Hey ya'll; I'm so sorry it took so long for me to update. I was trying to finish up Time's Redemption, and then there were exams at school, and the spring concert, bla bla bla. I had to focus on school for a week or two. But I'm back! And school is pretty much over, so hopefully no more delays! *grin* Here ya go; let me know ya'll are still around and liking this if its true. *hugs* Thanks so much ya'll!

Chapter 11

Sam vaguely felt the slap on his shoulder and dimly heard his name called, and woke to find his cheek pressed into the Impala's passenger side window.

Dean poked him again. "Hey, Rip Van Winkle. We're here."

He groaned and sat up, his back popping as he stretched and rubbed his eyes groggily. When he finally focused and glanced out the window toward Dean, he took in the gas station they were parked at, and beyond it the endless acres of farm and pasture land.

"We are?" he asked in confusion.

Dean nudged him and pointed, and he turned to look out his own window. Right across the narrow highway rose a modern college campus, and he was staring at the sign that graced the entrance to Cedarville University.

"Oh…nice."

Dean snorted. "Since when do they put universities in the middle of freakin' nowhere?"

Sam shrugged and straightened. "Room to grow, I guess."

"Whatever." He climbed out of the car, and Sam grabbed the case folder he'd been looking over before he fell asleep and followed him. Bobby was parked beside them, and they met him around the front of the vehicles.

"Studied up?" Bobby asked, nodding to the folder.

Sam leaned back against the Impala's hood and flipped it open, glancing across the road to the university campus. "Yeah, pretty much. I think we've got enough daylight hours left to get started, too."

Bobby nodded. "That's what I was thinking. I say we find a motel, get changed, and head back here. I'll start in the offices, and you boys can start on those who knew the victims."

Dean frowned. "No real witnesses?"

"Not yet," Sam answered briskly, looking down again to bury his nose in the folder. "Apparently the first victim, a few weeks ago, was the wife of one of a professor who lived on campus. The two victims found two days ago were students—a guy and a girl. They both have roommates we should probably talk to, and there's the professor."

"Fair enough. Where are the motels around here?"

Sam looked up and down the road, making out the edge of a tiny town down the hill. He smirked. "There's probably only one." Somehow he didn't find himself worrying whether it was in good shape or not when they found it, though.

It just felt good to be on the job.

The motel they found at the edge of town wasn't any shabbier than most, and they quickly booked two rooms and retreated inside to shower and break out the cheap suits. Dean's turn in the shower came second, and when he emerged from the main bathroom he found Sam dressed and leaning on the counter in front of the sink, staring uneasily into the mirror.

He looked fine—after all the sleep he'd gotten in the car, he should—but something still seemed to be bothering him. Dean clapped him on the back as he walked past. "Something wrong, beauty queen?"

Sam only snorted softly and let his head drop to stare at the countertop.

Dean slowed to a stop, let out a breath and leaned against the doorframe of the small alcove outside the bathroom. "Seriously, dude. What is it? You were all gung-ho let's-save-the-world yesterday."

Sam shook his head. 'I don't know…" he glanced up and squinted into the mirror again, as if looking for something.

"Then let's go. We've got people to see before it gets too late."

He still didn't move, and suddenly he seemed even more uncomfortable. Something about the looking on his face turned on a light in Dean's mind, and he realized what was wrong. "You look fine; let's go," he said quickly, trying to pull off the reassurance and keep the conversation casual at the same time.

Sam grimaced. "You mean I don't look like I have a fatal lung condition."

Dean resisted the urge to flinch. "Uhm, yeah."

Silence fell for a moment.

"It's just…I had to be sure," Sam said finally. "If we're going to do this—keep hunting—then no one else can know about me. I mean, no one we might meet on a hunt. We have to be able to avoid getting into that everywhere we go."

Dean's lips pressed into a thin line before he answered. "Yeah…you're right. That makes sense."

Sam nodded and pushed away from the counter, glancing down at himself self-consciously. "So…I'm all right?"

"You're fine," he answered quietly.

And he was. If he kept the remnants of the limp under control and didn't try to exert himself, no one on the street would ever know anything was wrong with him—not yet, anyway.

Somehow that didn't make it any easier anymore.

"Okay…" Sam sighed. He buttoned the cheap suit coat, face setting in determination, and nodded once. "Let's go."

Dean cleared the lump in his throat before it could really form, and followed his brother out. "Yeah. Hey, maybe we should start with the girl…"

The two-story, tan brick dormitory wasn't as large as some Sam had seen, but it was certainly decent enough in size. Two long wings were connected by a narrow section between them, and the glass door and windows there seemed to make up the main entrance. He and Dean followed the sidewalk between the two wings to the door, and slipped in behind a small group of students—bypassing the need for a key.

They used real keys here too, Sam noticed, instead of the key cards or passwords many campuses were switching to these days. That could be useful to know later.

The brothers found themselves in a lobby; something of a recreation room with ping-pong and foosball tables, couches and chairs and coffee tables, and a few vending machines. There were wide ledges for sitting under the glass bay windows, too. Nothing was brand new, but it looked comfortable enough, and the atmosphere made by the relaxing students gave off warmth that wouldn't have been afforded by the white cinder block walls alone.

The group they'd followed in split inside, and of those that didn't remain in the rec room, the guys steered right while the girls went left. Dean raised eyebrows watching them go. "Hey this is an upperclassman dorm, right?" he grinned. Sam elbowed him, and he shrugged.

Watching the student coming and going, it didn't take long to figure out that the two wings were separated by gender. There were locks on the inner doors on either ends of the lobby, too—the ones that led into the individual wings. Dean seemed to noticed that, too.

"So…how do we find the girl?"

It was then that an older, graying blonde approached them, arms crossed in a conservatively friendly manner.

"Dorm mother?" Dean muttered.

Sam didn't have time to answer.

"May I help you gentleman?" the woman asked, glancing the suits up and down.

"I hope so," Dean pulling out a forged FBI badge as Sam produced his own.

"We're looking for Abigail Ragusa. We just need to ask her a few questions; it won't take long," Sam added.

The woman's lips pursed unhappily. "But the police have already talked to her."

"We know that, ma'am, but this case is now of interest on a federal level, and we've got to do our job," Dean said.

"All right," the woman sighed. She turned and caught the attention of a short redhead. "Michelle, have you seen Abby?"

The girl eyed Sam and Dean curiously. "I think she's up in her room."

"Could you get her, please?"

"Okay…" Michelle hurried off, and the older woman turned back to the boys.

"I'm sorry for not introducing myself; I'm Ashley McCarthy," she said, extending a hand. Both of them shook it briefly, as the woman confirmed the suspicions that she was, indeed, he dorm mother for the women's wing.

"I can't let you into the wing itself, of course, but there's a smaller room just off the main lounge here you can use to speak with Abby when she comes down."

"Thank you," Sam nodded.

Uneasy silence fell after that, standing at the edge of the room while the students cast them curious glances. It seemed an eternity before the redhead Michelle returned, followed closely by a brunette of average height, with waves of chocolate brown falling to her shoulders and dropping into the eyes of a modest blue-eyed face. Abigail Ragusa looked as if she'd been crying recently, and Sam felt the familiar ache of guilt for a life not saved—along with a healthy dose of sympathy for this girl herself.

Then he spotted Dean wearing the discreet version of his oh-this-looks-good face, which seemed to be directed at both girls, and Sam shot him a look that wiped it away before the girls reached them.

"Abby, dear, these men are from the FBI. They need to talk to you," Ms. McCarthy said gently.

"Little young to be FBI, aren't you?" Michelle questioned protectively.

"Michelle," McCarty said sharply.

Abby sighed and nudged the other girl, and it was clear now that the two were friends. "It's okay."

Michelle huffed and stalked off, but Dean watched her go with interest and Sam hoped Abby and the dorm mother didn't notice.

"I'm sorry about her; she's just got a little bit of a temper," Abby apologized, smiling weakly. Sam smiled back in acceptance, and the girl's own smile seemed to brighten in response.

"It's fine. We understand. I'm sorry about what happened to your friends."

"Right," she grimaced. "This would be about that, wouldn't it?"

"Afraid so," Dean answered shortly.

Abby sighed. "Okay…so…"

"Over here." McCarthy took the hint and ushered them in the direction of the door to the girl's wing, stopping just short and waving them through another door beside it. They ended up in what looked like a dorm room, but with more permanent furniture and only one bed.

"It's her room," Abby explained as the dorm mother left them alone. The sad smile again. "I've spent a lot of time hiding out in here the past couple of days. Ms. McCarthy is a good friend, and she has a lot of good books, so that helped, and…" She trailed off, seeming to realize she was babbling a little. "Yeah."

"Good. That's good…" Sam trailed next, because he wasn't sure what else to say. Finally he decided to ignore whatever was impeding his speech, and get down to business. "Uhm, this is Agent Duncan; I'm Agent Mayers. We'll try not to take too much of your time, but we need to ask you a few questions about what happened to your friends, ah…" He blanked on the names and went to open the folder he was carrying.

"Blake Allen and your roommate, Kaylah Bowman," Dean said before he could look. Sam frowned a little in surprise—surprise that Dean had remembered, or maybe just that he himself had forgotten.

"Right, and I'm sorry, you've probably answered most of our questions already, but—"

"It's our job," Dean smiled, in that get-on-with-it way.

"Right," Sam repeated.

Abby's head ducked for a moment, and she nodded quickly, a little apprehensively. "Okay, uhm…what do you need to know?"

"Just a few things. Ah…reports say they were found under a bridge?"

She shrugged. "It's not really a bridge. It's on the other side of the lake, and it's just the sidewalk over the spillway."

"So they were found in the spillway?" Dean asked.

Abby nodded again. "It's really kind of in the open, though, so I don't know how—I mean, I…" It was easy enough to put together the rest of the sentence. I don't want to think about it.

"I take it it was dark when this happened?" Dean went on.

"Yes. They were found the next morning."

"And what were they doing out there so late?"

Abby frowned. "Uh, they were dating…they…" She grimaced. "Blake said he was going to propose to her sometime soon…" A small sob and a thin trail of tears slipped free, and she swiped at her face quickly. "I'm sorry."

"No, we're sorry. It's all right," Sam said quickly. Dean gave him a look he couldn't quite read, but he ignored it and focused his attention on Abby. "Just a few more questions."

"Were either of them acting strange before this happened?" Dean jumped in immediately.

"What?"

"Were either of them acting strange before what happened? Or did you notice anything else strange in the days before?"

Abby was scowling in confusion now. "I…no. What do you mean?"

Sam cut back in before any damage was done. "He just means that anything could lead us to a clue about who did this. Anything. If anything was different, or…strange, like he said, before the attack, you should tell us."

"The only thing that was any different than usual was Professor Ray, and his class, and that's only because his wife was killed a few weeks ago. We all feel so horrible about that, too."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "He didn't take time off?"

She shook her head. "No…only a couple of days. Then we was right back in the classroom. I suppose he wanted to work rather than think about it," she sighed. "Not that I can blame him; I'd rather bury my nose in a book. I mean, I've known Kaylah since freshman year. We met on a forum online before we even got here, because we were planning on the same major, and she's been my roommate since last year. That's when we met Blake, when he transferred into our undergraduate program, and we're seniors! We were supposed to graduate together in a few weeks, and now they're both gone, and—"

Abby only choked a little as she cut herself off and quickly regained her composure on her own. "I'm running my mouth again," she apologized, and the quick, embarrassed grin seemed more genuine this time.

Sam couldn't help but return a smile and hurt for her at the same time. He could relate to much of what she was going through. Best friend, girlfriend…he was sure it all hurt just as much.

"You certainly have a right to—or whatever," was what he said. Brilliant work, James Dean.

"Thanks," she smirked dimly.

"Anyway, I think that's all we need," he rushed on.

"Really?"

"Yes," Dean confirmed, standing immediately. "Thank you for your time. Agent Mayers…"

Sam grimaced apologetically and followed his brother out, leaving the confused young woman behind.

"So what was up with all that back there?"

Dean smirked as they made their way out to the Impala in the dorm's parking lot. "You're asking me what was up back there?"

"What?"

"Never mind. What are you talking about?"

Sam huffed as they climbed in. "You were checking out every girl that walked past."

"Considering the last three weeks of our lives, you're confused about that why?"

"This is not the place to get lucky, Dean," his brother protested.

Dean pulled out and headed for the highway for the short drive to the motel. It was nearly dark, and it had happened faster than they'd thought. They could get on with the investigation in the morning. "How is this place different from any other?"

"Christian university, Dean. Maybe that doesn't mean a lot to you—either of us, really—but it means a lot to them. I seriously doubt anyone here would be too happy about things like that going on on campus."

"So I'll bring one back to the motel room—or heck, maybe two," he grinned.

Sam rolled his eyes, winced a little, giving Dean the impression he had a headache coming on. "That's the whole point; they won't come. These are not the kind of girls you're used to."

"Oh come on; they can't all be like that."

"Dean, it's not about that! It's about respecting this place for what it is, and respecting the people here enough not to mess with them. The last thing we need is you causing trouble just because—" Sam cut off and sighed, and sank down in the bench seat.

Dean watched him for a moment, realizing how serious he was. The last thing Dean wanted was to cause his brother any more stress than he was already carrying.

"Fine," he said, as he parked at the motel.

Sam looked up. "What?"

"Fine," Dean repeated. "If it makes you feel any better, I'll lay off the chicks while we're here, okay?"

Sam only nodded in response, and got out. Bobby's car was already in the lot, and he was headed for their friend's door instead of their own. Dean frowned and followed him, wondering what else was causing the hunch in his shoulders.

Bobby waved them in when Sam knocked, and the boys leaned on the table as the three of them debriefed. Bobby had been to the main offices to learn what he could, which wasn't much. That still left Blake Allen's roommate and Professor Darren Ray for tomorrow, as far as interviews went.

"Then I say we check out the morgue," Bobby went on. "Mrs. Ray's long since been buried, but the two students are still there—or what's left of them. You boys want to do that, or would you rather take the interviews?"

Dean shrugged, not caring one way or the other, but Sam spoke up. "We'll take the interviews." When they looked at him he explained further. "I think Dean and I should eat breakfast in the cafeteria on campus in the morning; we might overhear something useful." He smirked a little. "And we would blend better there."

"Uh huh," Bobby said dryly.

Dean couldn't help but notice that Sam dropped onto a bed the moment they were back in their own room, but that wasn't his major concern just now.

"So what is it now?"

"What?" Sam asked tiredly.

"Back at the dorm…since then."

"What are you talking about?" he asked again, on his back staring at the ceiling.

Dean shrugged and sat on the edge of the other bed. "With the girl. You were all…weird."

"Weird?"

"Yeah, weird. I mean, I know you're usually the gentle side of the whole questioning thing, but I think that was a few more apologies than is normal even for you, and you forgot the victims' names? You never forget stuff like that, and since we left the campus you've seemed a little, I don't know—off."

Sam pushed the heels of his hands over his closed eyes. "Has it occurred to you that I've had a lot on my mind lately?"

"Yeah, but I think it's something else."

"Like what?"

"Well for one thing, I think that chick was into you, and I think you noticed."

Sam sat up, eyes rolling. "Dean, she's grieving. I hardly think she noticed much about either of us."

Dean's mouth curled up a little. "Well she sure noticed enough about you."

His brother seemed to realize where he was going. "We talked about this—"

"I'm not necessarily talking about hooking up, Sam, but you gotta admit she liked you. All of that smiling was definitely in your direction." He leaned forward, resting elbows on his knees. "Come on; you liked her too, didn't you?"

"This is so not the time for this," Sam groaned. He dropped back again.

Dean let out a breath and stood up again. "Why?"

Sam turned on his side and propped his head up so he could still see his brother. "Are you seriously asking that question?"

Dean's jaw clenched. "I know what you're talking about, Sam."

"Then drop it."

"No."

Sam stared at him. "Why not?"

He wasn't sure himself, but he knew he didn't want his brother to be miserable.

"Well...just because you don't exactly have a clean bill of health right now doesn't mean you're denied the privilege of some good company sometimes."

"Excuse me?"

"I don't know, man! Just…if you like her, don't just brush it off."

"I don't like her," Sam answered immediately.

"Sure."

"Dean—"

"Hey, I'm just—"

"I don't like her," he repeated, more forcefully this time. Dean still wasn't convinced, but he moved on anyway—sort of.

"Okay, then what about Sarah? It's been more than a year and you've called her maybe what, twice? I'm sure she wants to see you."

Sam looked at the bedspread. "That's not a good idea, and you know it."

"Why isn't it a good idea? I mean, I'm still saying that we're going to fix this, but that doesn't mean this isn't a good time to go see her." He didn't think about what he meant, or could mean, or what Sam might read from it. He didn't want to think about it; he just wanted to make Sam think, before he had regrets later.

Which was something else he didn't want to think about.

Sam only snorted. "Oh, sure it's a good time. I go see her for a while, get her hopes up, only for you to come back a few months later to tell her I'm dead. Brilliant plan."

Dean grimaced, wishing his brother hadn't voiced that part aloud. "That's not going to happen."

He looked up. "And what if it does?"

"We're not talking about that," he answered emphatically.

Sam didn't bother to protest; he'd already been shut down on the issue often enough to know it was useless. He shook his head and looked off. "Anyway…just no. I can't go see Sarah now, and I can't…"

Dean read the rest of his words on his face without having to hear them. I can't care about anyone else; I can't let anyone else care about me. I can't let anyone else be hurt by this…by what's happening to me.

He hesitated a long moment before saying anything else, trying to decide what he should say. "Would it hurt anybody to take the girl out for coffee or something? She could probably use the company, at least," he said finally.

Sam quickly looked back at him in surprise. "You mean Abby?" he asked.

"Yes, Abby, you idiot."

"Why do you care?"

Because you're my brother, and I care if you're happy. "I don't," he lied, shrugging.

"Then why do you keep asking?"

Dean bit back a growl of frustration. "Look, just think about it, okay?"

"Whatever." He turned over and pulled a pillow under his head as if he wanted to sleep right there, in the unbuttoned suit.

"Hey, no sleeping yet. Take your treatment and change first."

Sam grunted in protest, but rose to comply.

Dean wondered if his brother had heard anything he'd said at all.