, concentrating on holding the spare in place with the other. When neither the nuts, nor the bolts, were forthcoming, Dean turned towards Sam. "Sam?"

Sam's 'I'm-as-guilty-as-hell' look flashed across his face.

"Saaaammm," Dean's careful drawl made Sam wince again, this time, not from the headache. "Where are the nuts and bolts?"

"Which, uh, nuts and bolts, exactly?" he hedged, eyes glancing around…there was the hub cap, face down in the puddle.

"Which bolts?" If Sam had been joking, the strangled look on Dean's face would have been hilarious. As it was, the rapidly purpling color only seemed to indicate Sam's future doom. Slowly, he scooted backwards in the puddle, ignoring the fact that he was entirely soaked from head to toe. Even his underwear appeared to be wet. "Which bolts?"

Backpedaling faster now, Sam's fingers scrambled for purchase in the muddy grass, and came across… "Look, here they are!"

Dean stared dubiously at the pile of glop in Sam's hands. Slowly, one large drop rolled precariously over Sam's pinky and dropped into the puddle with a loud 'plop.' "What the heck am I supposed to do with that, Sam?"

"Well, I'm not an expert mechanic, but I think you're supposed to attach them to the…"

"They are caked in mud, Sam!" Dean lifted up a wet hand, smoothing it over his dripping face, and doing nothing to stop the water from running into his eyes. "I can't put them on the Impala."

Sam dunked his hands in the puddle and pulled them back out, little rivulets of mud running down his arms. "There, as good as new." He tried hard not to flinch under Dean's murderous glare. Finally, Dean reached out and took the proffered hardware.

By the time Dean finished both of them were soaked and mind numbingly cold. Sam's headache had increased exponentially, his small shivers only increasing the tension in his neck and shoulders. To top it off, Dean's burrito was cold.

It took another half-an-hour to find the nearest backwater town, and Dean was just thankful that there was a mechanic's shop where he could get a tire. Luckily, there was also a motel. Deciding it would be better to stop for the night and worry about the car in the morning, Dean pulled up to the dilapidated building.

"The Dancing Cow…how promising," Dean muttered, reaching for the door handle. "I'll get the room, you grab the gear."

Sam unloaded the trunk, trying to avoid putting the duffels in any obvious puddles, which at this point, was a little difficult. Dean came storming out a minute later, muttering under his breath. Middle of nowhere, backwards town…

"What's wrong, Dean?"

"They wouldn't give us a freakin' room together, because they didn't want 'none of that funny business goin' on'." He turned and glared angrily at the office window. "There's no other motels in town." Dean sighed, fishing out a key and pressing it into Sam's hand. "Go get cleaned up in your room, and I'll meet you here in half an hour."

"How are they gonna know if we're in the same room, Dean?"

Glaring at the guy behind the counter, Dean sighed. "I have a feeling that they've got nothing better to do than watch us, Sam. Go get cleaned up so we can get some grub. I'm starving."

Sam sighed and took the room key, lifting his bag and trying not to wince as the motion aggravated the now pounding headache. Turning, he went to find his room, which he suspected was going to be on the opposite side of whichever Dean's was on. If it wasn't for the fact that he was nearly quaking from being wet and cold, and if his head didn't feel like there were tap dancing sumo wrestlers inside of it, Sam would have told Dean to drive to the next town. Or would have offered to sleep in the car. And prayed that the donut would hold.

Why couldn't either of them have really useful powers…like Obi-Wan Kenobi. Then he could just wave his hand…but, no. That would be bad. Mumbling under his breath, Sam jammed open the sticky motel door and sighed. Was the mattress supposed to touch the ground in the middle like that?

Dean's room wasn't much better. His mattress appeared firm enough, but if the mouse droppings all over the pillow indicated anything, he wasn't going to be sleeping very much tonight. But for the fact that Sam looked like he could keel over, and the fact that Dean was freakin' freezing, he would have driven half-way across the country and willed the donut to not explode. As it was, he was probably going to that mechanic shop before dinner and getting a tire. Sam could sleep in the backseat, but there was no way he was staying in here for the night.

Dropping his duffel in the only area not covered with feces, Dean pulled out dry clothes and carefully picked his way over to the shower, on the lookout for any overly large rodents. He wasn't thrilled about leaving Sam alone, especially with a demon after him. That was coupled with the fact that Sam hadn't really been out of his sight, unless he was with their dad or Bobby, since Dean had showed up at Stanford. And since Sam had just recently woken up screaming at night…Dean was getting the heck out of here as soon as he could.

Quickly, Dean ripped back the shower curtain, half expecting a man-eating rat to be in there. Other than some mold in the caulking, the tub was suspiciously empty. Relieved, he reached out to turn on the water, only to have the spicket sputter before spewing orange all over. "Eww!" Dean jumped backwards, glaring at his covered arm, watching as the water slowly changed to a pale yellow instead.

You okay?

M'fine.

He could feel Sam's mental wince at his snap, and knew that he'd probably just ratcheted Sam's headache up a notch. Sorry. He added.

S'okay, what happened?

Wasn't expecting the water to be…holy shit!

A large black thing with a pinkish colored tail rocketed across the bathroom, over Dean's foot, and out the door. Dean!

There was no response as Dean stormed out the bathroom, not caring that the water was still running, stuffed his clothes back in his duffel, and nearly ran out the door, half open bag thumping rhythmically against his side as he sprinted to Sam's room. He banged on the closed door and it opened immediately, Sam's concerned face appearing. "Dean?"

"Get your crap, we're leaving."

"But…the car…and you're still wet…" Not to mention that Sam himself was soaked.

"Fine, we'll change, but then we're leaving."

Sam didn't ask why. He knew better than to do that when Dean was in this frame of mind. Instead he just stepped back, letting his brother in, and went back to his duffel, pulling out the warmest clothes he could find short of looking like the Michelin Man. Shudders still racking his body, he landed on sweatpants, two tees, and a hoodie.

Dean himself had just put on another pair of jeans and a tee, buttoning another long sleeve over it. "You feelin' okay, Sam?"

"Just cold," he shivered again, accentuating his point.

Dean knew that he wouldn't be nearly as cold if he hadn't done that stupid healing. But if he hadn't done that healing, they would probably still be stuck on the side of the road. "Sam. Thanks. You know…"

Sam smiled, wrapping the wet clothes in a bundle and stuffing them in the corner of his bag. "Don't, Dean." He paused, hand on the zipper. "I know this place isn't the Hilton, but is there a reason we're busting out early…minus my broken bed?"

"Just be glad you didn't make it to the bathroom yet," muttered Dean. "I have never seen a rat that big in my life. They've got to be feeding it steroids or something."

Ahh…that explained it.

"I mean, seriously, that thing was leaving human sized poo…"

"I think I get the picture, Dean. We still getting something to eat?"

"After I get a tire," he replied, swinging his bag up and wincing as Sam shuddered again. "Come on, let's get in the car and get the heat blasting. Good thing Ronny Rodreguiz was paying tonight, otherwise I'd be arguing to get our money back."

Sam was glad too. That would have been a waste of another twenty minutes. At this point, he was planning on spending the night in the backseat anyway. They loaded the trunk back up and Sam fell into the passenger's side, unsurprised, but grateful, when the leather jacket dropped over him. He toed off his wet sneakers, and leaned against the window, happy to hear the sound of the heaters working overtime.

They were silent on the short ride to the mechanic's shop, Sam's shudders thankfully lessening by then, leaving him drained and tired instead, the pounding in his head just adding to the feeling. "Stay in the car, kiddo. I'll be right back."

Sam nodded, eyes slipping shut as the door closed.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there before he realized that Dean hadn't returned. And then he felt the anger rolling off his brother. Dean?

Stay in the car, Sam.

Like that was going to happen.

Sam stuffed his feet back into wet shoes, ignoring the squishing between his toes. Now that he was out of the car, Sam could hear the raised voices. "For the last time, he's my brother!"

"I got a call from Billy, he told me what you all are. We don't serve your kind here! So you can just get on out."

Sam appeared just as Dean grabbed the man by his collar, shoving him hard into the concrete-blocked wall. A wave of anger poured over Dean, and before he could stop it, not that he wanted to, his wings erupted. They were spread wide, the only hint of Dean's near death not long ago was the thin white line that ran vertically down the right one, barely noticeable among the iridescent black.

"God have mercy…" the mechanic whispered, eyes bulging out of his head.

"For the last time," Dean ground out.

"Dean!" Sam called.

"Not now, Sam."

"It's an angel of the Lord…"

"A what?" Dean turned, confusion playing across his features. "An…oh." He cleared his throat. "That's right, I am an angel of the Lord!"

Dean! Don't you think we can get in trouble for impersonating angels?

Shush, Sammy, I'm on a roll.

"We have been sent to your small town to warn you."

The man trembled and averted his eyes.

"The Lord has been watching you and does not appreciate the way you have shunned his children. All are precious in the eyes of the Lord."

Great Dean, now you're putting words into God's mouth. Like we aren't in enough trouble already.

Relax, Sammy. Michael never said we couldn't pretend we're angels. Anyway, we're children of the angels, so…

"The Lord wishes for a change, and so he has sent us as a warning. If you do not…remember Sodom and Gomorrah?"

The man nodded fervently.

"You're next. Now where's my tire?"

He pointed one trembling arm towards the stack in the corner.

"Thanks."

"I…I can change it for you…" the young man offered. "I'll even rotate and check your tire pressure. And change your oil."

Before Dean could protest, the kid had scurried to his feet and was diving for the tires. "This doesn't get you out of tithing on Sunday."

Dean…

Sam, you gotta admit this is pretty funny.

We're going to Hell.

"Is…is he an angel too?"

"Sam?" Dean turned from the quaking kid to his scroungy looking 6'4" brother. In sweatpants and a hoodie no less. His sneakers weren't even tied. "Oh yeah. You gotta watch out for Sam. He doesn't give warnings, he'll just kick your…"

"Dean!" Sam snapped. "Just put those things away and let's go find something to eat while the kid changes the tire."

Dean sighed and retracted his wings, rolling his shoulders as they disappeared. "I like them better out," he muttered. "We'll be back in an hour…and no talking to anyone, got it?"

"Uh-huh," the mechanic nodded fervently, already rolling the tire towards the Impala.

"Alright, Sam. Let's go."

They both stepped out into the rain and dashed across the street to an all night diner. "You can't just go around impersonating angels, Dean," Sam hissed, grimacing as his menu stuck to his fingers. Clearly this place did breakfast.

"I don't think its exactly an impersonation, Sam. Besides, I needed to stretch my wings."

Needing to stretch his wings was something Sam could understand. There was a constant itch, a need, to let them out. Because that was where they should be. They just couldn't. And it wasn't a smart idea to have them out in the Impala. As Sam quickly discovered, that generally resulted in a black eye, since the wings seemed to have a mind of their own, and would occasionally stretch themselves. Motel rooms were cramped which pretty much left…nowhere. Still, that wasn't an excuse for scaring the daylights out some guy and pretending to be God-sent. Even if the guy was a jerk.

Sam sighed, and then decided that it wasn't worth the argument. Not at the expense of his headache increasing. A young woman, the waitress Sam presumed, appeared, glancing nervously over her shoulder. "Look, I'm really sorry about this guys, but you've got to leave."

"Excuse me?" Dean's ire was rising again.

"It isn't me…the manager…he said that we don't serve 'your kind'…"

Dean's mouth opened, clearly about to utter something that Sam was sure he'd probably regret later.

Dean!

His jaw audibly clicked shut.

"Could we please speak to the manager," Sam glanced at the name tag, "Sarah?" He threw in his best whipped puppy look and smile.

She nearly sighed in relief. "Sure thing. JEB!" she hollered, disappearing into the back.

A rather large, middle aged man appeared in her stead. "I'm sorry, gentlemen, but this is a family establishment. You'll have to go."

"I'm sorry, Jeb. We didn't get a chance to introduce ourselves. I'm Samuel Davis, I just recently opened a law office a couple of towns over with my brother, Dean." Sam nodded towards his brother. "Our tire blew just outside of town, so we thought we'd spend the night and leave in the morning…but the way this evening has gone, I think I may just have to contact the state about discrimination…"

Jeb swallowed hard. In sweat pants and a hoodie, this boy certainly didn't look like a lawyer. But he did talk like one. "I'm sorry, Mr. Davis. There was a misunderstanding. Dinner's on the house. Let me go get Sarah…SARAH!"

How come you can't lie when it counts?

Sam just shrugged and smiled, sliding back into the booth. Sarah reappeared, taking their order, and disappeared again. As soon as she was out of sight, Sam let the smile fall from his face and his head thunked gently against the wall. "How's your head?"

"It's fine, Dean." He closed his eyes and then cracked them open again. "And no, I'm not getting sick. Worry-wart."

"I am not!" Dean gasped, affronted.

"Whatever, dude." He stretched and settled back again, staring down his older brother.

"What, Sam?"

"What are we doing?"

"Waiting for dinner. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Ha, ha, Dean. You know what I mean. I thought we were all aboard the hunting bandwagon."

Dean shrugged. "Just thought we deserved a break…you know. After everything." Your girlfriend dying. Crazy powers. Demons, angels…me nearly dying, Dean thought to himself. "Besides, if Dad needed us to do something, he'd let us know." He cleared his throat. "Maybe we should go see the Grand Canyon."

"What aren't you telling me, Dean?"

"Nothing." His eyes widened slightly and his voice rose in pitch. Crap.

"Oh, no. What's going on? You aren't telling me something."

"Nothing's going on, Sam."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "What happened when you were alone with Michael and Uriel, Dean?"

Dean floundered for a second, unsure of whether or not to continue with the lie. He was saved by the bell, literally, as it tinkled over the doorway. The door swung open, revealing a young man about Sammy's age. It could have been any person just out of college. With bulging muscles. And that 'I'm-holier-than-thou' look. At least he wasn't carrying around the flaming sword.

"I told you we were going to get into trouble," hissed Sam.

Another, slightly shorter and older man followed behind him, long tan coat dripping and leaving a small puddle on the ground. His hair was a little longer than Dean's, and a little messier, but the look on his face was just a stern as his counterparts.

Sam sunk down slightly in his seat. It was probably a good sign that neither of them had swords strapped to their backs.

Then again, they could just take them outside and kill them.

Dean stood, glaring at the angels. Both took careful steps across the run-down establishment, but headed straight for the booth.

"Michael," Dean greeted carefully.

"Sit, Dean Winchester. We have much to talk about."

A/N: I hope you enjoyed. Can't promise when the next update will be, though I'm hoping soon. Flames will be used to heat poor Sammy up. Let me know what you think! Much love.