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: Thanks again for reading! :)

Sweet Caroline, Chapter 3

They could have gone to one of Morris' plentiful bars like Dean wanted to do. They would have had a few beers, played a few games of pool and maybe gotten information out of the townies. But no. At Sam's insistence, they were spending the night in Summit Cemetery (and Calvary next to it, probably), searching for signs of supernatural activity. Dean didn't like tromping around the scene of the event before they knew what they were dealing with, at least not when it was a cemetery and it was the middle of the night. The odds of them pinpointing the right supernatural sign were slim. It was part and parcel for boneyards to have plenty of spooks. Uninformed, they'd have a tough time figuring which was the culprit.

"I still don't see why this couldn't have waited until tomorrow."

"Quit your whining, Dean."

"Quit your whining, Dean," he mimicked. "Hell, we could be someplace warm. With beer and maybe some women. It's freaking cold out here, and there's no beer. Or women."

"Jeez, you don't ever stop, do you?" Sam said, spinning toward him.

His brother's face was mostly shadows, the moon was at its first quarter and, filtered through the trees, provided bare illumination. There was just enough light for him to see genuine irritation in Sam's expression. Dean would have felt bad about that if he didn't genuinely prefer beer and women to this.

"You know this kind of mysterious death tends to bring out gawkers and stupid, stoned kids. Maybe if we're lucky we'll find this thing tonight and take care of it right here and now. That way no one else will get hurt."

"Maybe," Dean said.

Then again, maybe not. Their luck didn't exactly run on the one hundred percent positive side. If anything, it hedged more on the negative. The EMF detector Sam held squealed to life for the umpteenth time, and for the umpteenth time he watched as Sam swung the camera around slowly. Dean refrained from saying out loud how there were probably lots of ghosts lingering around, because he wasn't that big a jerk and he knew Sam already knew that. What he didn't know was why Sam so insistent with this hunt, though he'd lay money down that it had something to do with a certain redheaded roommate of the victim. Sam played a dangerous game of trying to fix everything for everyone, the very way it hadn't been fixed for himself. Dean frowned.

"Over there," Sam said, pointing north. Dean made a show of looking in the camera's screen. "Orbs, but they look small and faint."

"Not our culprits."

"No, but maybe we should try to give them some peace while we're here."

"Do we really know they're not at peace now? They look pretty content to me."

Sam scowled at him.

"Hey, I'm just saying that unless this is some gang-style ghost killing, chances are those things aren't worth the effort. Plus getting rid of every lingering spirit is not a task we're prepared for at this very second."

Dean spread his arms out in supplication, the beam of his flashlight bobbing and weaving through the faintly blue-tinted atmosphere in one direction, his arm strangely elongated from the sawed off shotgun he held in the other. As if on cue, the moon tucked behind a bank of clouds and a light sprinkling of rain started.

"Sam, come on. It's cold, now it's wet and we've done due diligence for the night. No one's going to come out here in the rain, man. We've still got an hour before the bars close. Let's go have a few beers, maybe hustle some pool. We could use the cash. You know, rest up for a long day of researching fun tomorrow instead of spending all night out here."

Sam looked at him moodily, as per usual; the day that stopped Dean would wonder if the kid had been swapped out with some unmoody clone. That was actually kind of an unnerving thought. Peppy Sam would be freaky as hell. Sam hadn't been peppy since, well, ever. For a fraction of a second Sam looked like he was going to protest against his suggestion, but then his shoulders relaxed and he nodded. Dean clapped him on the arm, heading for the cemetery gate. He heard footsteps behind him, all he needed to know that Sam was finally seeing things his way. He had the keys out of his pocket, at the ready before he'd even exited the graveyard.

So when he got to the car, deposited his weapons in the trunk and swung around to tell Sam which of the twelve bars they were going to and found his brother wasn't behind him after all, Dean was taken more than a little off guard.

"Sam," he hissed, not wanting to shout for fear of unwanted attention. "Where are you, man? I thought you were with me on this."

No answer.

"Sam?" He said it a bit louder this time, and he re-armed himself before shutting the trunk quietly. "Sam, answer me."

"Oh, god, help! Someone help!"

That wasn't Sam. The voice was too tremulous and high-pitched and incautiously loud. But it was followed by a deeper cry of his name, and that was Sam. Dean didn't pause. He ran straight back into the cemetery, visually scanning for his big little brother. Unnecessarily large statuary and shrubbery made that a lot trickier than it should have been. He kept slipping on the wet grass and soggy detritus, and he cursed the caretaker for doing a crappy job at maintenance.

"Sam, where are you, man?"

As a response, he heard a clank, a groan, a pitiful scream and a resounding thud. All pretty much at the same time. Upright grave markers really screwed with acoustics, making it near impossible for him to get a grasp on where the sounds originated. Dean frantically kept looking for any clue. After what seemed like forever, he spotted an obscured beam of light. He headed for it, shotgun at the ready, all the way across to the other side of the graveyard, near a second large gated entrance was located. He found a skinny kid cowering next to a small bench, but no sign of Sam.

"Hey, you all right?" Dean said softly, but gruff as well. It wasn't that he didn't care about this guy, but he needed to find Sam. The guy nodded, shook his head, then nodded again. Great. "What happened?"

"I d-don't really know."

"There was another guy, taller than me, shaggy hair. Way less handsome. He probably saved your ass. Ring any bells?"

The guy nodded again, a grimace on his face.

"Where'd he go?"

"Flew. He f-flew in the air. I've n-never seen that before in real life."

Dean counted to five, trying to remain calm while his insides twisted and turned slightly gelatinous. He couldn't hear Sam making any sounds. That meant one of two things as far as Dean figured, neither of them good. He looked at the terrified guy pointedly, getting a vague, shaky gesticulation in return.

"Over that way," the kid said.

"Don't go anywhere." Dean paused, making sure the kid had heard him. When he was met with more of the same glazed look, he put more edge in his voice. "Hey. Don't go anywhere, okay? I'll probably be right back."

Dean ignored the plaintive "You're leaving me alone?" that floated in the air after him. All he was interested in at the moment was finding Sam okay. And maybe after that, chewing his brother out for taking off alone, even though he was more upset with himself about that. Dean had spent the better part of the night purposely not focusing or seeing things because he didn't want to be there. A cardinal rule of hunting was to always be alert. He knew that. He lived and breathed that. His self-flagellation was not helping him find Sam. He cleared his head and looked harder. He finally saw a bush that looked more like a crumpled pile of clothes.

"Sam," he said, half relieved, half concerned.

Sam lay prone, limbs all over the place, next to a short rectangular marker. Dean squatted down, setting the shotgun next to Sam's, which had obviously fallen out of his brother's grip. He reached out and grasped Sam's shoulder, turning him over gently. He took stock of Sam, glad when he saw no gaping wounds. In the pale moonlight, though, he could make out the start of a tremendous shiner forming around Sam's left eye.

"Hey, little brother." He gave Sam a gentle slap to his right cheek. "Time to wake up."

"Ugh, nuh uh," Sam said, apparently incapable of real speech.

It was better than no response at all. While Sam was rousing more, Dean gave a quick glance back to the other guy, making sure he had stayed put and was okay. The kid looked like a field mouse hiding from an owl, petrified and shit-scared, definitely not going anywhere except underneath the stone bench for protection. Not that it would actually provide protection. Dean turned back to Sam.

"Come on, dude. Wake up."

"Nuh. No."

"Seriously, Sammy."

Dean did not like sitting out in the open like this. He had too many distractions to have to worry about the unknown entity returning for round two. His little brother wasn't the world's best physical fighter, but he always held his own. Dean didn't believe for one second Sam would be felled so quickly by anything. Plus they had that kid to get the hell out of there, too. Dean put as much authority in his voice as possible, hoping Sam would fall back into habits ingrained into both of them by virtue of a John Winchester upbringing.

"Get up and get moving now before whatever's out here comes back for more."

That worked. Sam opened his eyes and sat up, though he swayed a little. Not surprising. Any hit that caused unconsciousness for any amount of time wasn't something to mess around with. Dean clasped his brother by both shoulders. He squinted closely, tried to see if Sam's pupils were all right. They seemed fine, from what he could tell in the dim light and rain. He didn't want to take any chances, not that he could do anything about it in a cemetery.

"You all right?"

"Yeah," Sam said in that familiar thick, just-been-pummeled dazed voice of his. Sad that Dean was so accustomed to the tone to have expected it. "I'm good."

"What were you thinking going off alone like that?" Dean said sharply, letting go of some pent up tension now that he knew Sam was mostly okay. He peered at the bruise on Sam's face. Damn, he saw that it had broken skin after all. Sam might even need a butterfly bandage or maybe a couple of stitches. Rain diluted the blood trailing down Sam's face to a translucent bluish-pink. "That was pretty stupid."

"I actually did call your name first." Sam ducked away when Dean probed at the bleeding cut and bruise. "Dude, watch it. That hurts."

"Sorry." He wasn't.

"You must not have heard me. I saw someone on the oth…" Sam gawped at him, scrambling to his feet after a moment, where he wavered back and forth unsteadily. "Dean, there was someone else in the cemetery."

"I know. He's right over there."

Dean pointed to where he left the guy, not more than ten feet away, and never out of his eyesight. Sam stumbled in that direction.

"You left him alone?"

Dean sighed, grabbed the guns and followed after Sam. He wanted to know what the hell had happened, but that could wait until they got safely away from this place. They fell into automatic routine. He tossed Sam a shotgun. Together, they pulled the guy out from his inadequate hiding place, getting him moving before he could sink down on the bench to continue his mental recovery. It took time for regular people to overcome paranormal events, go figure. It was time Dean didn't want to allow for.

"Come on, let us take you home," Dean said. "What's your name?"

"Wuh. Will Pendleton."

"Well, Will. Where to?"

"Gay."

"Beg pardon?" Dean was all for brevity, but the few words spoken had to make some kind of sense. Will just looked at him, then at Sam, and then back to him again. Dean sighed. That again. "Not that it's a relevant topic for you to bring up, but we're brothers."

"What?" Will said and blinked a couple of times. "Oh. No. No, I live in Gay Hall. It's, you know, a dorm. At the college. Where I go. You know, to school."

"Oh." Dean shot Sam an amused but perturbed look over Will's head. The kid was shocky. "Okay, then."

Will clambered into the backseat when they got to the car, only then noticing both Dean and Sam carried weapons. He looked ready to bolt, so Sam handed his stuff off to Dean and started working his magic. For the simple fact Sam excelled at the sympathetic shit, Dean was glad to have him along. Of course, that was only one of a long list of reasons. He had lots of them, but most of them resided in areas within himself that he hated openly acknowledging. He didn't even like to put them into thought, if he was going to be honest.

By the time Dean stowed away the gear and slid into the driver's seat, Will was more relaxed. Sam was so good at that touchy-feely crap. Dean glanced back at Will, who gave him a wavering, confused smile. Dean cleared his throat, turned back around and just drove.

"So," he said as he circled around campus. He looked at Will through the rearview mirror. "What were you doing in a cemetery in the middle of the night?"

"What were you doing there?" Will countered. Apparently the shock was wearing off. And the guy had more backbone once he was in a safe place. His voice was still a bit shaky, though.

"We're kind of unsolved mysteries buffs," Sam said. He turned in the seat, so he could look directly at Will. "We heard some weird things might have happened out there and wanted to check it out for ourselves."

"With guns?"

"Wuh…well. About that. You see, it's…well…"

"We'll be honest with you, Will," Dean said, interrupting Sam's floundering. It was kind of aggravating at times how the whole faltering-with-his-words thing only made Sam more empathetic, somehow, but it was also usually helpful. "We're amateur ghost hunters. Everyone's got to have a hobby."

"Ghost hunters. Like 'who you gonna call?'"

"Yeeeah. Not really." Dean cringed.

He saw Sam do the same. Amateur ghost hunters, what was he thinking? That was almost as bad as the fake names Sam had come up with. Now that Ghostbusters had been mentioned, though, Sam did kind of remind Dean of the tall, nerdy one. Or the maybe goofy, earnest one. Or maybe a love child between the two, a thought Dean found equal parts funny and disturbing.

"We heard that Meghan Schmidt girl was found around there, so we figured it would be a good spot to check for paranormal activity. I mean, no one really knows what happened to her."

"They…" Will paused.

Dean could practically feel Sam dialing his empathy up, and knew the expression his brother had adopted without even verifying. Instead, he glanced at Will in the mirror and watched the guy look at Sam and relax. Caught. Like a frigging fly to honey. Dean smiled, filled with a sudden pang at how much he'd missed having his brother around.

"They say she was scared to death. Like, literally."

"Who's they and how did they arrive at that conclusion?" Dean said.

"A guy in my roommate's chem class is roommates with the boyfriend of the roommate of the dead girl and he said when the girlfriend went looking and found the dead girl just, like, frozen. Like the dead girl had been screaming or something when she, y'know, died."

"Iris?" Sam asked softly.

Dean noted something familiar in the tone. He shot Sam a look, while Will just stared blankly. Sam shook his head a little, as if clearing it. Dean didn't have to speculate very hard about what ghosts were flying around his brother's head.

"What do you think could do something like that?" Dean kept his voice casual.

"I dunno, man. That big guy or whatever it was that tossed you around, maybe?" Will snorted and muttered something unintelligible but probably rude. "You're the quote unquote ghost hunters."

"Right." Sam paused to look all attentive and sincere the way he always managed. "We have thoughts, of course, but figured maybe other ideas have been circulating around campus."

"Like, what do you mean?"

"Never mind," Dean said.

It was pretty clear Will didn't really know anything more than he'd already shared, and frankly Dean didn't care enough to find out why he'd been out in a graveyard at midnight. Sam huffed impatiently, barely noticeable irritation to anyone who wasn't Dean. If Sam was throwing up his proverbial hands, then Dean knew there was no point in doing anything but getting the guy home. Besides, he wanted to get a closer look at Sam's bruised face, check for signs of concussion even though his brother seemed fine. Sam turned his body until he faced front again. The car fell silent apart from sporadic directions provided by their passenger. Dean turned where told, eventually pulling into the south parking lot of the UMM campus.

"If you could drop me off right up there," Will said, leaning up, the vinyl seat squeaking with his movement, pointing to a short set of cement stairs, "That would be awesome."

Dean pulled the car up to the curb and held back from kicking Will to it. There was no particular reason, really. The kid just bugged him. He glanced over to Sam and his bruised, bleeding face. Oh, yeah. Will hadn't shown the appropriate level of gratitude for Sam saving him. In fact, the guy had been a regular smartass.

"And if you could not mention this to anyone," Dean said as Will got out of the car. "That would be awesome."

"The scene would be compromised if more people knew we were out there looking for something," Sam added. "You understand."

Of course Will understood. He nodded sagely and said, "You don't want people to think you're crazy."

Close enough. Dean suspected that by morning at least half the student body would know about Will's nocturnal adventures, and about his and Sam's craziness. He reached back, grabbing a sleeve before Will ducked all the way out of the car.

"Something like that," Dean said, making his accompanying smile ominous. "Crazy or not, just remember we've got weapons, Will."

Will paled and gulped, extricating himself from Dean's grip. Little Willy, Willy did go home.

The plot thickens...