Standard disclaimer: I do not own the Winchesters, which is one of the biggest tragedies of my self-centered life. UMM and the town of Morris do exist, though I might have taken a few liberties. OCs are mine, for better or worse.

A/N: Thank you to those who've put the story on alert, and for the handful of reviews. As I get closer to finishing the story, I hope to post chapters more often. I want to get to the actiony bits as much as the next person!

Now, the guys continue to information gather, in the hopes of figuring out what killed Meghan Schmidt, and how to keep the same thing from happening all over again.

Sweet Caroline
Chapter 2

The crowd was big, but the more people he tried to talk to the more Sam realized most of the wake attendees were there in a general instead of personal sense. It was difficult at first glance to tell the people who cried for Meghan Schmidt because they knew and loved her from those who were just shell-shocked by the sudden, inexplicable end of a young life. He could barely stand to look at the photo collage surrounded by flowers and other tokens without wincing, and he hadn't even known the girl. Her fresh-faced, wholesome prettiness smiled at him from across the room, only a ghost image now, a memory.

Sam winced again, looking across the expanse of the student center's Oyate Hall, toward Dean, who had attracted a large group of attentive women…and, to Sam's delight and Dean's clear embarrassment, a handful of men. He shook his head, rolling his eyes. He was starting to think he really should have given the suggestion to come in as reporters more credence. Dean as a college student was like a shark prowling in a sea of small fish. He had no idea if his brother was finding out anything useful at this point or just collecting phone numbers.

"You know him?"

Sam jerked, pulling his attention away from Dean. He glanced to the side, at a tall young woman – her height actually measured at about Dean's, which Sam didn't run across often. An immediate sense of kinship also didn't happen to him often, but every once in a while he met a person he liked within moments. The girl fell into that category, before a formal introduction. He didn't know why. He supposed it didn't matter much. Her brown hair was curly in a slightly disorderly way, she wore little makeup, had a dusting of freckles across her cheeks, and light brown eyes that were honest. And sad.

After half a second of consideration, Sam figured it wasn't anything physical about her that drew him in. It was the expression in her eyes that did it. It was familiar to him, a known quantity. Without knowing anything else about her, he knew he could relate to that look.

"Yeah," he said, following her head bob directly to Dean.

"He's really attractive."

Sam rolled his eyes in earnest this time. Then again, maybe his gut was wrong about her.

"Too bad he knows it," she said wryly.

Sam gave her a small smile, faith in his gut and in her quickly restored. She smiled back. She meant it, he sensed, but the smile didn't quite make it to her eyes. Sam thought he had found someone who'd been friends with Meghan Schmidt, or rather she'd found him. He immediately turned his whole body so that he was facing her, only at a slight angle so he was more tangible, but not intimidating and towering.

"That's true. He does," Sam said. "But, and I'll deny ever saying this, but there's more to him than that. Trust me."

"You're friends."

"He's my brother." He ducked his head a little, ready for her comment that he and Dean weren't much alike. Everyone always said that next, even without knowing either of them. But she didn't, so he looked back up. "I'm Sam."

"Iris," she said, sticking out her hand. He shook it. "You're new here, aren't you?"

"We just transferred in yesterday, actually."

"Well, welcome, Sam." She smiled again, but it still didn't quite make it to her eyes. "You've come at a bad time."

"We were checking out campus tonight and noticed the gathering. What happened?"

"A friend of mine died," Iris said. Her expression lost all vestiges of happiness. Her eyes filled with tears, and, god, Sam hated to press. "My roommate."

"I'm so sorry," Sam said softly.

He put a hand on her arm. Instead of withdrawing from the touch, Iris leaned in a little. Then she seemed to realize it and pulled back. Oh, boy, he understood that all too well.

"I know this must be hard for you."

"It is." Her voice was a whisper. "You have no idea."

He knew, then, that she and Meghan hadn't just been roommates. They'd been very close. He thought of how difficult it would be or have been for her to see her friend's things on the other side of her dorm room, as though Meghan wasn't really gone at all. He had nothing left of Jess, only a picture he couldn't bear to look at, and that was bad enough.

"I think maybe I do."

Iris stared at him, assessing. None of the tears in her eyes escaped, but they didn't go away, either. With what he and Dean did, they saw all sorts of people in all sorts of pain and grief. It wasn't an easy job, and sometimes Sam really hated it. Sometimes, too, he was amazed by how differently people reacted to loss, and he learned a lot from them. In a way, seeing others go through similar things helped him manage his own ever-present grief and rage about Jessica. Gaining something for himself from victims wasn't pretty, and it caused him guilt, but he needed it in order to keep going from time to time.

"Oh," she said at last. "You do understand."

He winced, looking away. Sam never really intended to use Jess to gain sympathy, or to get people to open up to him. He didn't need the constant reminder any more than he liked accidentally thumbing past her picture in his wallet. Tragic death, though, was an unfortunate, intricate part of his life now. Again. Always. He caught Dean staring over at him, still surrounded by people but no longer looking like he took enjoyment from it. He shook his head; Dean relaxed. Sam didn't quite know how his brother could be so tuned to him. It scared him a little sometimes.

"Is whatever happened to you why you transferred mid-semester?" Iris asked.

"Indirectly," he said, turning back to her. "It…I thought I could handle being there, but it turns out I was wrong. It just took me a little while to figure that out."

There were times Sam told himself he really could go back to Stanford and resume his normal life. Even during those times, he wasn't entirely sure he was really convinced about that. What he'd said to Dean about not truly fitting in held true; without Jessica there anymore, he thought he would crash and burn. Funny how it was now without Dean he would probably crash and burn. It unsettled him, this sudden realization that maybe he wasn't capable as his own person, like he functioned better as part of a whole than he ever could alone. It was ironic, given his independent streak.

"Besides, there's something to be said about being near your family."

"Like your brother?"

"Yeah, like my brother," Sam said, and realized he couldn't have spoken truer words. He glanced around the hall again, taking in the part-mourning, part-celebration of Meghan Schmidt's life. "But none of this is about me or my past."

"No," Iris said. This time she reached out and put a hand on his arm, drawing his attention. "It's just nice to know someone might understand a little, even if…"

Sam frowned. Iris paled, causing her freckles to stand out in stark contrast to her white skin.

"Even if what?" he prodded.

"Even if what happened to you wasn't your fault, like Meghan…like I…"

She trailed off again. The tears that hadn't yet left her eyes finally escaped. Sam wasn't a tactile person anymore. It hurt too much to get close to people in any way. Even if he were, it wouldn't be his place to hug her, but he wanted to because he did know what she felt. Her guilt was probably misplaced. If something supernatural caused her friend's death, there was nothing Iris could have done about it. If something natural caused her friend's death, there was also nothing she could have done about it. Even knowing these things, though, Sam didn't issue contradictions, because it didn't matter if it wasn't really her fault. It was far too soon to try to tell her otherwise.

"Why do you think it's somehow your fault?"

"Because we drove Meghan out to the cemetery. We just left her," said a new voice from behind him. The new girl, all caramel skin and familiarly sad eyes, moved around him cautiously and stood next to Iris. She twined their arms together. "We told her we'd s-see her in the morning, and just left her there."

"Why were you in a cemetery in the middle of the night?" He squirmed a little, hating to grill them when they were so upset. "And which cemetery?"

It never failed to surprise him when people opened up so easily, especially in settings like this. They were at a wake. The last thing they probably wanted to do was talk about the specifics of their friend's death. Or the circumstances that led up to it. And yet…

"Summit. It's just outside campus. It was just a dare," Iris said. "Part of a stupid game. Meghan didn't even want to play, and she ended up dea…"

The new, still nameless girl put her head on Iris' shoulder when Iris stopped talking again. Well, leaned on her upper arm; there was a bit of a height difference. They looked lost, like little girls instead of women. They were probably only nineteen or twenty. They hadn't had death in their lives to make them old, like he and Dean had been before they were even ten years old. Dean had been old since he was four. Sam grimaced, but only on the inside. He didn't need to let his uneasy thoughts disturb them even more.

"If she'd only told the truth, then this wouldn't have happened," the other girl said. Then she gave a little gasp and stopped leaning on Iris, hands coming up to cover most of her face. "Oh, god, I didn't mean that. It wasn't her fault."

"Oh, Gwen, of course you didn't mean it like that," Iris said, moving so she could wrap one arm around her friend. She looked straight at Sam then. "And it wasn't Meghan's fault any more than it was ours. Sometimes bad things just happen to people."

Sam didn't think she wholly believed what she said herself, but he appreciated her trying to help her friend. He also appreciated that she seemed to intrinsically know what he was thinking. He thought if they had more time, he could become friends with Iris. It was too bad he wouldn't have that chance, though it wasn't out of the question for him to stay in touch. He still got emails from Matt Pike occasionally, and was glad to hear he and his dad got along so well now. Sometimes he heard from Lori Sorensen, as well as from a handful of others. In a way, it was easier to hear from people he and Dean had helped than from his friends at Stanford, who, with the exception of Becky and Zach, were dropping inevitably out of his life. Sam shook his head. What was he thinking? He wasn't there to make friends. Normal people had friends. He wasn't normal.

"I don't mean to push, but what exactly did they say happened to her?"

"I talked to her parents yesterday. They still don't know much." Iris' nostrils flared, the only outward sign of the struggle to keep her tears from flowing. "Something about natural causes."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't be asking you this stuff."

"It's okay, Sam, but I think Gwen and I are going to head out now." Iris tilted her head toward the door. "It was nice meeting you. Maybe we'll see you around campus, later when we're more ourselves?"

"Yeah, sure, I'd like that," he said, keeping his voice in a sympathetic, soft timbre. He patted down his pockets, found Veleeta Cheese's business card. He took it out, scrawling his cell number on the back. "Let me give you my number. Call me anytime. I know how it can be with people, so if you ever just need to talk to someone, I'll be around."

"Thanks," Iris said. "I might take you up on that."

"Do you guys need me to walk you home or anything?"

"No, that's okay. This is UMM. I'm sure you've figured out this campus is the size of a postage stamp."

"If you're sure."

"We'll be fine, really. Thanks, Sam."

Iris and Gwen started away from him, arms linked loosely again. He turned, searching for Dean. When not pinned down by hot girls, his brother had managed a circuit around the room while Sam had stood still. Sam had learned a little from Iris, but not enough. He hoped Dean had found some information that would be more useful. He watched for a minute or two, impressed that Dean wasn't standing out like the sore thumb Sam had thought he would. This wasn't exactly the type of college party Dean preferred, not that it was a party at all. Within a few minutes, Dean worked his way to Sam's side.

"So what happened to the 'they're barely eighteen' righteous indignation you gave me?" Dean said, slapping him on the shoulder. "Quite the double standard you've got there, Sammy."

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh, come on, I saw the way you and that tall redhead were looking at each other. What is it with you and damaged college girls, anyway?"

"Dean, it wasn't like that. I wasn't hitting on her," Sam said, with a fair amount of exasperation. He really needed to stop letting Dean get to him, or at least stop reacting. He felt like he and Dean hadn't progressed beyond childhood sometimes. "That girl was Meghan Schmidt's roommate, and the other was a close friend. Even if they were just random girls, trying to pick either one of them up here would be in bad taste. You were the one collecting phone numbers from girls just out of high school, you perv."

"Whoa, someone's protesting too much. Whatever you say. She was hot in a wholesome kind of way, though. She had nice legs. You could do worse."

Sam hadn't even really noticed Iris' looks from an aesthetic standpoint. He never had seen other women, not after the first moment he'd laid eyes on Jessica, and before that not ever in the same way Dean seemed to see them.

"Anyway." He gave Dean a moving-on-now look. That vein of conversation had lasted too long as it was. "From what I could tell, they were playing Truth or Dare that night. Meghan ended up being dared to spend the night alone in the cemetery. It's a good bet we need to look there. What about you, did you find anything out?"

"Nothing solid. Apparently the owner of the Dairy Queen is, and I quote, 'effin' creepy.' There could be more to him than meets the eye."

"Or you talked to a disgruntled employee."

"Don't worry, that's not all I got. We have an appointment tomorrow morning with a history professor who's apparently fascinated with local lore and is happy to share his records," Dean said. "Be extra geeky. I told him you were into that kind of shit."

"Of course you did."

"I know you've been dying to whip out your pocket protector."

Sam rolled his eyes. He didn't dignify that with a response.

I'd love to hear what you think so far! I know this was a bit of re-hash of the prologue, but Sam and Dean didn't have that information. :)