Sam slid the Crown Victoria onto a side street two blocks from the hospital and tugged out his bag. Hopefully, the police presence would be less now, and he would be able to get back in to see Dean pretty easily. If Dean's still…

He cut off the thought, and instead began to rapidly jog towards his goal. As he rounded the last corner, Sam's heart sank. Crowds still bustled around the hospital's perimeter. News teams and cameramen covered every angle of the facility. The hospital was a media circus, and it was still heavily patrolled by uniform cops, mixed with SWAT team members for good effect.

"Great…just great!" Sam left his small bag of ghost hunting tools under a line of bushes circling the hospital parking lot, and approached the cops at the main entrance. Luckily, none had been on duty while he and Dean had pulled their little stunt.

As Sam approached, the lead cop in full SWAT garb moved forward to meet him at the edge of the yellow tape marker. "Can I help you, son?"

Sam nodded. He hoped so. "I need to get inside. My brother was hurt earlier and I need to know he's okay."

The cop shook his head apologetically. "Sorry, but no one is being allowed in until the crime scene folks have done their stuff. Then there are bodies to be moved. I'm sure you understand."

Sam squirmed. He did understand, but Dean was his priority now. "I think my brother was hurt pretty badly by the guy who caused all this," he pointed to the hospital. "I really need to know that he's okay…" A tinge of sadness filled Sam's voice, and it wasn't just for the cop's benefit.

"I'll tell you what. I'll check in and see if I can find anything out for you, but I can't let you inside." The cop obviously felt sorry for Sam. "What's your brother's name? How long ago was he brought in?"

Sam filled in as much detail as he could, but he was wary of giving up too much. After all, on police records, Dean was already dead, and classed as a serial killer after the shape shifter fiasco.

The cop took down what he was told and after leaving a colleague in charge headed of for a mobile control unit several yards away.

Sam watched him go, his heart suddenly pounding in his chest. What if the only news the cop could bring was bad? How can I tell dad I left Dean to die?

Sam almost hopped from foot to foot as he waited. The SWAT cop didn't appear to be in any hurry to come back, and Sam was about to get grouchy when he finally reappeared.

"I'm afraid it's not good." The cop pulled a face that said he wished he had more to convey. "They have no record of a patient being treated with the information you gave me. He could have been transferred to another hospital and with all the confusion inside the details aren't on file yet…" He didn't finish the sentence, but Sam knew what the cop meant. There was an equally good chance that Dean had died, and that wasn't on file yet either with all the commotion.

If Sam could have gotten inside, he could have asked the staff personally- maybe even gotten to talk to Becky, but right now he wasn't up to facing off half a dozen cops. "Thanks, for trying anyway." He nodded to the cop and turned away, wondering how he could face the next morning alone, if indeed Dean had gone. He can't be! He's too strong, I won't accept it! Dad brought us up like marines. Marines don't give in and die without more of a fight…

Sam's morose thoughts were broken as another cop from the mobile unit abruptly called him back. He stopped dead in his tracks at the words, but didn't turn right away.

"Hey, kid, are you Sam Winchester? The registered keeper of a 67 Impala with the Kansas license KAZ2Y5?"

Sam gulped. The Impala had been registered to him ever since Dean's supposed demise in St Louis, and it looked like they'd quickly traced it back after finding the two EMT's tied up in it. Do I face them, or try to run? Running didn't give him much chance, not with the amount of cops about. Instead, he turned.

""That's me," he offered, wondering why the cops weren't screaming for him to hit the ground.

The cop nodded, satisfied. "I have a message for you from Detective Johnson. He says to let you know your vehicle and other items have returned to your motel. He'll mostly likely meet you there later to take your statement."

Sam found it hard not to gape. Not only were the cops not arresting him for gate crashing the hospital with Dean, they had taken the Impala back to the motel, even though it was strictly evidence pertaining to a kidnapping. He stammered a little, obviously flustered by the day's events. "I…erm...thanks." Before the cops could change their minds, he scooted back off the hospital grounds and began jogging back to the motel. Just what 'other items' was Johnson talking about having returned?

Sam made it back to the motel on foot in less than forty minutes. The sun was just rising as he turned into the lot to see the Impala sitting innocently near their room. It's raven-black shape and bright chrome wheels brought on a twinge of both panic and affection as he looked at it. This was Dean's car, always would be, no matter what the pink slip said.

Sam checked his watch, wondering if the hospital had returned to enough normality yet to finally give him an answer about his brother. He'd lost his cell phone back out at Clairemount, and there was no phone in their room, so he pondered asking Herb to make the call.

"I guess I should clean up first." He glanced down to see that his suspicions were correct. After his stint at grave digging, he looked more like a mud man than anything.

Sighing, he tugged out his key to the room and was about to slip it in the lock when he realized the door was already ajar. Sam's brow furrowed, and he gently pushed on it, peering through the gap to see just who awaited him.

At first, he didn't see anyone. The room appeared quite empty until he moved further in. Even then, he didn't immediately see the other presence in the room- not until the person began to moan softly in his sleep.

Sam spun around at the murmur, knowing the sound from many years before when they'd been kids, when his brother had fallen from a tree house their dad had made. "Dean!" Sam was so excited, he shouted out the name before realizing his brother was fast asleep in bed.

Dean moaned again and turned slightly, but he didn't awaken. He still looked pale, and dark circles made his eyes appear terribly sunken, but he was alive.

Sam wanted to hug him, to tell him how much he'd missed his sorry butt already, but he held back, knowing Dean needed to rest. His shoulder was heavily dressed front and back, and most of his clothes had been removed by the hospital staff. Someone had carefully covered him with blankets, however, and he was now snugly curled into them.

As Sam watched, afraid to take his eyes away fear his brother was an illusion, Dean began to lightly snore. The sound brought a smile to the younger Winchester's face, and he finally relaxed enough to notice two envelopes left on the table beside Dean's bed.

Picking them up, he quickly opened the top envelope first. It was from Becky.

Dear Sam,

I still don't really know what happened back at the hospital, but I do know I owe you and your brother my life. Hopefully, I have repaid that kindness back by being able to return Dean back to you- almost in one piece.

He lost a lot of blood before getting help last night, and he's still pretty weak, so make sure he doesn't overdo things. It didn't take much to guess what a stubborn mule he can be, so the doctor gave him something to keep him out for a few hours. So, if he sleeps half of the day, don't worry.

I left a bag with extra dressings and two lots of antibiotics on the table. Make sure he takes them or his shoulder will get infected!

Thank you for everything

Becky

Sam glanced over at the table to see the large brown paper bag that the nurse had left them. He only wished that he could have been here to thank her when they'd brought Dean back from the hospital.

He looked to the second envelope, already guessing who its author was.

Sam,

It didn't take long after meeting you and your brother to find out who you really are, and what you really do. It's amazing what a quick police search can bring up these days, and I don't mean the business in St Louis. That, coupled with everything Becky told me happened in the hospital just seemed to make sense. I know and believe that Garland wasn't simply Garland, and that he would have killed my daughter in a heartbeat if you hadn't intervened.

Knowing this, I couldn't in all conscience allow you to be arrested for the crimes you committed while trying to save people. I don't have enough authority to get everything dropped, but I can hold back on my reports long enough for you to get out of the state. Take your brother and be out of town by midday if you can. I wish I had more time to meet with you, but sadly that can't be.

Thank you, God Bless, Godspeed, and Good Hunting!

Detective Sgt Frank Johnson

The words in both notes somehow made all their risk taking worth while. Someone actually believed in what Sam and Dean tried to do. Frank and Becky were actually risking their careers to make sure he and Dean escaped.

Sam nodded to himself, happy that everything would be alright, and that Dean would recover. He moved to sit on the edge of his own bed and was only broken from his tired stupor when Herb bustled into the room.

He looked sheepish when he noted Dean still asleep and looking decidedly ill. "Sorry, fella, I didn't know your brother wasn't feeling too well, but I just got a message for ya'll…"

"Message?" Sam cocked a brow. "From Detective Johnson?" He asked expectantly, wondering if the cop hadn't been able to stall his counterparts after all.

Herb shook his head and handed over a small hand-written note. "The fella said you'd know what it meant?"

Sam read the scribble and his eyes widened. He didn't elaborate further to Herb. "Thanks. We'll be leaving early in about an hour if you want to re-let the room."

Herb nodded and rubbed at his chin, still curious as to what the cryptic message had said. He didn't question further, though, because he could tell Sam had no intention of telling. Instead, he turned tail and scurried back to his desk, ready to report the morning's happenings to his wife, once she returned from shopping.

Once Herb was gone, Sam began to furiously pack, tossing clothes, weapons and any other belongings into the Impala's trunk without any real thought as to tidiness. When all that was left to put in the car was Dean, he stole a last glance at the mysterious note before stuffing it into his breast pocket. One ride was over, and a new, even weirder one was about to begin.

The rocking motion of the Impala on the potholed back roads gently nudged Dean awake by teasing at his shoulder. He opened an eye, peering through it as if he had a prize hangover. It was bright outside, and from the position of the sun, he guessed it was probably mid afternoon. He opened his other eye and winced as the light made him squint.

"Where are we?" He hoarsely asked, tugging his body up from a somewhat slumped position against the side window.

Sam took his eyes from the road to look at his brother. "You're awake. How do you feel?"

Dean coughed and winced at the same time. "I feel like I got trampled by a bull, then skewered by its horns." He peered under the jacket Sam had wrapped around his shoulder and prodded the dressing Becky had applied. It appeared to still be dry.

Sam put his attention back onto the road as he took a left onto a better kept highway. "You gonna be okay? I could find the nearest town if you need more rest?"

Dean scowled. "I'm fine. It was just a scratch!"

"Just a scratch? Dean, you almost bled to death. You fainted in front of that cop and his daughter!" Sam couldn't believe how Dean always played things down.

"I did NOT faint. I was faking," Dean shot his usual roughish smile. "Girls always go for a wounded hero." He winked. "If you hadn't rushed us out of town I'd probably be having dinner with Becky already…"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean, you were unconscious! They had to give you blood. You so did not get to try out your wily charms on her." Sam was finding it amusing now that his brother was so hell bent on feigning that he was okay.

Dean shrugged and wished he hadn't. It hurt like hell to move his shoulder. "Twenty bucks says different?" He grinned impishly, and Sam knew he was in trouble.

"You couldn't have…"

"How do you think they knew they needed to sedate me to keep me down?" Dean pulled a piece of paper from his inside pocket with a cell phone number on and Becky's address. "I woke up briefly before Becky and her dad brought me home."

Sam's eyes narrowed and he shook his head. "All that time I was worrying about you, and you were trying to romance some nurse!" He threw a mock punch across the car.

"Ouch!" Dean faked being mortally wounded. "Watch the shoulder will you!" He smiled again, settling back in his seat to switch on the tape deck. The thundering tones of his favourite rock music rumbled from the Chevy's speakers. "So, why exactly did we leave town so fast? You found us another gig already?"

Sam grew somber. Dean wasn't fit to go spook hunting and wouldn't be for days. And yet…

"We had to leave town or get arrested by the cops. Kidnapping those EMT's didn't go down too well."

"What else?" Dean could always tell when Sam had something on his mind. Usually it was about the visions he had, but this was something different.

Sam exhaled and checked his mirror. When he was sure it was clear, he pulled the Impala over. "I didn't find us another gig…Dad did. He sent co ordinates this morning while you were out for the count."

Dean looked surprised. "Where?"

"Back in Kansas." Sam slipped a hand over to the car's glove box and pulled out the slip of paper Herb had given him. It was crumpled now, but Dean could still make out the marine style directions.

"You figured out exactly where this is?"

Sam grabbed the laptop from the back seat and flipped it open. After tapping a few keys, he passed it over, sitting it gently on his injured brother's knee.

Dean whistled as he read the information. "Now this should be interesting…" He glanced at his brother expectantly. "So, do you believe someone can come back from the dead like this?" He tapped the screen.

Sam leaned forward and fired up the Impala, with a small smile he admitted, "I guess there's only one way to find out…"

Two seconds later, the heavy roar of the Chevy was all that was left of its presence as it slid over the nearest hump in the road, fading into the distance in the hazy afternoon sun.

The End