HIGHWAY TO HEAVEN

PART 1.

It's quiet in the bunker. Probably one of the things Sam loves most about his and Dean's home. The rest of the world wars life on in chaos and insanity but the tall, strong, grey walls of the bunker blocks all that out and leaves he and his brother safely detached from the people and the world they work so hard to protect.

The library, glowing with its muted warm lighting, is the heart of their sanctum. The dusty age of the books on the shelves lining the walls surrounds them in a smell and atmosphere that has long characterized their homes. The somewhat stability of Bobby's house, of always having a home to return to…now those same smells, the feeling of being free of judging eyes and minds, shaped the bunker made it safe and unconsciously reminded its owners of the surrogate father they'd been blessed with and continued to bless them with his protection and love.

As far as evil things that go bump in the night goes it had been a much appreciated dry spell. Sam and Dean have been sitting pretty on their asses for nearly five days and Sam had finally had to give up and leave their safe house for supplies. Dean had hunkered down on the younger Winchester's bed binge watching 'Highway To Heaven' on Netflix, an old show about an angel on earth helping people that made Sam want throw up in his mouth a little but for some reason Dean found it highly amusing.

He'd left his brother chewing away on beef jerky Dean had taken out of the impala's emergency stash…that was when Sam knew grocery shopping was being left up to him. He'd told Dean he'd be back in an hour or two jiggling the impala's keys trying to bait his brother into joining him on his outing; all he got as a response was a grunt.

Sam rolls his eyes fondly and leaves. And that's how he finds himself standing in the produce in Food Lion feeling up the mangos to find the right one, firm but soft. A mother with her little daughter walk up beside him sniffling and sneezing, coughing into their hands, eyeing Sam with bloodshot watering eyes.

He lets out a strained grin and shuffles away as fast as he can, Sam finishes up grabbing his and Dean essentials as quickly as possible as a few more rather green looking people pass him. He grits his teeth back in the impala as he listens to the local radio sending out a warning about a spike in flu patients in the surround clinics and hospitals.

Just his fricking luck.

Dean would have scoffed at the lame picture he makes chugging on Apple Cider Vinegar in a whiskey glass as he puts his shopping away in the kitchen. The skin of his hands is pink and nearly raw as he scrubs them clean hoping to get rid of all the germs. He heads to his room shaking the protein coffee drink up he'd bought for Dean.

He pushes his door the rest of the way open and Dean eyes barely raise to glance at him before going back to their hooded state staring at the bright flashing of the TV. Sam smirks at the nearly unconscious state his older brother has put himself in and sinks to his bed with a sigh, leaning up against the headboard.

"Here." He says passing Dean the bottled drink. "Caffeine, protein…we need to get you operating again."

Dean lazily rolls his eyes but takes the offering, cracks open the bottle and takes a deep drink. He smirks as he sighs and burps contentedly after his long gulp, "There's lots of protein in jerky." He mumbles as he pulls the blankets further up his chest shivering with the chill Sam brought in with him.

Sam raises an eyebrow and whines, "I got the groceries…" Dean looks surprised. "Why are you hibernating in my room?"

"Cuz the TV's in here." Dean answers, again nearly under his breath.

"I hate this show." Sam sighs petulantly, and slumps further down on his mattress tugging the blanket towards himself a little…Dean lets him.

"I know." Dean grins widely, childishly, and Sam groans knowing he's just doomed himself to watching the show indefinitely.

"I was gonna cook." Sam says after a few minutes of silence, Dean thoroughly entranced in the television, Sam bored to the point of (gasp) cooking.

Dean snorts at that, "Oh he's gonna cook now." Still surprised that Sam managed to go get the groceries and get back alive and sane.

Sam throws a hand over to slap Dean hard on the stomach, "Shut up."

Dean grunts with the impact. "When was the last time you really cooked, Sammy?" He asks, with a know it all arched brow.

Sam bristles.

"Can't be that much different from chem lab."

The uproarious laughter from Dean even makes Sam crack and laugh along with him.

"If you step a foot in my kitchen to do more than make Ramen…I will cut your hands off." Dean says drily, eyes back on the TV screen but his voice is dead serious and Sam's shoulders slump.

"Deeeaaaann, l'm hungry." He pouts, flops completely down on the mattress face close to his brother's slightly elevated shoulder.

"After this episode Sammy, promise I'll make something." Dean mumbles, not looking away from the television and Sam sighs, having to be happy with that compromise. The darkness of his room and blurry sound and movements of the TV lulls Sam towards darkness. He falls to sleep breathing in Dean and laundry soap scented air. Rest descending on him heavy and soft, floating in feathery warmth and safety.

…

Sam wakes up face flat on his mattress, and the silence of a dark TV and an empty spot beside him where his brother had been parked for quite a while. He grimaces as lifts his head and feels the wetness of droll against his mouth and cheek.

Gross.

But god, what a good sleep!

He pushes up on his elbows and groans, the back of his neck aching, in fact, he frowns as he registers most of his body aching. He's shivering a little, hands feeling freezing and as they rub down his face in a dry scrub the heat wafting off it feels disturbingly hot. He groans, flipping on his back he squeezes his eyes closed against the dizziness overwhelming him. His stomach roiling precariously.

He can't tell if it's nausea or hunger since he'd bee waiting for Dean to fix him something. He laughs at himself. He's such a child, he's such a pushover for Dean. He stands and makes his way groggily to the kitchen one hand shielding his eyes from the painful light.

Dean looks up with a grin that fades as Sam stumbles through the door and down the stairs.

"Dude." He states, a worried crease coming to adorn that space between his eyebrows.

Sam rubs fingers through his hair and flattens it down, he puts a hand down on the table to support his knees and he sits slowly. Dean comes to stand beside him a hand on his shoulder, he looks shocked at the heat radiating through Sam's long sleeved t–shirt.

"You're not hurt are you?" He asks, bending to catch Sam's eye.

Sam shakes his head. And Dean's frown deepens, "If you were that hungry you shoulda said, lemme get you some spaghetti."

"Spaghetti?" Sam asks despairingly, as his stomach gurgles with just the thought.

"Yep." Dean says, letting the 'p' pop, "That's what I made."

He watches warily as Dean plates up a giant serving of noodles and sauce, his older brother sets it in front of him with silverware and a piece of garlic bread. The smell of garlic is the last blow. He groans, shutting his eyes as he shakes his and rests it in his hands. Dean stands before him with hands on his hips expectantly, waiting for Sam to dig in.

"Dean, I think I'm sick..."

His stomach leaps and the cramps force him to lean over towards the side, away from the plate of food and nauseating smell. Dean jumps back quickly as the contents of Sam's stomach splatter to the kitchen floor.

"No shit."

…tbc

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