Sweet Caroline, Chapter 8

The research would have gone even faster if Sam hadn't kept mentally revisiting his disastrous conversation with Iris. He hadn't expected to see her again, and to have it go so badly filled him with regret. Knowing how she felt in losing someone close to her, the last thing he had wanted was to cause her or anyone more pain. That kind of thing weighed heavily on his mind anyway, but he knew he couldn't let it. He had a job to do, whether he wanted that job or not.

And right now, he had to find Dean. Sam knew which spirit was killing people. It had been fairly easy to determine though the records were old and sparse, once he was able to concentrate. He and Dean should be able to take care of it tonight, before anyone else got hurt. The only wrinkle in that plan was Will putting up the website, a surefire way to stir up interest. Sam dug out his cell and speed dialed his brother. It rang four times before Dean picked up.

"Hey," Dean said, "I'm in the middle of something."

"I take it you found Will?"

"Sure did." There was a muffled thump in the background. "We're coming to an understanding as we speak."

"Tell me you're not hurting him," Sam said. The last thing they needed was assault charges. This case was getting messier by the minute. Scuffling sounds were the only reply Sam got. He spoke more deliberately, "Dean. Tell. Me. You're. Not. Hurting. Him."

The student worker at the circulation desk caught his words, looking at him with alarmed eyes. Giving her a shrug and a crooked smile he hoped was enough to allay her concern, Sam scooted out of the library before he had to yell at Dean to stop bludgeoning Will to death.

"I'm not hurting him. Really. Hey, you all done?"

"Yeah, I got what we need. If you're done, meet you at the car." Another thump, louder this time, and a dim shout. What the hell? "Dean, you're really not hurting the guy?"

"No, I'm not. I need you to do something for me here, so come on over. I was just going to call you. I got caught up. I'm at the dorm. Gay 2." Dean paused there. Sam could virtually see the grin on his brother's face, and glared even though Dean couldn't see him. "Third floor, room 351."

"I'll be there in a few minutes. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"I find your lack of faith disturbing."

"Star Wars, Dean?"

"Good line, Sam."

True enough. Sam snorted, clicking his phone shut. He started walking faster, not convinced Dean wasn't doing something unpleasant to Will. He hurried through the picturesque little campus, eyes to the ground after he caught more than one person staring at him. He was being paranoid. It was probably that he was wearing sunglasses on a cloudy day. The website couldn't have circulated that much, and his face hadn't appeared in the vid at all. Still, he tucked his head down like a turtle, shoved his hands in his pockets and lengthened his stride.

Once at Gay Hall he was glad Dean had given him specifics, which helped him loop around to the right wing and floor easily. Sam was surprised to find the dorm room door open when he got there. Not that he doubted Dean's assertion he hadn't beat the crap out of Will for screwing them over. Really. He poked his head in, finding Will, Dean and another kid who was built like a tank playing some crazy game with a rolled up sock, a garbage can and strange positions. Will was doing a headstand at the far wall, lifting his right hand to take a shot at the garbage can and failing.

"Whore!" cried the big kid Sam didn't know. "You're so going down."

"Uh," Sam said. "Hello?"

"Sammy," Dean greeted. "Come on in."

Sam figured out what they were doing. Horse. He'd been off working and feeling like shit about Iris while Dean played a game with someone who'd caused them moderate-to-large problems. The irritation building up in him fizzled when he saw his brother's face, absent of the chronic worry lines Dean had developed about Dad disappearing off the face of the planet. Sam couldn't remember the last time Dean had fun that didn't include scoring with women, just goofing off. He didn't quite understand how Dean could be friendly with someone he'd wanted to kill an hour ago, but he also couldn't hold it against his brother.

"Hey. What's going on?" he said lightly, so Dean couldn't mistake it for irritation.

"Just a second."

Dean moved to the far wall, where he mimicked the position Will had just executed. He made the shot easily, flipping back over and joining Sam by the door in one fluid motion and with an impish smile on his face.

"I got the camera." Dean pointed to the camera where it sat on a cluttered desk. "I also had Will take down the video and put up a message about it being a hoax."

"Actually, I just asked the site owner to delete the post. Not that I had much choice," Will said sourly, betraying the happy-happy-feel-good vibe in the room wasn't entirely what it seemed. He stared up at Sam. "And wow, your face looks terrible."

"Thanks," Sam said, self-consciously fiddling with his sunglasses. "It could have happened to you, or maybe something worse."

Will became uncomfortable and nervous, scooting away from them again. Dean might be all buddy-buddy with the guy, but that didn't mean Sam had to be. He wasn't in the mood to fraternize or make nice, especially with this kid, if he were going to be honest. Dean gave him a shrug and a wry look. It wasn't often Sam got to be the bad cop and Dean the good. He found he kind of enjoyed it.

"Making friends, Dean?"

"Influencing people, Sam." Sam wondered how much of the influence was natural charm, and how much was force. He noticed the big kid had a necktie fixed around one wrist. "But I think it might be a good idea for you to check that Will doesn't have a copy stashed somewhere."

"What, you don't trust me?" Will asked.

"No," he and Dean answered Will as one.

"I'm on it," Sam continued. "I'll check the hard drive and check with the site's webmaster to make sure there isn't a copy out there somewhere."

"I think I'm insulted," Will said. "I told you I took it down."

Sam moved to the laptop on the same cluttered desk the camera was on. Short of wiping the whole computer clean, he wasn't sure he could track down every single place Will might have saved a copy of the vid. A quick look at the history and cookies gave him fairly good ideas where to look, but who was to say it hadn't been snagged and uploaded to a thousand different places by now? All they could really do at this point was hope for the best.

"Look, kid, two people are dead. This ain't a joke," Dean said. "Trust me when I tell you we're being very patient. Kind, even. Now, I like you. I do. You've got spunk. But if you screw with us anymore, I can't guarantee I'll stay nice."

"H-holy shit," the roommate said in awe. "The whole ghost thing, it's for real?"

"It doesn't matter," Sam said absently, listening with a distracted ear. "Real or not, people are dying out there. The last thing anyone needs is to go wandering out in a cemetery in the middle of the night."

Except him and Dean, because, well, that was their job. Even they weren't exactly safe out there, but at least they were prepared for big, bad, ugly things to come at them, usually. Sometimes. Okay, maybe not, but they did know how to fight.

"Like Will did yesterday."

"Exactly like that, Thad. Will's damned lucky we were there, and to repay us he put up a video for everyone to see. It's attracting all sorts of attention," Dean said. Gone was the fun-loving, basketball-tossing good guy, though even while he spoke menacingly, his tone was almost reassuring at the same time. "Now that's not very nice, is it?"

"No, I guess not," Thad said, then rolled his eyes at his roommate. "Jeez, Will. Buddy, I love you like a brother but you can be a tool."

"Hey, you weren't there when these guys were talking all kinds of crazy," Will said. "But I'm sorry now, all right? I didn't want anyone else to get hurt, I just thought it was cool."

"Real cool," Dean muttered, following up with things not fit for civilized conversation.

Will brushed Sam away from the laptop, taking over the keyboard for himself. In a few quick strokes, he did what Sam would have done only after a thorough search and a bit of time – removed several copies of the footage. Clearly their distrust was well placed in Will Pendelton, Sam thought. Sam wouldn't put it past the guy to have kept a copy beyond that, but he had to think that the personal visit from him and Dean finally got through to the guy. He nudged his way back to the laptop and did a quick back check on what he'd watched Will do.

"Sam?"

"I've done all I can," he said, glaring at Will when he bristled and opened his mouth, probably to claim credit. Sam felt mildly satisfied when the intimidation tactics worked, Will cowing without a word. Again, that was usually Dean's shtick. He picked up the camera, putting it in his bag. "I don't think Will here will pull the same stunt again. Will you?"

"No?"

"No?" Dean parroted.

"No. Definitely not. No way," Will amended. "Wouldn't dream of it."

"That's what we like to hear."

Dean clapped Will on the shoulders with force that made Sam wince. Will paled and wiped a hand across his suddenly sweaty forehead.

"It's been great. Wish I could stay to kick both your asses in Horse, but we've got work to do," Dean said.

"Be good, Will," Sam said, pausing for a moment, "Or we'll be back."

With that, they left Will and Thad in scared silence, and worked their way through the maze of rooms to the elevator.

"Well, I think that worked, but we should keep an eye on him until we can get rid of the problem. After that, who cares – the cemetery should be safe," Dean said. Sam nodded. He'd monitor the website. "Nice line, by the way. 'Be good, or we'll be back.' I'm going to remember that."

"Thanks."

They continued on without speaking, though Sam had a lot to share. They couldn't risk a conversation about vengeful spirits in the great, wide open, considering how crappy their afternoon had gone. It would be an invitation for more disaster. Unfortunately, Gay Hall was on the opposite side of campus from where they'd parked. Sam knew Dean liked quick escape routes, and in this case he was in agreement with his brother. The longer he spent on campus, the more he was afraid of running into Iris, and the more he thought about running into Iris the worse he felt about all of it. It was illogical.

"Tell me what you got," Dean said when they'd finally steered through campus to the car.

Exposition time, Sam thought. Sometimes he resented that the exposition always fell to him.

"Of the two possible candidates, I'm pretty sure our Black Agnes look-alike is Caroline Sellke. She was a local teacher at a small country school, in the middle of the 19th century when Minnesota was just a territory. She was apparently well loved and respected," Sam said, pulling everything from memory. It wasn't difficult. The story wasn't exactly made of happiness. "Back then, Morris was still a railroad town and there was a lot of flux in population."

Dean waved Sam on impatiently. Sam rolled his eyes. Not only did Dean get to go off to do other things while he was in researchland, but then he acted like a jerk when Sam had to do the obligatory exposition. He couldn't win for losing.

"One spring morning her students arrived at school and found her brutally murdered. I mean Lizzie Borden took an axe and gave her mother forty whacks kind of brutal. The classroom was torn up good, so it's apparent Caroline did not go gently."

Sam didn't mention his theory that some kind of sexual assault had probably also occurred. That wasn't in any of the records he'd been able to find, but forensic science wasn't exactly stellar back then, if it even existed. The thought of it alone made Caroline's death that much worse.

"Damn," Dean said. "Poor girl. And those poor kids. Hello, trauma."

"Yeah, something like that is pretty damned shocking today. Imagine how horrifying it was for the town more than a hundred years ago," Sam said. This example of human depravity made him squeamish. It was so much easier to think evil only came in supernatural packaging. "No one had obvious motive."

"Everyone loved her."

"Everyone loved her," Sam repeated with a quick nod. "So much a local businessman paid for the monument, despite her religious leanings. She would have had a very simple marker. She was a Reformed Mennonite."

"A what, now?"

"It's a religion. Think sort of watered-down Amish. They're still around this area. From what the librarian in town said, they actually own a fair share of the city." Sam shrugged. This wasn't too relevant. "But it explains the bonnet on the statue. Reformed Mennonites today still dress plainly, and women usually cover their hair with scarves. I know you were dying to have that question answered."

"Huh," Dean said, looking thoughtful. "So if none of the settlers did it, who did?"

"The popular theory was that some drifter came into town on the rail, and then left on it, with blood on his hands."

"Pit stop for murder. Nice. Unless someone had a deep, dark, and ugly secret, I can buy that."

"After a few years, everyone else did as well. From what I could tell, they never found out who did it. The mystery of the event got buried by other headlines, life carried on and people moved forward."

"Except for Caroline."

"Right. So fifty years passed, and that was when the reports of the weeping statue start cropping up. By then, anyone who was around when the murder took place was either gone or dead, because no one made any connection. If they had, it would have been all over the place – the newspaper had grown to more than a simple one page bulletin by then."

"What's up with the long wait?" Dean said. "Fifty years is a long time to be dormant."

That had occurred to Sam as well. He didn't have a solid answer for it. Not only was there a time gap, but the fact it started out nonviolent and was now responsible for two deaths was puzzling. It was possible he missed something in the research. Early records were spotty at best, and Sam was lucky to have gotten as much as he did.

"I dunno, Dean. Maybe a spirit with unfinished business doesn't start out bad. Maybe she was in some kind of limbo or something, and it took time before the nasty stuff germinated."

Sam thought of Jess, and their mom. Their mom had lingered for twenty-two years. She hadn't been evil. He wondered if Jess was out there, somewhere, back in Palo Alto. He wondered if someday he'd have to go back there and put her spirit to rest, or if he should have already done so. The thoughts made him ill. He clenched his jaw and looked out the car window. He really didn't feel like talking about it anymore.