Standard disclaimer still applies.

A/N: Thanks again for reading. I'll eventually probably replace these chapters with edited versions - content won't change, but I'm going to clean it up a little. :)

Last time, the mystery supernatural thing snagged another victim. Sam's upset. Dean's upset. Everyone's upset.

Sweet Caroline, Chapter 5

Dean and Sam had decided they'd double as students and FBI agents, the latter of which was much more workable for Dean. It would be tricky, but they played dual roles often as needed. For the moment, though, they'd lay off the FBI routine until the coroner and sheriff's offices had settled a few hours. Depending on what they uncovered through old-fashioned research, they might be able to avoid any face-to-face contact by breaking in after hours. There was no need to interact with authorities for information if they already had it.

The cemetery was cordoned off now, so they had no idea if their camera was still there. Sam suspected it was in evidence lock-up, and Dean suspected Sam was right. All the more reason to break in to the sheriff's office; there was no way the police would hand it over, unless he and Sam were prepared to pretend the FBI was taking over the case. That would be an accident waiting for a place to happen.

Long story short, Dean had been stuck with professor duty despite the new death, and he had been right about it sucking.

"It was at this time the school went from agricultural to public liberal arts university, bringing a much needed boost to the community's economy," Professor Walter O'Reilly droned on, while Dean struggled with the urge to pick up the ornamental pen displayed on the desk and jam it into his eye socket.

"Wow, that's really fascinating," Dean said.

The elvish little professor peered at him through thick, brown-rimmed glasses, frowning, no small cue Dean's sincerity wasn't convincing. He really hoped Sam was having more luck, because this venture was a bust. Professor O'Reilly had a heavy bias toward the school's history. Any attempts Dean had made to steer the lesson to local lore had been thwarted.

"You have no interest in this at all, do you?" O'Reilly said, sighing. "It's too bad your brother couldn't have come himself. I hope he's feeling better soon, and I also hope to see him in some of my classes."

"You can count on it." Dean stood up, extending a hand. Even if the professor wanted to yammer at him for another hour, and he looked like he very well could, Dean was done. "I appreciate your time. I'll make sure I tell him everything you've shared with me. He'll probably want to come see you himself."

"Tell him to stop by during my office hours, anytime I happen to be here would be fine. Or he can make an appointment. I'm always happy to talk history with fellow lovers."

"I'll let him know, sir. Thanks again."

O'Reilly's small hand was damp. Dean cringed, managing to pull his expression into a feeble smile as he gave the professor one quick pump and released from the clammy grip. Once this was over and done with, Sam had some retribution coming for sticking him with this task. Dean flashed back to the horrified look on Sam's face when they learned about the second death, reconsidering his need for revenge. If Sam was even remotely the same guy he was pre-Stanford, the guilt was eating him up, enough punishment for this mild inconvenience. More.

Dean rubbed his hand down the front of his jeans and left the cluttered office. He wasn't exactly guilt-free himself. If it had been up to him, he and Sam wouldn't have scoped out the cemetery last night at all, and someone else would be just as dead. The thing to focus on now was making sure no one else died because of this. He strode through the musty corridor of Camden Hall until he made his escape. Outside, the fresh air smelled like freedom. Glancing at his watch, Dean scowled. Nearly an hour wasted in that academic hole, and he had nothing to show for it. If he knew his geek brother, Sam would have uncovered something by now, if there were something to uncover.

Dean kept his pace brisk as he walked toward the west parking lot. If Sam hadn't thought to get them a student parking permit, he'd have had to hike across campus. He always planned for a quick escape when he was in dangerous situations and places. As far as he was concerned a college campus qualified, even if it also brought lots of eye candy. He made it to the car in less than five minutes, and was at the small public library fifteen after that, taking into account a drive through McDonald's for fast coffee for himself and his brother. He found Sam at one of two microfiche machines, his good eye glazed over and his bad eye looking ugly in purple.

"Hey," Dean said. He set Sam's coffee down, chucking a few sugar packets on the table as well.

"Hey." Sam looked up, blinking a couple times before picking up his paper cup with a small smile. "Thanks. Any luck?"

"It was the longest, most useless hour of my life, man. The professor was a waste of time. What have you got here?"

"It's slow going," Sam said. "We're lucky the library has everything on microfiche, but even so I've got nothing yet."

Dean sighed with disappointment. These small time gigs and limited resources sometimes hindered Sam's research-fu. It was just their luck that this seemed to be the case now. Dean didn't take his jacket off when he sat down at the adjacent microfiche, like if he did it would jinx a speedy research session. He glanced at Sam's screen, seeing his brother had started at the oldest archived newspaper and was working his way to present. Dean would start at the most recent date and move backwards. They'd meet in the middle, unless one of them found something sooner. Sam nodded at him though Dean hadn't said anything, more of an understanding and trust that Dean knew how to research. They were still finding their footing with each other again. Moments like this, when they just clicked without any words being spoken, made Dean hopeful in a way that also made him nervous.

He settled in. It didn't take long for Dean's eyes to be as glazed as Sam's. Internet research was one thing, but hunting and pecking through old newspaper headlines blew chunks. Skimming was difficult to do, for one thing, and for another it was very possible what they were looking for wasn't a big headline. Every page got a once over for key words and photos, but so far Dean was coming up with no pattern of mysterious deaths. For that matter, he was blanking on anything useful.

"Hey, take a look at this," Sam said after a while.

Dean stretched his back and shoulders before leaning over. A quick glance at Sam's screen didn't reveal anything obvious. He squinted at Sam, seeking clarification. This always went so much better when Sam simply told him what he'd found rather than making Dean try to figure it out on his own. Sam rolled his eyes.

"Okay, what am I looking for?" Dean said.

"This." Sam pointed to the lower left corner of the screen. "It's not an exact match, but there's a pattern. You have to admit it's a little weird. In the early nineteen hundreds, there were multiple reports of a statue in Summit Cemetery that wept."

A statue that…Dean couldn't even think it, it was so ridiculous. There was no way they were dealing with the freaking weeping Virgin Mary phenomenon. Even if they were, it wasn't like sweet ol' Mother-of-God Mary would kill anyone. Not that he believed in her. Or her virginity, her crying statues, appearances on tortillas, or plate glass window reflections of her fair face.

"Sam."

"I know," Sam said.

"Sam, people mistaking condensation on a statue for tears isn't quite the same as people ending up dead," Dean continued on, enunciating carefully. That was a mistake. Sam stiffened, jerkily turning away. Dean didn't blame him. He was talking to his brother like he was insane. But… "Seriously, you have to admit you're reaching."

"I said I know, Dean." Sam looked back at him, reaching for his cup of coffee and lifting it to his mouth. He took one swallow, pulled a face and set it back down. "But it's a place to start. The monument could be dedicated to someone. We can dig up her history, maybe."

"What, you don't think it's Mary, mother of Jesus?"

Sam glared at him.

"It's not even a Catholic cemetery." Sam paused to look thoughtful. "Maybe there were deaths, but there's no fixed pattern with them. Maybe these last victims were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe their deaths were…crimes of opportunity. Maybe where we need to look is in the cemetery's history. There must be old records somewhere."

That was a lot of maybes. They couldn't work a case on maybes. Dean frowned. Maybes were better than nothing, and at this point were all he and Sam had. He frowned some more, attention fixed on the cuts and bruises on Sam's face. There was something tickling at his memory. It had nothing to do with a weeping statue, but something. Sam said he didn't know if he got the bruise because something hit him or because he hit the headstone. Stone. Monument.

"What?" Sam said.

"What, what?" Dean pulled back a little.

"You're staring at me, you freak. Blink or something. You're making me uncomfortable."

"Let me see Dad's journal for a second," Dean said, gesturing while Sam rifled through his bag and handed the journal to him. "I think there's…"

Dean trailed off, popping the clasp and flipping the pages with haste. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, but he'd know it when he saw it. Sam watched him, smart enough to know questions weren't necessary; Dean would share his train of thought when he was good and ready. He flashed by page after page of his father's heavy writing and rough pictures, somehow emanating the hidden desperation which had fueled the composition. Every time he looked at the journal Dean wondered where his father was, if he was okay. And every time he had to push those thoughts away, carry forward and stay focused.

He stopped thumbing when he reached a picture of a large monument, reading the scrawling information next to it. He tilted the book toward Sam, who leaned and shifted to read it. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Sam nod once. They'd have to verify a few…a lot of things before they could confirm Dean's hunch was right. But it fit closely enough to be a legitimate lead.

"You really think it's a version of the Black Agnes legend?"

"The first death fits it to a T, Sam," Dean said, tapping the scrawled text of the journal. "A girl at a slumber party is dared to spend the night in a cemetery, and she ends up dead."

"Yeah. The only difference is Meghan Schmidt had no idea what she was getting herself into. The story behind this particular statue must have gotten lost in history. It'll be that much more of a pain in the ass to track it down," Sam said.

"There can't be that many old statues in the cemetery. A town this size?" This was starting to look like an easy case. Find and destroy the statue, and that should eliminate the problem. "We should find out what the cause of death was for whoever they found this morning. My money's on heart attack, or something the coroner can't figure out."

"It was the sixteen-year-old wrestler." Sam looked at him gloomily. "I heard the librarian talking about it earlier."

"Damn," Dean said.

Somehow it was always that much worse when kids were involved. The first vic hadn't been much more than that herself. The worst thing about it was that it was all a fluke, no local lore had created curiosity too irresistible for teenagers. If Meghan Schmidt and her friends hadn't played Truth or Dare, if someone hadn't come up with that dare, two kids wouldn't be dead right now. Chances were good something like this wouldn't have happened for years, if at all. He and Sam had to end it tonight. The cops wouldn't stake out the cemetery forever, and sooner or later someone else would go out there. If the legend had been lost it was now found, more vivid than ever. Thanks to them telling Will Pendelton they were ghost hunters, at least one person was probably digging up the same information they were looking for.

Sam's expression was a mix of misery and determination. Dean had to get his brother focused on the determination part, just like he had to stay focused himself. It shouldn't be too hard. All he had to do was get Sam working on something and he wouldn't have time to think about anything else. There was plenty to be done before they could say without a doubt they were looking at a grieving spirit inhabiting a statue. One thing that worried him was the attack on Sam last night had been aggressive. Dad's journal didn't mention anything like any of the Black Agnes' physically assaulting anyone. Not with punches.

"The school library might have better resources," Sam said. For the first time since they started on this case, Sam didn't look that happy to play student. "One of us should check it out before someone else goes looking for it."

"You say that like it's going to be anyone but you." Dean flashed a grin. "I think I'll make nice with the cops while you get your geek on."

"Hey, man, you were the one who figured this angle out. Don't pretend you're an aw-shucks-I'm-just-lucky kind of guy. Maybe you should take the ball and run with it."

Sam smiled at him, a barely there thing that made him look about six years old. For a second, Dean was back in time, to when that kind of faithful, little-boy smile was something Sam gave him every day. He couldn't ever count on that from Dad, but up until Sam started threatening to leave and those years he was gone, Dean was never without all of the trust he needed or wanted. Back in the present, they didn't have time for him to think about things from his lost childhood.

"Nice try," he said. "The ball's all yours."

"Or we could both go to the sheriff's office, then campus."

Dean nodded. They worked best as tag-team anyway. The truth was Dean hated trips to the morgue, and having Sam with him would help seeing a dead kid on a cold slab more bearable.