This chapter is a lot shorter than the last one, but I hope you enjoy it. Thanks for the response on the first chapter! Once again, reviews would be infinitely wonderful.

"Sam? Dammit, Sam, open your eyes. Sammy, come on! Sam!"

Sam first registered the absence of pain, and upon cracking his eyes open he found he was sitting on the floor of a kitchen, his back to a wall. Hands were gripping the front of his jacket, shaking him gently, and as Sam forced his eyes the rest of the way open he found himself staring into the worried face of his older brother.

His expression relaxed slightly when he saw Sam was awake, though his grip on his brother's jacket tightened. "Hey. Come back to me, man. We've gotta get out of here."

"Dean?" Sam croaked as Dean gripped his arm, helping him to his feet. "What happened?"

"I have no idea," Dean replied as they made their way to the door and towards the car. "I heard you scream and came to see the ghost just as she disappeared. She attacked you, didn't she?"

"Yeah," Sam muttered, still disoriented. He was trying not to lean on his brother, but he was finding it difficult to walk properly. "But…I have no idea what she did."

"Maybe she was trying to kill you but didn't get the chance because I walked in on her," he said. "Good thing I'm quick, huh? Come on, get in the car, we need to figure out who this chick is."

Sam felt strange the entire ride back to the motel. His head was swimming and he was having a difficult time thinking straight—not to mention the pain in his head had returned in a fierce, pounding headache. He could see Dean watching him closely from the driver's side of the car, however, and tried not to show his discomfort, resting his head back on the seat and closing his eyes to block out the building pain.

"You doing okay?" Dean asked.

"Yeah," Sam said automatically, opening his eyes again. Sam didn't want his brother worrying about him right now—not with all the stress Dean was already under. Besides, he was fine. He just felt a little…odd.

Besides, if there was one thing he had practice in, it was working through pain and pretending it didn't exist. He'd learned that from Dean.

Sam felt a bit better when they got back, so he opened up his laptop to do some research. He looked into the accounts of past murders in the town, and found several mentions of a girl with wild hair, but there was no name.

"Anything?" Dean asked from the bed.

"Not really," Sam said. "I mean, there were murders here a few years ago, too, that happened in similar ways—people who for years were completely calm and sane either killed loved ones or killed themselves."

Dean didn't answer, and after a moment Sam looked up at his brother, only to see him standing still by the bed, regarding Sam with a strange look on his face. "Uh, Sam? You already told me that, remember? This morning."

"Huh?" His eyebrows pulled together. "Did I? Well, anyway, a few of these victims would see a girl with wild hair."

"So…maybe this girl is linked to one of the victims."

"Yeah, could be."

"Have you found any connection between the victims yet?"

"No, not yet. It doesn't seem like they knew each other at all."

Dean sighed and ran frustrated fingers through his hair. This damn case was getting nowhere. "Well, I'm out of ideas. Let's take a break—get something to eat. I saw a place close by that looked pretty good."

Though he wasn't particularly hungry, Sam was feeling equally frustrated, and welcomed the chance to get out of the motel. Besides, his head was still swimming, and maybe food would help. He closed his computer and headed to the bathroom to down a couple of aspirin.

The moment he stood up, however, a wave of dizziness took him over, proceeded immediately by a whirl of blinding pain. He stumbled, one hand flying to his head, his eyes squeezing shut.

"Sam?" Dean moved swiftly to his brother's side, gripping his arm. "Sammy, hey, what's wrong?"

"Nothing." The pain had disappeared after only a moment, leaving only confusion in its wake. Sam straightened, shrugging out of Dean's grasp, and made for the bathroom, splashing water on his face and downing a couple of pills to fight the lingering headache.

"Should I have checked for concussion?" Dean asked from the doorway. "Because you're showing a lot of signs."

"I didn't hit my head," Sam said. "I'm fine. Really." He faced his brother, brushing hair out of his eyes. "Let's go eat."

The diner Dean had suggested was small but crowded—they snagged the last booth and sat amidst the sounds of chatter and clinking dishes. A bar ran along the wall to their left, also choked with people drinking and talking and eating.

Dean was in his element, and Sam saw him relax in the crowded atmosphere, completely at ease. Sam wouldn't mind a place like this, usually—especially if he was with his brother—but his headache wasn't going away, and he still having trouble keeping his thoughts in straight lines.

What was happening to him?

Dean was never oblivious to Sam's discomfort, however, and eyed his brother with concern. "Headache?"

"Yeah," Sam said, pinching the bridge of his nose with two fingers for a couple seconds. He lowered his hand as the waitress came by, and ordered a salad, earning him, predictably, a roll of his brother's eyes.

"Shut up, I'm no that hungry," Sam said, raising his water glass to his lips and taking a long drink.

"Whatever." Dean folded his arms. "So what do you think about this Michael Jones guy?"

Sam blinked. "Who?"

Dean frowned. "The guy who tried to commit suicide. The case." He leaned forward slightly. "Sam, are you feeling okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, no, sorry, I just…forgot. Uh, what do you mean, what do I think of him?"

"Well, you think he'd have any reason to kill himself?"

Kill himself? "What?"

Dean's frown deepened. "Sammy, what's going on with you? Are you just sleep-deprived or is this something I should be worried about?"

Sam shook his head. "I told you, I'm fine. Head just hurts a little."

Dean wasn't buying it. "Sam—"

"No, Dean, come on. You've got too much other shit to worry about, forget about me right now."

"Sam, you can't tell me not to worry about you." Dean's eyebrows pulled together in a look of disapproval. "Is this about…you know…the deal I made?"

"Dean, come on…" Sam said in exasperation.

"Look, I want to talk about it about as much as you do, but if you're not able to focus on the case because you're worrying about me or something stupid like that…"

"That's not it, Dean."

Dean exhaled and ran his fingers through his hair. "I dunno, Sam—it's just that you always seem to blame yourself for this kind of thing, even when it's not your fault. So if that's what you're thinking—"

"It's not. Really."

"Well, good." Dean scratched the back of his neck. "Just wanted to make sure you know it isn't on you. At all."

"I know."

Dean leaned back on his seat, gazing absently out across the restaurant. "It's just after Jess—I know you blamed yourself for what happened to her for a while."

Sam was silent. Dean's eyes slid back to his brother and he was surprised to see a look of confusion on Sam's face.

"Uh, Dean?" Sam said slowly, a frown pulling her eyebrows together. "Who's Jess?"