Dean saw with great relief that the cut on the back of Sam's head did not require stitches. He'd had a bitch of a time dealing with the gash on Sam's leg. Luckily Sam was able to help him sew up that wound.

Sam hissed as Dean tossed the bloody towel onto the bed. "Well, I'm awake now." he muttered as he gingerly probed the area. "How did I get this, anyway?"

"Getting tossed against a tree. A big one." Dean winced at the memory of Sam's head cracking against the wood.

"You, too?" Sam asked.

"Oh, I got the double-play. Thrown at a tree, landed on it's fallen buddy."

"Ouch."

"Yeah. You land in a bush; I get a trunk. How is that fair?" Dean handed Sam the first aid kit and sat next to him on the bed.

Sam did an admirable job patching up Dean's shoulder considering his physical condition. Although Dean's left hand had steadied the shaky man more than a few times, neither one of them commented on it.

"We've gotta pop your shoulder back in." Sam said as he put in the last stitch.

Dean was no stranger to having his shoulder popped in and out. However, that didn't mean he was used to the pain. On the bright side, a few more times and he figured he would be able to do Mel Gibson's Lethal Weapon trick. Yet another weapon to impress the ladies.

Dean scooted back until he was leaning against the wall. Sam teetered a bit as he stood up, then sat right in front of Dean.

Sam's face was ashen, his eyes still slightly hazy. Dean's worry extended to both of them. "Dude, are you sure you're up to this? If you pull wrong…"

"The only other option is the hospital." Sam pointed out. Dean nodded. Putting his head down, he shut his eyes tight and waited for the inevitable wave of pain to hit.

It wasn't just a wave. It was a tsunami of agony that started at his shoulder and went through his entire body. He was vaguely aware that his own scream of pain had mingled with another's. Then, it was over. Dean slumped against the wall, panting as if he'd just run one of his father's ten mile "jogs around the park". He opened his eyes, prepared to verbally rip his brother a new one. But he was alone on the bed.

"Sam?"

A moan came from beside him. Sam was sitting on the floor in between the two beds. His hands were gripping his head as it rested upon his knees. Dean eased himself onto the floor.

"Hey. You with me?" Dean placed his hand on Sam's shoulder.

"Mmmm."

"Come on. Let's get you off the floor." Dean slowly rotated his right shoulder a few times. It still hurt like a son of a bitch, but it would heal. Placing his good arm around Sam's back, he carefully maneuvered Sam onto the bed. "You know the drill. Every two hours."

Sam's mumbled reply was muffled as he burrowed his aching head into the pillow.

Full of nervous energy, Dean began pacing around the room. As he passed by the laptop, he remembered the text message. What were the chances that his father would stumble across the same supernatural occurrence that Sam and Dean had faced not even a month earlier? It was either an eerie coincidence, or somehow he and Sam had set forth a situation that sent out a red flag. Dean hoped for the former, although deep down he knew better.

Booting up the laptop, he settled in for a long night of research.

He supposed he should be a little freaked out that he was flying hundreds of feet in the air, but yet it seemed as natural as apple pie. Spying a hole in the clouds below him, Dean angled his body towards the break. Cutting through the clouds like a knife through butter, he now had a clear view of the lush green earth miles below. He wasn't exactly one for nature, but he had to admit the view was breathtaking.

The only thing ruining this perfect day was the incessant chirping in his ear. Turning his head towards the noise, he was expecting to see a large crow, or perhaps an annoying seagull. But to his surprise, flying side by side with him was a little red hummingbird. Dean tried waving it away, but found his right arm would not respond to his commands. The chirping seemed to grow louder; Dean was finding it hard to concentrate. He tried once again to get rid of the pesky little bird, but his arm still refused to cooperate.

"What the...?" Upon inspection, he was shocked to see a rope attached to his wrist. He tried pulling on the taunt rope, but to no avail. Suddenly the rope was jerked downward. A sharp pain hit his shoulder as he fell fast through the clouds. Using all his strength he was finally able to stop his fall.

He squinted, trying to see exactly what, or who, the rope was attached to. A tiny figure stared up at him, then gave the rope another gigantic tug. This time his fall was stopped by an outside force. Another rope was tied to his waist, somehow preventing him from losing anymore altitude.

Dean was close enough to the ground to make out the identities of the men holding the ropes. His confusion grew as he saw Sam holding the rope around his waist, and his father preparing to once again yank on the rope attached to his wrist. John's face was unreadable as he gave the rope one last pull, exploding the pain in the falling man's shoulder as he plummeted towards the ground.

"No!" Dean shouted as he snapped his head up. A wall of bright blue was mere inches from his face. Sitting back in the chair, Dean looked wildly around the room before settling back on the computer screen. System Error. Please reboot stood out in white letters on the screen.

Rubbing his face with his left hand, Dean tried to get his fuzzy brain to focus. He was in the motel room. He had been doing research on the computer and must have dozed off. His little high flying adventure was just a dream. Dean didn't even want to begin to try and interpret that little doozy. Apparently Sam didn't quite have the market cornered on whacked out dreams.

Sam!

Dean shot to his feet as he remembered his concussed younger brother, asleep in the bed next to him. He had woken Sam up twice; pleased at the alert, if not somewhat agitated response he received. Dean glanced at his watch, relieved to see he'd only been asleep for a little more than three hours.

"Sam. Oh, Sam." he sing-songed as he gently shook the sleeping man's shoulder. "Come on, Shorty, time to get up."

Sam grumbled something, but did not open his eyes.

"Didn't quite catch that, Sammy boy." Dean teased.

"I said, 'I'm taller than you.'" Sam said, finally opening his bleary eyes.

"Sure, now. But I was taller than you for almost twenty years. You were "Shorty" a lot longer than you were this long legged monkey-boy." Ah. Nothing chased away the morning blues like picking on one's sibling.

Wincing, Sam sat up and leaned his head against the wall. "What time is it?"

"Almost eleven." Dean turned serious as he studied his brother. "How do you feel?"

"I'm ok." Sam focused his eyes. An odd expression crossed his face as he looked at Dean.

"What?"

Sam didn't answer, just continued to stare.

"Dude, what's you problem?" Dean said, feeling uncomfortable under the scrutiny.

He was even more unsettled as Sam burst out in laughter. Dean wasn't sure if he should remain cross, or join in the festivities.

He chose the latter. "What's so funny?" he smiled at Sam.

"Just go look in the mirror, Waffle Boy." Sam said through his guffaws.

Dean's smile faded as he saw what had set Sam off. The skin on his right cheek was indented from where he had fallen asleep on the keyboard. Dean vigorously rubbed the area, trying to smooth away the criss-cross pattern. Well, that explained the annoying chirping he'd heard in his dream. The little hummingbird was really the laptop yelling at him to go sleep somewhere else.

Irritated, Dean tried to see the bright side. At least it had brought a smile to Sam's face. After what Dean found out in his searching last night, it would probably be the last one of the day.

His skin red but otherwise unmarked, Dean went back in to check on Sam. The younger man had made it to his feet and was rifling through his duffle bag. Dean grabbed his chin and forced Sam's eyes to his.

"Seriously, Sam. You're ok?"

Sam patiently waited until Dean was through with his inspection. "Just a headache. I'm good."

Sam was telling the truth. Well, mostly. He still wasn't quite clear on the events that had lead to their current physical conditions, but the double vision and dizziness had passed. A few aspirin would hopefully put a dent in his headache.

As if reading his mind, Dean held out four white pills. Sam accepted them, but not before giving Dean a once over. "How's the shoulder?"

Dean slowly rotated his right shoulder, biting his lip. "It'll be ok."

"I think we have a sling in the car." Sam said, even though he knew what response he'd get.

Dean shook his head. "The only thing I need is for you to take those pills." To prove his point, Dean defiantly crossed his arms, working hard to keep his discomfort from showing.

"Whatever." Heading into the bathroom, Sam called back, "So, do we know anything about those coordinates?"

The cold water felt almost as good as the pills soon would. When Dean didn't answer right away, Sam repeated his question. This time he got a response.

"Uh, yeah. I found some recent articles dad must have stumbled upon." Dean's voice belied an uneasiness that Sam found unsettling.

Sam came back to see Dean in front of the laptop. A few keystrokes later Dean had pulled up a newspaper article dated a week and a half after they hightailed it out of Danbury. Sam got past few paragraphs, then closed his eyes and began massaging his temples. He wasn't quite up for tiny words on a brightly lit screen.

Resuming his position on the bed, Sam motioned for Dean to continue. "So there was an accident on Blue Corner's Road? That's where the ghost car was, right?"

"Yep. Only it wasn't just one accident. Over the past three weeks, seven people have reported seeing the Mustang. Two were run off the road, one turned around before it could come after him." Dean paused, not wanting to continue.

Dean clicked on the most recent article. "The others weren't so lucky. Two people survived head-on collisions, one was hit in the driver's side. And one…" Dean broke off.

Sam's face had paled. "Dean, no."

Dean cleared his throat. "An elderly woman is in a coma. She was the latest victim. Her husband said the Mustang hit them so hard it locked onto their bumper. The cars spun around several times before coming to a stop. Just before he lost consciousness, he said the Mustang vanished into thin air."

Sam felt all the strength leave his body. He could barely feel the lumpy bed beneath him. "That doesn't make any sense. The car wasn't real. I mean, it…it was just a specter. It wasn't corporeal! We drove right through it!"

"Believe me, I'm well aware of that. But the fact remains that these accidents started happening right after we left. It can't be a coincidence. We did something that night to make things worse." Dean felt as sick as Sam felt.

"The other people, are they all right?" Sam held his breath, willing Dean to say that everyone survived without injury.

Dean clicked around some more. "For the most part. Broken bones, whiplash, cuts and bruises. The old woman was the worst one."

"If she dies…" Sam; voice caught in his throat.

"We're responsible." Dean finished.

For a few moments neither spoke, each lost in his own grief and guilt. Finally Dean lowered the computer screen and turned to face Sam.

"I'll be damned if one more person gets hurt because of that poor excuse for a car." Dean's green eyes held a deadly look to them. "Get your stuff. We're heading to Danbury."