A/N: Hello, all! I know it's been quite some time since I've updated this story, but in my defense, I was waiting to continue until I got at least one review for the last chapter. I'm not one to hold chapters for ransom (and it bugs the life out of me when authors do that), but I do ask for at least one review per chapter before I continue, so that I'll have some feedback and know if people are still reading and enjoying in. Your input is very important to me and will be taken into account for the story. That being said, I'm glad that there are still readers out there that are interested in a conclusion, so I've decided to continue on with this story. :) Here's the next chapter, please read and review! Enjoy.

I'd Follow You Anywhere

Chapter Five

Back at the motel, Dean helped his concussed brother out of the Impala and guided him as gently as he could into the room and onto one of the unmade twin beds. Sam groaned as he was moved but didn't resist, which was good, because Sam was bigger than his older brother and Dean could barely support him when he was being cooperative. "Alright, Sammy, you're alright, just stay with me…" Dean realized that he'd been murmuring to his brother almost nonstop since their unplanned "pit stop" on the side of the road. Worry had nested in his chest, but he knew that a hospital would be out of the question at this point. Both men were muddy from their jackets to the tips of their boots and really had no cover story to explain why they had been out playing in the mud in the middle of the night, and although Dean figured he could think up a decent cover on the spot if need be, he felt he could take care of Sam better at the motel than a hospital.

Not to mention Dean hadn't set foot in a hospital since his father had traded his life for Dean's in one. Not that John Winchester's death had anything to do with Dean's decision to take Sam here. Not at all.

"Okay, Sam, can you hear me?" Dean asked, eyebrows knitting together in concern at the paleness of his brother's face and the pained glaze in his half-open eyes.

"Mmmm…" Sam muttered. "What hap'nd?" he asked blearily. "Didja burn her?"

Dean realized that Sam was talking about Lilian's ghost, and wondered if his younger brother had heard anything she had said about her brother after she'd knocked Sam out. When he replied, "'Course I did, Sam, what kind of hunter leaves a graveyard without ganking at least one spirit?" and Sam's response was a sleepy, "Good," he decided that Sam had been out cold during the ghost's final pleas. Otherwise, his pansy of a brother would probably start talking about feelings and crap, saying that Dean should have heard her out instead of burning her bones on the spot. And Dean really wasn't in the mood to hear it from Sam, considering he wasn't even sure he'd done the right thing in not hearing her out. It was a rare day when Dean Winchester was unsure of himself when it came to hunting ghosts, so he didn't need Sam's conscience messing with his head as well.

Noting that Sam had drifted off into a not-quite-sleep but not-quite-aware state, Dean quickly set to work, cleaning and bandaging the head wound. It didn't need more than a couple of stitches, which was good, considering they were nearly out of fishing line. He then woke Sam up again and settled in for a long night of periodic little-brother waking, knowing that with a severe concussion, there was every possibility that the next time Sam fell asleep, he might not wake up.

Bobby Singer scowled at the phone in his hand as he debated whether to dial or not. He hadn't heard from those boys since the quick phone call from Sam several days ago informing him that he and Dean were following a lead somewhere in Louisiana but would drop by sometime for some down time after they'd taken care of the ghost problem. He'd assured Bobby that it was going to be a simple salt'n'burn and that Dean hadn't even wanted him to call at all because they'd be done in no time. Bobby hadn't fretted or protested, or given their case that much thought, actually. He knew Sam and Dean were big boys and even though they let their emotions get in their way when it came to each other, they were fully capable of handling a vengeful spirit in the bayou. But still…

Something wasn't setting right with the seasoned hunter. Maybe it was because his old friend, John Winchester, had recently passed, or because Bobby was becoming sentimental in his old age, but he was beginning to be a bit concerned that neither Winchester boy had called him about the job. He knew they'd been gone for a little under a week, but a simple vengeful spirit job usually took a couple of days at the most. Any longer would mean there were complications – which, with those two idgets, there usually were – and they'd be calling up old cranky "Uncle" Bobby to hit the books and find out what this S.O.B. was and what it was up to.

So why hadn't he heard anything? If not from Dean, then at least a message from Sam, asking for advice or info on whatever they were hunting? Bobby had a nasty feeling snaking through his gut, and although he was usually one to listen to instinct, he didn't want to call the boys to check up on them. Even though they were boys in his mind, they were actually two very capable young men – though he'd never tell them that – that could handle themselves on a job. With that thought, Bobby shook his head at his inner mother hen that had been rearing its ugly head for the past couple of days and hung up the phone.

If Sam or Dean needed him, they'd call. Until then, there was a bottle of whisky in the fridge that was calling his name.

.

Sam woke up with a pounding headache. He was sore all over, but his head was definitely hurting more than anything else. He groaned, rolled over, and managed to sit up before the nausea hit him. He gasped and was about to dart for the bathroom when his head was shoved between his knees and someone's hand was on his shoulder, steadying him.

"Calm down, Sammy," came his big brother's comforting voice. "Breathe. You puke on my boots again, and your ass will pay. Got that." Okay, so maybe not that comforting, but the concern was still there.

"Jerk," Sam snapped once his breathing had slowed down and the nausea had subsided. He sat up slowly to glare at his brother, who looked quite pleased that Sam was up and (nearly) about again.

"Bitch," was Dean's customary reply, and he grinned when he saw a small smile tug at Sam's dry lips. "How ya feeling, Sam?"

Sam sucked in a calming lungful of air before responding. "Well… I can honestly say that I haven't had a concussion that bad in… wow, a couple of months at least. How long was I out for, anyway?"

"You've been… ah… incapacitated for about two and a half days now. I spent the first day and a half keeping your stubborn ass awake, but you started to look better after a while, so I let you sleep. I've been keeping an eye on the local news, though. No more mysterious suicides since you got attacked. So maybe it's stopped."

Sam frowned. "Yeah, maybe."

"But you don't think so." Dean rolled his eyes.

"It's just… I can see how it'd make sense for Lydia to lure her brother to his death, but what about those other people? They saw the people they loved before they died, not Lydia's ghost. And what grudge would this one woman have against all these other, unconnected people, anyway?"

"I don't know, but—"

Dean was cut off as the police scanner went off, the voice on the radio requesting for an ambulance and backup at a cliff about five miles away. Around the same time, Sam's phone rang and he grabbed it from the end table, answered, listened to the other line, and then said, "Okay, we'll be there."

Dean turned and raised his eyebrows to his still woozy brother. "We'll be where, exactly, Sam? You're not exactly fit to go tromping around after vengeful spirits!"

"I'm fine, Dean. Listen: That was the police station. It seems there's been another suicide attempt and the police are finally ready to admit that they may be out of their depth here and that something more may be going on. They actually want the FBI to look into it."

"Attempt? But that means…"

"Yeah," Sam confirmed. "They survived the jump and although they are in the local hospital, it's expected they'll make a full recovery."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Dean almost crowed. "Let's do this. We might finally have our lead, Sammy!"

"It's Sam," Sam reminded his brother only half-heartedly as he stood on wobbly legs and followed his brother out of the motel room and to the Impala.

Perhaps things were finally making a turn for the better.

A/N: Wishful thinking, Sam and Dean! Just because there's a survivor doesn't mean they're gonna hand your answer over on a silver platter, now does it? ;) LOL. Well, as you can see, Bobby is now a part of the story, as he was always meant to be. What could these strange apparitions be? All I can tell you is that it's far from over… much more to come! So please review and I'll update soon! Thanks.

~Emachinescat ^..^