A/N: Tragedy struck in my household tonight. I searched high and low in three major retail stores within my limited access (I'm carless) and could not find a set of Supernatural S3 DVDs anywhere. /wail!/ I had my heart set on it. I'd looked forward to the purchase all bloody long day. Hopes dashed. Dreams crushed. I sobbed on the shoulder of an FYE employee until it looked like he was about to call security. Then I had to stand for half the bus ride, stuck in a spot I couldn't reach the vertical bars and the horizontal bar is barely reachable for someone of my height. (Seriously, it's painful for a short person to have to reach for the bar to hold onto!). Once I got home, I ended up crying in my soup, which, btw, was some of the worst soup I've ever eaten. Insult, meet injury. Injury, insult.

I hear all those mini violins out there, playing a sad, sad song just for me. ;) Enough of the whining, on with the story.

Sweet Caroline
Chapter 13

"You guys are all-around lucky. It's also fortunate I was on patrol out there," Graham said, continuing on his extended volley of sarcastic comments. "I've had another car stationed at the cemetery instead of circling it. We don't want anything else to happen."

Dean would give Sam two more minutes, and then he was going to send in a search and rescue team. He'd already maxed out his Deputy Graham time, the other man becoming increasingly annoying with each passing second. It wasn't just him who thought that. After another last-ditch effort to get him and Sam to check in, Doctor Nuber left them with a restrained scowl at the deputy. Graham kept looking at the exam room door, as if that would make Sam move faster. The guy probably hadn't ever sustained an injury, working in a rinky-dink town like this. It could be damned difficult doing simple things like dressing, when injured.

Dean was tired. His head hurt. His ribs ached. This really was the case that would not end, but skipping the immediate departure was no longer a choice. It was a necessity. He didn't think he could drive more than a hundred miles before exhaustion took over, now that he was longer fueled by adrenaline or paranoia. A hundred miles out here in the boonies might as well be a thousand. Especially in the snow. Speaking of, he itched to make sure his car was all right out there in the inclement weather, the thought of her being subjected to such treatment almost as painful to him as the knock on the head.

By the time Sam finally emerged fully clothed and clutching a small plastic bag, Dean was about bouncing off the walls. One look at his brother, though, had him instantly reprioritize. Sam moved with care, and his complexion was waxier than it was before. Gone were the concerns for the car, and the irritation with the Barney Fife wannabe. He stepped toward his brother, not reaching out but close enough to do so if Sam asked him to. He might not be the official brain trust of the family, but he'd clued in to Sam getting bitchier whenever he felt Dean was paying too much attention, not paying enough attention, generally saying the wrong thing…okay, bad examples. The point was he didn't want to make Sam think he thought he couldn't walk on his own. That, and Dean had severe doubts he'd be that much help anyway.

"You ready?" Dean asked.

"Help me with the sling?"

"Sure."

Dean had practice figuring out slings, some of which were like straitjackets. It didn't take him long to get Sam situated, hating the little exhalations of hurt his brother gave. One of the many, many problems with small towns was the lack of 24-hour pharmacies. Even the onsite medical center pharmacy was closed. Dean would have liked to stop to get Sam something for the pain. The drugs the ER staff had administered would only last so long. Graham left them at the door to pull the police cruiser around. Dean glanced over at his brother as they waited. In truth the more they walked, the less hunched over Sam became.

"I'm fine, Dean," Sam said without looking or any vocal question from Dean. "How's your head?"

That was fair, but there was the sour face.

"It's good."

Sam snorted.

The more time he and Sam spent together again, the more Dean started looking back and realizing Sam had always been at his bitchiest when Dean was trying the hardest to protect him, or showing concern. He didn't understand how wanting to make everything okay was such a bad thing. He never would. That was all he and Dad wanted for Sam, but it seemed like that was the one thing Sam constantly threw back at them. Dean didn't know if that disconnect could ever be repaired. Sometimes knowing wasn't half the battle. The mystery of Sam might end up having a frustrating, ambiguous ending. Dean found that as long as his little brother was alive and in one piece, he'd take ambiguous here and there.

Deputy Graham parked the car in front of the emergency room door. Given a choice, Dean would walk to the Impala rather than voluntarily ride in a cop car. It couldn't be that far away, but there was no way he was going to let Sam make a trip in the snow. The chances of slipping were too great, and Dean knew the agony of sudden movement against a recent injury as well as anyone. Better than anyone. Plus, Sam didn't have a jacket anymore.

Graham seemed to have cooled on the sarcastic comments, and they rode in silence. As they approached the car, Dean almost told the guy to forget it and take them to the motel instead. Fewer in and outs between vehicles would be better for Sam. Once again, though, they were rendered choiceless. The dashboard radio burst into life. Graham picked up the handset.

"1611," the dispatcher said.

"1611," Graham repeated.

"We've got a 415 at the corner of Nevada and West 7th. 745 Nevada. Possible 594. Someone's turning lights on and off and things are going bump in the night over there. Lots of loud noise."

"Copy that. I'm on my way," Graham ended the brief conversation, giving Dean a sidelong look. "Busy night. You guys mind if I make this quick stop?"

Dean pivoted around to check with Sam. His brother had slouched down, resting his head on the back of the seat. He appeared oblivious. A few minutes being sidetracked wouldn't be so bad. He nodded. It might be interesting to see what qualified as a disturbance of the peace in a place like this. Some college kid was probably playing music too loudly. Whatever it was, Graham could handle it while he and Sam took naps.

When they pulled up to the house, Dean peered up at it. There was no loud music that he could hear. The house looked quiet.

"1611," the dispatcher called again, as Graham opened his door.

"1611."

"That's a 10-22. Situation resolved itself."

"I see that, thanks," Graham said, turning to look at Dean. "I guess not. Let's get you guys to your car. Your partner looks wiped."

Weird. Normally, Dean's interest might have been piqued by the strange non-call. Tonight, he simply wanted sleep.

"Great," Dean said.

From the back came a faint snore from Sam. He was envious, and glad. If Sam was able to sleep, that meant the pain really was tolerable. Dean didn't trust Sam to tell him the complete truth. He was suspicious by nature anyway, but it didn't help the number of times Sam had withheld pertinent information in some misguided attempt to protec…oh. He glanced back at his brother. They were so screwed up neither one of them could recognize what the other was truly saying sometimes. He added it to his list of things to work on sometime that wasn't right now.

They were at the Impala inside ten minutes. His poor car was covered in snow. Graham got out first, whistling his admiration.

"That's your car?"

Ah, crap. The Impala wasn't exactly a regulation government vehicle. Thankfully, the license plates were covered in wet snow.

"The commissioned vehicle is in the shop," Dean said, shrugging.

"Huh," Graham said suspiciously, brushing the snow off the car with his gloved hands.

Whatever. By mid-morning, Graham's mistrust wouldn't matter. He and Sam would be long gone. Dean just needed two hours of sleep. Or three. Stretching, he found that he'd sat in one position long enough to start feeling stiffness in muscles he hadn't realized were impacted by the fight with Caroline's spirit. It sucked getting old. He thought sometimes that hunting was like football – a guy was better in his prime at the purely physical stuff, but the seasoned veteran tended to know enough to avoid the purely physical stuff. Right now, he wasn't ready to be a seasoned player yet, but he wasn't twenty-two anymore. With a predictable pang Dean thought of his father, the ultimate seasoned veteran, and hoped he was okay for the billionth time.

Opening the rear driver's side door, Dean leaned down and poked at his brother, "Hey, wake up. We're here."

"Unh, we were far enough away for me to fall asleep?" Sam said right away, slurring.

"No, Graham had to take a call so we had a detour. It was a false alarm, a fake noise complaint or something." Dean tugged at his brother's good arm. "Let's go, giant."

"Shorty."

"Shut up."

Clad only in a thin scrub top, Sam started shivering before he was halfway out of the car. Dean saw the gooseflesh prickle on his brother's arms and wished he could do something about that, but it wasn't practical for him to lend Sam his jacket for a trek of five steps. Like at the medical center, once Sam was up he did okay. It was the transition points that took extra work. He hoped Sam didn't take it personally, but he was going to sleep in his clothes tonight. Dean drew the line at undressing and dressing Sam. No matter how much Sam thought he was being babied, there were limits. He grabbed the bag with Sam's cell and wallet in it.

Graham had the car's windows all cleared. The snow was heavy and wet enough there shouldn't be any drifting from the roof onto the rear window.

Sam shuffled around to the passenger side, where he stood looking at the door dumbly.

Right, it was locked. And also it would be easier for him to open and shut it for Sam. Dean trudged around, unlocking and opening the door. He tossed the plastic bag inside before Sam started sliding into the passenger seat. As an afterthought, Dean pulled a ratty blanket from the backseat and tossed it on top of his brother. The guy was looking blue around the edges.

"If you guys are good here," Graham said as Sam eased into the car, "I'll take off. We'll want to do some follow-up in the morning, if you're feeling up to it."

"Right," Dean said. "Of course."

Graham nodded, got behind the wheel of the cruiser and took off.

Dean watched him go for a moment, wondering how in the hell the guy could be so cheerful and annoying in the middle of the night. He'd bet his last pool hustling's winnings Graham had volunteered for the night shift patrol to keep an eye on the cemetery. Overzealous cops got in the way on supernatural jobs. Graham was lucky he and Sam dealt with the problem before he stuck his nose somewhere it could get cut off.

"Good riddance to you, Barney Fife," Dean said. "May we never meet again."

Sam tapped the inside of the window, getting his attention. His brother looked up at him with a tired, what's the holdup? expression. Sam was right. Dean was just minutes away from a nice, warm, lumpy motel mattress. It sounded too good to resist at the moment. He quickly let himself into the car, starting it. Sam was already half asleep again, and while Dean wanted nothing more than to lean back and rest his aching head while the engine warmed up a bit, he was worried he'd actually fall asleep and they'd end up spending the night in the car. That would be fine in Florida, but in freaking snowy Minnesota, not so much.

He liked to give his baby a good ten minutes in cold weather, but after five he put her in gear and drove them to the motel. He was glad now they hadn't checked out earlier. Pulling into a parking space, Dean gave Sam a slight shake. His brother moaned and turned his head, but didn't open his eyes right away.

"Oh, no, you don't. I am not carrying your heavy ass to the room," Dean muttered. His headache increased just thinking about that. "Up and at 'em, Sammy."

This time Sam came to with a gasp, followed closely by a mewl of discomfort. For a moment, Dean thought they were going to relive the scene from the hospital. Sam only gasped a few times, then settled. It might have been one of Sam's common nightmares, which had lessened but not gone away. The hair on the back of Dean's neck bristled, as he thought it would be just their luck for Sam's weird ESP thing to kick in when they'd earned a few days' rest.

"You okay?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, it's nothing," Sam said too quickly. "It's just…."

"It's just what, Sam?"

"You ever have the feeling you're forgetting something important?"

"Yeah."

Sam straightened with a groan, contorting to open the door with his left hand, kicking it open with his foot. He clutched the blanket to him.

Okay, they could carry on a conversation while walking. Dean slid out and circled around the car by the time Sam was finally upright. Yet he just knew if he called his brother out on that, he'd get nothing but assurances Sam was fine. Dean sighed.

"What're you forgetting?" Dean asked.

"Well, if I knew that, I wouldn't have the feeling I forgot something," Sam complained.

Twenty more steps, and there would be the room and inside, the glorious bed on which Dean really wanted to be. Unconscious. With a blanket of his own.

"I know that. What I meant was from tonight, or some other time?"

"Oh." Sam shambled into him a little, unsteady on his feet.

Join the group, Dean thought. He set Sam on proper course again. Actually, they were at the door. He made sure Sam propped himself against the doorframe while he fumbled with the key.

"It seems recent," Sam said. "Back at the hospital, I felt it too."

"I hate that."

"I know, right?" Sam tripped over the doorjamb. "It's the worst."

Not really, but that was neither here nor there. The bed was here and there. Dean never thought he'd welcome the musty smell of a rundown motel as much as he did at that moment. All of the night's adrenaline rushes caught up with him, as if the bed had some serious, actual mojo over him. The second he saw it was the second his concern for Sam's injury, while still there, nudged down just a notch. The overriding need was for sleep. He'd drop Sam on his bed, er, make sure Sam was comfortable, and then it was time for sleep. He already had his biological clock set to wake him up in two hours. Or three.

"Maybe you'll remember in the morning?" Dean asked, thinking please, please, please wait until morning.

Sam's feelings were both annoying and remarkably accurate. If his brother was feeling a feeling about sweet, officially and spiritually dead Caroline, Dean wasn't sure he wanted to know about it. Ever, but especially not now. With any luck, Sam's feeling was a side effect of whatever had been given him, and all of this would fade from memory completely. No déjà vu feelings to wake up to.

"I guess."

Sam looked at him, thoughtful and slightly cross-eyed from fatigue. Though that could be Dean's blurry vision at play on both counts. Shit, he was tired of this headache. Dean snagged a few Tylenol out of their first aid stash, popping them dry. He took off his jacket, draping it on the overstuffed easy chair tucked in the corner of the room. He heard Sam yawn, ending it with a small squeak of pain.

"I'm pretty sure it's important though."

"It always is, Sam," Dean said. Now he was being as patronizing as stupid Deputy Graham had been, but, really, if this wasn't relevant at this very second he saw no reason why both he and Sam couldn't be unconscious already. "It always is."

Sam gently lay down on his own bed, sighing when his head hit the pillow.

Dean stared at him for a minute, then had half a heart. He took his brother's shoes off, not difficult because they weren't laced. Just a tug and then gravity took over.

"Thanks, Dean," Sam mumbled.

"Go to sleep, Sam," Dean said with gruff affection, most of the concussion-induced frustration with Sam vanishing.

Dean supposed it made him a pathetic fool for always needing that from Sam, or maybe just a sad bastard for never quite expecting it. Positive reinforcement was rarely his to claim, including simple shows of gratitude. If for no other reason, he was so damned glad to have Sam back he didn't know what he'd do if his brother ever left again. Sam gave him what their father never could. It was not because he didn't think his father wasn't as much a hero as ever, and not because John Winchester was a heartless SOB. Lately, Dean had started to wonder if his father was so broken he didn't know how to give his son what he needed.

With those unhappy thoughts, Dean fell into his own bed and was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.