Standard disclaimer still applies. Truly, and sadly.

A/N: Thanks again for reading! I made and passed my lofty goal of ten reviews. Whee! I'm starting to get nervous, though. I made another commitment, thinking I was racing toward the finish line with this story, but I'm only slowly plugging away. /chews fingernails/

Last time: The boys know what and where, but they don't know who, when, why or how. They really oughta get crackin'.

Sweet Caroline, Chapter 6

It never really got easier for Sam, not on the inside. What came naturally to Dean was a struggle for Sam even when he knew this was where he was supposed to be, and what he was supposed to be doing. He shifted around on his feet, trying not to look as nervous as he felt. One of the deputies kept staring at his black eye, attention shifting from it to his shaggy haircut. He stood up straighter, wishing he'd combed his hair better or slicked it back.

"Agent Krieger and I were asked to come down and make sure things were running smoothly," Dean was saying, all confidence and brisk intelligence. "Have you determined cause of death for the second victim?"

"Tyler," Sheriff Willis said. Unshaven, tired, and looking older than he probably was, the man went from slouching slightly to square-shouldered and hard in the blink of an eye. "The second victim's name is…was Tyler Hokanson, Agent Morrison. I just had to tell his parents."

Both Sam and Dean flinched, which Sam hoped lent them more humanity. Small town cops generally didn't like feds coming into their investigations, so every little bit helped. Sam still thought it would have been a better idea to wait until after hours to break in and get what they needed, but even in more remote areas like this security was increasing. He had pushed that envelope, and tore it up, by enrolling Dean in college. Plus he thought Dean secretly liked the power trip of impersonating a fed. He glanced over at his brother, and amended that; there was nothing secret about the way Dean liked the power – he got some perverse pleasure out of playing authority figures, yet grumbling about the suit all the while.

"We meant no disrespect, sir," Sam said. "We're here to help."

The sheriff's stance relaxed, but he didn't go back into a full slouch. Sam caught Dean looking over at him with an expression of approval he found disconcerting and, at the same time, strangely satisfying. Most of what he could remember from when he was a kid, in relation to hunting, was feeling like the odd man out. Dean's support made him feel maybe he wasn't as bad at this as he thought. But he didn't know if that made him feel any better, because he wasn't sure he wanted to be good at it.

"Frankly, I'm not sure what you can do that we couldn't. Like the girl last week, it doesn't appear any foul play was involved." The sheriff picked up two manila folders and handed them to Dean, who handed them to Sam without a pause. "The coroner's early findings don't show a mark on Tyler, unlike your partner, there."

Sheriff Willis pointed up to Sam's face. Sam reached up and fingered the bruise, ducking his head and shrugging up his shoulders. He couldn't tell if the sheriff bought their story of a chase gone bad, considering the Minneapolis FBI office probably didn't see a ton of action. He also had a moment of panic about the camera, which had to have been viewed by now. For all he knew, his face was all over it. His fingerprints sure as hell were. Willis might be trying to trap them somehow.

"No sign of a struggle?" Dean asked, sounding calm and assured as if the idea of entrapment hadn't crossed his mind the way Sam knew it had.

"Oh, there were plenty of signs," the deputy spoke up, running a hand through his shock of sandy brown hair. "The kid ran for his life."

"But…" Sam started to say.

"Graham, we have no evidence to support that," Willis cut him off. He peered up at Dean and Sam, eyes bloodshot and grim. Sam would bet money, too, that Willis didn't fully believe what he was saying. "There are signs of what could have been a struggle, but it's just as likely nothing. Tyler's got no defensive wounds, neither did the girl. No one killed them."

"You've secured the scene?" Dean asked. Willis nodded. "Good. We'd like to go out there ourselves after we go over the evidence and maybe take a look at the vic…Tyler. Then I'm sure we'll be out of your hair. You're right – it doesn't seem like more than tragedy. There's probably nothing for us to do here."

"Graham, show them where they need to go."

"Yes, sir."

Graham didn't look to be that much older than Dean, and was short and solidly built. He walked them out of the Willis' office, down a narrow corridor to a stairwell at the end of it. The evidence lockup was in the basement, nothing more than a small closet. He and Dean lingered back while Graham checked it out and then led them to an equally small room a few steps down the hall.

"I still say the kid was running scared," Graham said as he set the evidence box down on a short table. "I've never seen…"

Graham stopped, face paling so much he looked seconds from passing out. He swallowed a few times. Sam knew the feeling. He had been ten years old when he'd first seen a dead person, and he was the lucky one in the family. Every single dead body since then made his insides look exactly like Graham did on the outside right now. He gave the deputy a sad, understanding smile, garnering a cleared throat and straightening of shoulders as Graham pulled himself together.

"It's all in there."

The box was small. Dean opened it, and they both looked in. All it contained were the kid's clothes, bagged and tagged. No camera. Sam was confused for a moment, but then relaxed for the first time since they'd entered the building. Only seconds later he started thinking about what might have happened to the camera, because someone on scene should have found it. He shared an look with Dean, who nodded.

"This isn't much to go on," Dean said, holding up an evidence bag, a black school T-shirt with a faded tiger in orange plastisol ink on the back. He dropped it, shuffling through the few other evidence bags halfheartedly.

"No shit, hey," Graham said. "I'm telling you, though, those kids looked petrified, both of them. If I didn't know any better, I'd say they were literally scared to death. I mean, who has ever heard of a healthy nineteen-year-old girl just ceasing to breathe?"

Deputy Graham had no clue how right he was, if Dean's idea was right. Sam's gut told him it was. Sam flipped open the top manila folder, Tyler's. Photos from the scene slid toward the edge, threatening to dump onto the floor. He clapped down on them awkwardly. Graham reached to help him, but pulled back when he saw a glimpse of the images. Sam didn't blame him. Trying not to react himself because a fed wouldn't, Sam studied the photos. Tyler Hokanson had probably been an average-looking kid, maybe even handsome. The ugly visage left from his last moments gave no indication of that. His features were twisted and locked into a mask of fear and horror, terrible to look at even for someone well versed in awful things. Tyler looked like a statue himself, skin gray and body stiff. The boy wasn't next to statuary, though it seemed as if he'd tried to crawl under the same stone bench Will Pendelton had.

"It's rare, but it's got to happen," Dean said, but even he couldn't manage to make his assertion sound reasonable. Graham snorted. "The coroner must have noted that."

"He did." Graham shook his head. "I can't shake the feeling something weird is going on around here. If no one killed these kids, what did? Something had to."

If they didn't handle this tonight, Sam thought maybe the next victim wouldn't be a curious teenager. Many people experienced supernatural things, distantly, and managed to tell themselves they were overreacting. Graham didn't appear to be one of those people. Good instinct for a law enforcement officer to have, even if that particular skill wouldn't be needed much out in rural areas. Not such a good instinct right now. Graham didn't know how to deal with something like this.

"I have to be honest, Deputy Graham. They seem like nothing more than tragic coincidences," Sam said, hoping he and Dean weren't protesting too much. "The best thing the community can do is move forward."

Sam knew all there was to know about moving forward, and yet not moving at all. He was a hypocrite for suggesting that to anyone. Dean stepped closer to him, as if he knew just where Sam's train of thought was going. Sam was projecting. His brother merely flipped a photo toward him, left finger pointing to a dark smudge in the corner.

"Move forward?" Graham spluttered. He narrowed his eyes, gave a shove to one of the folding chairs rimming the table and walked out, muttering, "Goddamned feds."

"Well, I don't think he likes you very much," Dean said.

"He doesn't have to." Sam stared at the door for a moment, before taking the photo from Dean and peering at it more closely. "What is that?"

"I think it's our vengeful spirit. Statue. Spirit statue. Whatever."

It wasn't a very good picture. The focus wasn't on the supernatural, but rather Meghan Schmidt, looking as grotesque as Tyler Hokanson in her death pose. It looked as if she were reaching for a small plastic thermos, a girlish cartoon character's face smiling up at Sam. He put the photo back in the manila folder, image side down. Dean was probably right about the smudge, but Sam couldn't look at it anymore. He hoped the victims' parents hadn't been allowed to see these, or the bodies when they were in that state. Jess on the ceiling, shocked and white and bloody flashed back into his mind, unbidden. He closed his eyes.

"Okay," Sam said, "I don't think we need to confirm this with a visit to the morgue."

To his relief, Dean didn't argue. They found Graham pacing out in the hall, anger still on his face. Dean thanked him for his help, while Sam warded off the guy's evil-eyed glare. He thought it was an extreme reaction to Sam's advice, but then these were extreme circumstances for this small town. He and Dean left the sheriff's office, heading to the cemetery without discussing it. They didn't discuss anything at all, actually, and Sam figured they were probably on similar pages after seeing both the high school boy and Meghan Schmidt's crime scene photos.

The cemetery was taped off when they arrived, but there were no cops on site. Sam was relieved. They could work so much faster if they didn't have to wade around in bullshit. There were a couple gawkers outside the cemetery fences, but their curious stares should be easy enough to shield from. Dean tore his jacket off and wrestled out of his tie, tossing both into the backseat. Sam did the same, draping his over the back of his seat.

"What do you think happened to the camera?" Sam asked while Dean dug through the trunk for basic supplies. It worried him that the cops didn't have it almost as much as he would have worried if they did. "Do you think someone else was out here with Tyler Hokanson?"

"I don't know, Sam," Dean said, shrugging.

As far as loose ends went, it unfortunately wasn't the worst thing they'd ever left behind. Still, it left Sam with a bad feeling. He tried not to dwell on it. His attention was quickly drawn to their surroundings, as they approached the spot they'd been at the night before. It looked different in the daylight, but familiar. Dean had the EMF up and at the ready again. Sam hoped there would be more activity than there had been last night, prior to the attack. Nothing more than a few blips came out of the stupid thing.

"Damnit." Dean smacked the EMF a couple times, like he was trying to get it to work better.

"All we really need is to narrow it down. If we can find nearby statues, we can look up histories much easier with names," Sam said. "We don't have to find the specific one right here, right now."

"Yeah. The shape in the photo was over there." Dean pointed, walking toward the general area. "But there's nothing here but plain headstones and flat markers."

"Maybe it's mobile?" Sam thought that was possible, and not the only thing about this case that strayed from the norm. He lifted a hand to his bruised face again. "It must be bound to the cemetery grounds, though."

"Good thing. Can you imagine the havoc it would wreak, stumbling through town like a freaking zombie?" Dean said, mimicking a B-movie zombie.

Sam smiled despite how unfunny the actual situation was.

"Brainnnnz," he said.

Dean laughed, and for thirty seconds the weight lifted off Sam's shoulders. The moment passed too soon. He and Dean got back to work, looking for obvious indicators of an active, malevolent spirit. Actually, all Sam wanted was to get the names on memorial statues close to the point of incident. Dean had been right. There weren't many to choose from, and most were dated well after the first sightings of the weeping statue.

"Here's one," Dean called. "Nothing on the EMF, though."

Sam sauntered over. EMF or no EMF, it couldn't hurt to check it out. The marker was well worn, face nearly eaten away by the elements. If he squinted and tilted his head, he might say it looked as though tear tracks lined the statue's sad face. He raised his eyebrows and glanced at Dean. It was unusual enough to find a statue of a man in a cemetery, let alone one that fit the weeping statue legend.

"Donald Petracek here looks kind of emotional. Write that name down."

He'd have to put it to memory. His small notepad was in the inner pocket of his suit jacket, back in the car. Sam wandered to the left, the direction he vaguely recalled Will had been running from. He stopped in front of a monument, a woman wearing a simple dress, her head covered by an Amish-looking bonnet. Its condition, like the first statue, was somewhat deteriorated. He leaned down, reading the inscription. Caroline Sellke, 1880-1901 and underneath, Sweet Caroline, taken long before her time. Sister, friend, teacher. Nothing ominous about that, but Sam suddenly felt as though he were being watched. The hair on the back of his neck raised, and he shivered. He straightened, glancing cautiously up at the statue. His imagination was running away from him.

"Got another possibility," Sam said.

Dean came over, frowning at the statue. "I wonder what's with the hat."

"I dunno. We'll find out."

"If we've only got two candidates," Dean said, chewing on his lip. "I don't know why we don't just take care of both of them right here, right now."

"Broad daylight, Dean," Sam said. He pointed to the street, where he'd seen several more people walking by slowly since he and Dean had been out there. "While we wait for nightfall, we might as well find out which one it is."

"Fine." Dean didn't look happy. Sam heard his brother's stomach growl. "You hungry? I could eat first."

"Nah, I'm good." That wasn't true, but he didn't want to take the time. "I saw a café in the student center. It's close to the campus library, so you can grab a bite before you join me."

"Works for me."

The whole way out of the cemetery, Sam couldn't shake the feeling someone or something was watching him. And it wasn't the curious spectators on the street.