Disclaimer: Blah, blah, I don't own SPN, blah blah.

A/N: I almost forgot I was going to post today. Thanks again for reading!

Last time:
Dean saw it coming but couldn't do anything to stop. He hit a big pine tree headlong. He'd held onto the sledgehammer the whole time, though he had a crazy, sudden thought it would have done him a world of good to let go of the thing before. In any case, he felt it fly from his fingers, hitting the cemetery fence with a loud clang. Or then again, maybe that sound was actually his head.

Sweet Caroline
Chapter 10

"Dean, you okay?" Sam yelled at his brother, felled by the attacking spirit. Then he added stupidly, "We have to get the girl away from the statue."

Dean blinked at him, too dazed for more of a response than that as he picked himself up. Sam winced at the blood running down Dean's face. They should have expected the spirit wouldn't go down without a fight, with or without the added complication of Gwen's presence. Sam hadn't anticipated a statue would move around, though, let alone how fast this one did. A walking slab of rock shouldn't be able to fly around like this.

As Dean straightened, the statue focused on him again, and away from Gwen. At least that much was going for them, not that it was much comfort. There was no way Sam could let his brother take another blow. He rushed forward, sparing the girl a look he hoped conveyed an unspoken order for her to get the hell out of there. It must have worked. Gwen finally stopped screaming, scooting backward with clumsy, scrabbling movements. He couldn't take the time to haul her away himself, not with Caroline gunning for Dean. Her instinct would kick in even more, and take care of getting her to safety.

Swinging with all of his strength, Sam obliterated the statue's right arm. His effort barely slowed the thing down. He didn't see it in time when its other arm came up and landed a blow strong enough to make him tumble away. He lost his grip on the sledgehammer, heard it scuttle across the narrow cemetery road. Tucking and rolling to avoid serious injury, Sam didn't manage to completely avoid slamming into a large headstone. The worst of the impact was to his right shoulder. The pain was intense, locking his muscles up. He had to breathe through it for several long seconds. Sam shook his head to clear it, but the night was filled with Gwen's cries again and he just wanted her to shut up already. By the time he pushed himself upright, it was only to see Dean catapult through the air headfirst into a tree and slide down in a crumpled heap.

"Dean!" he shouted. His brother didn't move, and the statue was an indistinct block of darkness edging ever closer to Dean. Sam didn't think about being unarmed, calling out, "Hey, over here!"

It was a successful distraction. Dean must have gotten a swing in when he had been down. The statue turned to face him, headless. Except, no, Sam saw a filmy, wavering dark outline where the head would have been, and one where he'd shattered the arm. He started getting a very bad feeling. Belatedly, he searched for his sledgehammer, lunging for it the second he caught sight of it several feet away. His right shoulder protested. It felt like it had been stabbed with an ice pick and made him fumble when he couldn't afford to. He came back up gritting his teeth, finding the statue was somehow practically on top of him already. Startled, he slipped, falling to the ground with a pained grunt. Once down, Sam found he couldn't do more than slide on his back through the cold, damp grass while the statue loomed above.

Sam stared up in horror at the undulating ghostly visage, surprised when he didn't see malevolence gazing back at him, but sadness. It almost looked like it was crying. Confused, he froze, giving it enough time to trap him. Heaviness weighted first his legs and then crept up his body. He struggled for breath, at once trying to shuffle away and pick up the hammer again. Anything for some kind of defense, but neither worked for him. The more Sam gasped, the less air he seemed to get. The pressure on his chest grew unbearable, he felt his limbs going numb. Blood rushed in his ears, his heart pumping as if he'd just run five miles. Oh shit, I'm dying, he thought, and tried to call out for Dean to wake the hell up. Nothing came out but a pitiful rasp.

"No," he wheezed over and over, the string of words sounding like a bagpipe losing air. Dean would never forgive him for letting a freaking headless, one-armed statue kill him.

Every utterance served only to tax his lungs faster. Sam's vision blurred and darkened around the edges. Through the buzzing in his ears he swore he heard a woman's voice speaking to him in soothing if garbled tones. Death wasn't what he thought it would be and so sorry, Dean. Lassitude washed over him. His eyes closed and he exhaled one last time, too tired to even try inhaling.

The terrible calm vanished with a sharp crack, followed by a plaintive howl. Rain, sharp like glass, fell from the sky, cutting nicks into Sam's arms and face. The pressure increased on his right shoulder for one second, then lifted. Sam choked and coughed as oxygen suddenly rushed into his lungs, instinctively trying to curl over onto his side. He flopped as if he was still partly immobile, struggling with something that should have been easy. On his left side at last, all he could do was heave, grappling for air. It took him that long to realize he could move and breathe, and that wasn't quite right. Was it? Black spots slid across his vision, somehow malevolent. His brain relived the last few minutes in images. He saw Iris and Gwen and the relentless vengeful spirit and then Dean.

"Dean," he croaked, "Good timing, man."

Sam rolled onto his back, trying to get his breathing under control. The night air tasted like a cold glass of water, shocking to his system and strong with the threat of a late snow. Maybe he had to thank the cold; his bruised shoulder was numbed now. Rustling footsteps grew closer, a face appearing above him. He blinked a couple of times. The creamy tan face didn't belong to Dean.

"Is it over?" Gwen said, her expression manic. She was as breathless as Sam was. Her eyes shifted from him to multiple other points, never landing on one place for more than half a second. "What the hell was that thing? Ohmygod, ohmygod. Are you okay?"

Sam sat up too fast, making his vision swim. Not important. He took in his surroundings quickly. The statue was in pieces, fragments large and small scattered all around, some on him. Gwen bent over as if winded, holding the handle of his sledgehammer, its head on the ground. She was still talking, but Sam couldn't hear her. He found no sign of…no, there, Dean was over by the tree, motionless and face down.

"Dean," he said, ignoring Gwen's frenzied questions.

He stood and stumbled to his brother's side. Sam fell to his knees, leaning down to roll Dean onto his back. Much to Sam's relief, Dean immediately groaned and began stirring. A survey of his brother revealed a nasty cut and swelling on his right cheekbone – they'd have nearly mirror-imaged bruises – but nothing else obvious. Checking for other injuries didn't need Dean's direct involvement, so he let his brother stay semi-conscious. Sam started patting his brother down, searching for any sign of broken bone or internal injury. His right arm wasn't cooperating with him well, so he relied on his left. He'd made it to the right side of Dean's rib cage when his brother pushed at him.

"Hey," Sam said. "It's okay, it's just me."

"Didja get it?" Dean grumbled, his eyes squeezed shut, then when Sam's fingers found a tender spot, "Owwww."

Sam slumped, deeming the question not worth answering. He didn't stop his examination, though Dean's hissing and squirming hindered things. He heard Gwen walk up behind him. He continued ignoring her, simply not having the energy to spare for her yet. As long as she was safe, she didn't matter right now. His concern for Dean coupled with a lingering memory of his last breaths being squeezed out of him were both higher on his list.

"Hold still," he said, coughing when the cold air hit his lungs. "You broken anywhere?"

"I don't think so." Dean didn't seem to have the energy to even open his eyes, but tried to sit up anyway. He groaned and slumped back down. "Just bruised, I think. Or cracked, maybe."

Sam moved to Dean's arms and legs. His brother stopped fishing around altogether and, to Sam's surprise, submitted to the treatment without whining. Actually, all that meant to Sam was that his brother was hurting and he hated that. A simple smash and run had turned on them…mostly Dean. It didn't take much to determine his brother's limbs weren't busted. Resting on his haunches, Sam was caught off guard when Dean muttered a loud curse, and sat up as if completely uninjured. Sam reeled back, almost falling.

"Damnit, Sam," Dean said, pressing forward into Sam's space. His brother caught and held his forearms in a tight grip.

Dean looked pale and shaken, but also grim. Sam frowned, trying to dislodge from Dean's grasp. He'd spent enough time tonight unable to control his own limbs. His right shoulder gave a twinge. For having been tossed around like a beanbag and completely out of it a few minutes ago, Dean's hold was strong, though, and Sam couldn't go anywhere but where his brother maneuvered him – into a seated position. Worriedly, Sam wondered if the blow to Dean's head had done some damage.

"I'm fine, Dean. What…?"

"What happened?" Dean asked, but not of him. His eyes were riveted up and behind Sam.

Sam was so confused.

"Same shit, different cemetery," he answered anyway.

Dean pursed his lips, looking unhappy. Wrong thing to say, apparently.

Sam guessed again, "Nothing happened?"

"It didn't look like he was breathing. He wasn't moving and that thing was standing above him," Gwen said, her words tumbling over themselves. She sounded far away, or maybe weak.

Sam thought maybe he should have checked to make sure she was okay.

"So I hit it with the hammer. That's what you guys were doing. I'm sorry, was that wrong? I'm sorry. Is he all right?"

"Don't be sorry. You did the right thing. He'll be fine." But Dean scowled at him, eyes narrowing as if he were deliberating.

Sam just wanted someone to tell him what the hell was going on. He wouldn't be fine because he already was fine. Dean was the one who'd been beaten up. Sam blinked, the world looping a little when his eyes opened again. His brother's face rippled. Odd. Both his arms started feeling heavy, like his bones were made of Jell-o.

"We don't have much time, but I really think you should lie down, Sam. Just for a minute." Dean transferred his hold to Sam's shoulders, gently easing him down.

"Why?" Sam fought to stay upright, suddenly scared as well as confused.

"You've got a big chunk of rock in your shoulder," Dean said, giving Sam a bleak smile. "You're bleedin' all over the place, man."

His first impulse was to deny it. He'd remember getting impaled. That wasn't the kind of thing that happened to a person without his knowledge. Instead, Sam peered down at himself. The angle was uncomfortable, but he could see a sizeable gray mass sticking out of his jacket, just below his collarbone. The material surrounding it was dark, almost black. The moonlight gave it sheen. He knew it was blood, but it didn't really look like it.

"Huh," he said.

The world phased into slow motion. Sam sagged, falling out of Dean's hold on him and flat onto his back with a jarring thump. It was as if a switch had been thrown. Pain kicked in, and icy hotness tickled over his whole body. His thoughts jumbled together in his head. Though he'd seen the wound for himself, he was still very, very confused. He heard Dean saying something, but it sounded like his brother was speaking into a paper towel tube. Or like the adults always sounded on Charlie Brown cartoons. Wah-wah-wahwah-wah-wah-wah. That was how Dad always sounded to him. Sam smiled. Then he gagged, because the stars above were swirling crazily. It looked and felt like they were falling down on him.

"The sky is falling," Sam said.

"Stay with me here, Chicken Little," Dean said, face appearing above Sam. Well, at least his brother wasn't speaking cartoon language anymore. Dean pressed his lips together, leaning down. A hand was on Sam's cheek, concerned eyes scrutinizing him. "It doesn't look that bad, but there could be shit in there I can't see. I think you're just shocky."

The back of Sam's throat burned with sickness. He couldn't move his body no matter how much he needed to. He coughed, turning his head to spit. The hand withdrew from his face, Dean easing him onto his side. Pain rocketed through him, as the motion made him sicker and he couldn't keep from retching in earnest. Sam still didn't understand how he'd gone from okay to feeling like total crap in less than a minute. When he felt better again, he was going to be embarrassed about that. For now, he was grateful Dean was there. Sam couldn't even save Dean without needing saving himself. Dean was probably tired of saving him all the time. Dean probably had a frigging red cape somewhere in his wardrobe.

"Don't be stupid, Sam."

"What?"

"You're saying things you wouldn't if you weren't in shock," Dean said, guiding Sam onto his back again. "But I suppose that's better than not talking. So actually go ahead, keep telling me how awesome I am."

Sam didn't realize he'd been saying anything out loud. He stopped. It was too cold, anyway. Something heavy and warm draped over him. Sam shivered, blinking slowly. He smelled leather and gun oil. The stars were still falling on him. They didn't hurt, though, so it was okay. They were just cold and wet.

"It's snowing. I told you, you jinxed us, dude." Dean hovered over him, blocking the moisture. The gash on his brother's face bled moderately. "We need to get you out of here. You think you can walk?"

"Shouldn't we call for help?" Someone else's voice came from nowhere, really perplexing Sam. "I think we should call for an ambulance."

"No, it's done now. He'll be okay," Dean said, turning to speak to that other person Sam thought he should remember but didn't…oh, that was right, Gwen.

Sam closed his eyes, fading a little bit.

"He's had worse."

"But, you, but," Gwen said. It sounded to Sam like she was as confused as he was. "But you're hurt, too. You're bleeding."

"It's a scratch." A cool hand on Sam's cheek, jostling. "C'mon, Sam, let's get you on your feet."

The reminder Dean was injured woke Sam up. Not much, but enough. He opened his eyes as Dean tugged on one shoulder, grunting softly from the exertion and probably the aggravation to sore ribs. Sam propped himself up on his good arm, shuffling to lend his brother at least some help. The pain from his own injury was there, but had luckily started numbing again.

"I'm good," Sam said. "I'm up."

"Not quite, but we're getting there," Dean said directly into his ear, an exhaled gust tickling. Dean had his arms around Sam's shoulders now, close by necessity. "Give me a hand here."

"I'm trying." Dean was so bossy sometimes.

"I wasn't talking to you, Sammy." But who else…oh, Gwen was there. Sam knew that. "Just kind of boost him up. I'll do the heavy lifting."

Except Dean had cracked ribs, and Gwen was small. Sam didn't want his brother to exacerbate his injuries by helping him to his feet. He tensed his legs, bicycling them in an attempt to get them under him. With Gwen at his left side and Dean on his right, they pushed, pulled and prayed Sam to his feet after only a minute of careful trying. The world looped again, but Sam glanced over at Dean and grinned at their success.

"Frankenstein lives," Dean said.

Frankenstein might be living, Sam thought, but he wasn't quite ready to walk. His legs were unsteady, making him list to the left where there was less support. Tucked under his arm like a buttress, Gwen reacted the only way she could, shifting her body weight and reaching up to steady him. Her hand slapped down somewhere on the right side of his chest. Sam wasn't sure where exactly. All he was aware of was renewed agony, an intense bright light consuming everything, and then finally he was aware of absolutely nothing at all.

Whoop! Was that a bait and switch? Don't worry, Dean girls. This ain't over. :)