A/N: I'm getting nervous. I have a deadline for a different fic - all forward movement on this story has stopped until Monday. Eep! It shouldn't cause delays in posting, but I want to warn people I might not be able to post two chapters a week soon. On the plus side, we are on the fast track to the end and there will be more hurty moments. ;)

Continued thanks for the support! I really appreciate it.

Sweet Caroline
Chapter 16

"And that was when the gumball machine flew across the room," Sheriff Willis said, slipping on a bright pink gumball. He looked like he didn't believe a thing anyone had told him, despite the evidence literally underfoot. "Was this before or after the broccoli-cheese committed soupicide?"

Sam sighed tiredly. There was no way to get a reasonable explanation about what had happened, no matter how many people the sheriff interviewed. Sam knew it, and he knew Willis knew it.

"I don't really know, Sheriff," he said. "It all happened so fast. I don't think you're going to get an accurate timeline from anyone."

"I suppose not." Willis scratched at the top of his head, gazing around the room. After a few seconds, he returned his attention to Sam with an apologetic smile. "I get sarcastic when I'm tired."

"It's okay."

Taking a closer look, Sam saw the sheriff appeared as exhausted as Deputy Graham had that morning. The two recent, unusual deaths clearly were taking a toll. Willis looked the right age to have a teenage son or daughter, or not that much older. His own age, Sam thought, which made him uncomfortable. If he was right, then this kind of thing would have to be even more difficult under those circumstances. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

"You all right, Agent Krieger?" Willis asked, for the first time sounding something other than annoyed at his and Dean's presence as FBI. "We still need a more comprehensive statement from you and your partner about what went down last night, but if you need more recovery time, let me know."

"I'd appreciate it," Sam said, never shy about taking opportunities that presented themselves. It didn't take much effort to adopt a pathetic pose. "To tell you the truth, I probably shouldn't have left the hospital. It's been rough."

"Tell me about it. First the deaths and now this stuff. I haven't slept in a week."

"I'll bet it's been hectic around here."

Because being impaled was nothing compared to a week of no sleep. He shook his head. At least he'd avoided the messiest part of the attack today. His shoulder throbbed, dulled only slightly by analgesic. Sam sought out his brother, spotting Dean flirting with one of the cashiers as if he didn't have fudge running down the side of his face and strawberries in his hair. Hell, those things probably only helped his cause. Sam didn't really want to think about that. It would have been nice if his brother would have given him an assist during the sheriff's questioning. He shot Dean an evil-eyed stare.

Willis looked at him looking at Dean and seemed sympathetic. "Your partner's a bit of a philanderer, isn't he? You ought to keep him on a short leash. That's the owner's married daughter he's flirting with."

Of course it was. Sam tried to look embarrassed. It wasn't difficult.

Thankfully, Willis took that as a cue the interview was over. "Stay available. Hopefully things will settle down around here soon."

The sheriff had kept Sam too busy to try to figure out what had happened himself, but now he had the chance to think. Caroline's MO didn't include tearing places apart in fits of rage, and the scream that had echoed through the building at the end of the episode had definitely been angry. There'd been no history of violence until he and Dean had showed up, but he doubted they were the reason for this. A thought they were dealing with yet another spirit crossed his mind, but that didn't work. It would be too much of a coincidence for a new spirit to pop up suddenly, even for them. He scowled to himself.

Sam glanced around. The restaurant was bustling with activity and chatter. He heard the old man he'd tackled out of harm's way regaling his nursing home buddies with the story, complete with truly inspired adjectives. Sam smiled, moving on to several uniformed DQ workers trying to clean and arguing with the cops about it. Crime scene protocol. His gaze stopped on Will and Thad, who both looked ready to burst. He counted it as lucky that they were being interviewed by one of the cops so he didn't have to deal with them, but hoped they were keeping their mouths shut. Dean had words with them before the local law enforcement arrived, so that should have secured them as witnesses. Like that had worked with Will so far. There were just too damned many people who knew who he and Dean were and why they were in Morris for Sam's liking.

Dean gave up on the flirting, strolling over to him. "Have a good chat with the sheriff?"

"It was riveting," Sam said. "Thanks for help with that, by the way."

"I was busy. I scored us free large Blizzards on our next five visits to the DQ," Dean said, grinning toothily and flashing Sam a fistful of coupons. "They're good everywhere. You're welcome."

Sam laughed. He did have a soft spot for Reese's Peanut Butter Cup Blizzards. Besides, Dean looked so proud of himself Sam couldn't be annoyed his brother had left him to fend for himself.

"Oh, and Enos over there told me this was the third incident." Dean gestured to an officer now talking to the owner's married daughter. "Apparently most of the sheriff's department was up all night."

He should have known Dean wasn't off enjoying himself without getting actual work done. Sam was getting better at understanding his brother, but sometimes it was difficult not to fall back on old, half-informed reactions. He frowned at Dean's news.

"That must be why Deputy Graham didn't look like he believed us," Sam mused. He glanced at the mess of chocolate sauce and melting soft serve. "I don't get any of this, man."

"Seems pretty straightforward to me."

"No, I mean as the spirit was suffocating me last night," Sam said, pretending not to see Dean flinch, "It seemed almost sad. It was like it…like it just wanted company."

"Well, the thing almost got it, remember?" Dean growled. "Do not tell me you're sympathetic."

Sam hadn't been able to put it in words before, but that was what it was – Caroline had seemed hopeless and the emotion had weighted him down, held him trapped. There had been no record of violence until he and Dean had showed up, likely because they'd stopped her from claiming first Will and then Gwen. Dean wouldn't buy that idea. Hell, Sam wasn't sure it made sense himself. The main thing was, why was Caroline now on a rampage without taking lives, and how much more difficult would a salt and burn be because of it? The former would be interesting to know, but the latter could be life or death. Dean could not dig a grave on his own fast enough. Not in frozen ground, and not with cracked ribs Sam knew were bothering him more than he let on. Definitely not with an angry spirit on the loose.

"I'm not sympathetic, Dean. I just meant her being this active complicates things. You think she's going to be happy when we start digging her up?" Sam asked quietly. They shouldn't be discussing this in front of civilians, even the mostly deaf, geriatric crowd surrounding them. "We should get out of here."

Dean nodded, carefully surveying the people closest to them for a reaction. His eyes narrowed and, before Sam could say anything, Dean stalked away with a curse. It didn't take him long to figure out why. Will and Thad had found a semi-clean booth to sit in, where they were passing a cell phone back and forth between them.

Sam stood and shuffled over, catching the only tail end of Dean's angry tirade. The expletives used made him uncomfortable, and he was no angel.

"We weren't going to do anything with it," Thad said, voice squeaking up to an octave Sam was awed the big guy could reach. "It's for our eyes only."

"Yeah." Will grabbed for the phone, trying to pry it from Dean without success. "I learned my lesson, I swear."

Sam thought that might be code for 'Next time I'll use YouTube.' Trust or, well, not, whatever the phone's camera had captured wasn't leaving the DQ. Dean looked as if he was just as likely to crush the phone under his heel as delete the footage, so Sam took it from his brother. Out of curiosity, he played a few seconds of the vid. Oh, yeah, it'd be a huge success on YouTube. He almost felt bad erasing it just as an arc of butterscotch sauce flew across the screen. Without knowing the context, he might appreciate the artistic merit of the shot.

"Aw, man," Will said. "I told you we should have waited until they left, Thad."

"Sure, blame me," Thad said, sounding amused and half-hearted. "Your dumb choices are always my fault. Who thinks of making movies while being bludgeoned by steaming foot-long hot dogs, anyway?"

The smile on Thad's face was disingenuous, and it occurred to Sam the guy might have gotten them caught on purpose. He didn't know the guy, but he was starting to like him. Whether or not Thad had ratted out his roommate, the problem was now solved and he just had to get Dean away from his hate/hate relationship with Will. He put the phone on the table.

"It's done, Dean," he said. "Let's go."

"I'm serious this time, Will. I don't want any more drama from you," Dean said. "Do you know what the word defenestration means?"

"No…what?"

"Look it up, genius, and think of that if you're tempted to do something stupid while I'm still in town. Hell, even after that. We have ways of checking up on you."

With that impressive demonstration of vocabulary (Sam was going to have to look up that word), Dean stormed off. Sam noticed his brother hunched slightly to the side, protecting his sore ribs. In the chaos, Sam hadn't seen much beyond the beige tile floor, but he was certain Dean had been flying around, playing hero without hesitating. At the door, Dean glanced back impatiently. Sam hurried to join him. The trip back to the motel went faster; the snow had melted or been salted off the sidewalks, streets and parking lots. They rode in silence, Sam because he was still tired. Dean because, Sam suspected, he was brimming with irritation.

Sam knew they should spend the afternoon planning the best way to accomplish the salt and burn. His vote was still on getting Graham's help. Involving civilians was never something entered into lightly, but in this case he really thought it necessary. He said as much as he lay down on the bed for a few minutes. He relaxed into the mattress as if it were a fluffy cloud, blinking slowly.

Opening his eyes, Sam realized two things – it was dark outside and he was alone. The yellowish, dim glow of the bedside lamp was the only light in the room. He sat up, feeling better than he had in a while. His sling was off. He didn't remember taking it off, but then he didn't remember falling asleep. Glancing at his watch, he saw he'd lost five hours to sleep. A horrible feeling that Dean had gone off and done something stupid took root, like going to the cemetery on his own. Cursing, Sam got to his feet and searched the room for his jacket. He had one sleeve tugged on when he heard the rattle of keys at the door.

Dean walked in, a strip of beef jerky hanging out of his mouth.

"You're awake. I got dinner," Dean said, jerky bobbing up and down. He frowned. "Where you going?"

"Nowhere," Sam said.

"You're looking better."

Sam nodded. Shrugging out of the coat, he joined Dean at the table. Dinner turned out to be vending machine sandwiches, Fritos and Sunkist. Even though he'd done nothing but sleep and eat for the last day, he was hungry again. Hoping the sandwich wasn't a hotbed for salmonella, he tore the plastic cover off and started eating.

"While you were sleeping, I did some research. Wanna know what I found out?" Dean talked around a mouthful of roast beef on wheat. He didn't wait for Sam to reply. "Of course you do. Two of the police calls last night were to the same place – the place Graham stopped at before dropping us off at the car. Anyway, back in good ol' Caroline's day, the location of that home was the site of a mercantile. It was owned by a prominent businessman named Oleson, and I am not making that up. The same Mr. Oleson happened to pay for Caroline's monument."

Sam wondered how the hell Dean had figured all of that out. He was impressed, and glad that his brother was handling the exposition for a change. He reached for his bottle of Sunkist, nodding at Dean to show he was following. Unfortunately, he used his right hand and movement was better but still painful. In all the confusion earlier, they hadn't made a trip to the pharmacy. There were still two pills left from the samples Doctor Nuber had dispensed. He took them as Dean continued.

"The way I figure it, the drifter story can't be true."

"Why would you say that?" Sam asked.

"Think about it, Sam. We let out a spirit that's been trapped for a hundred years and the first place she shows up is where she thinks her posthumous benefactor is?" Dean lifted the second half of his sandwich up, looked at it and put it back down. "The second house she visited last night stood right where Mr. Oleson lived – a boarding house. Dollars to doughnuts, that bastard killed her and covered it up by coming up with the drifter theory. Footing the bill for her monument probably helped his case. Now she's out and looking for revenge, but there isn't anyone around she's interested in."

That wasn't how it worked. Or, that wasn't how Dad said it worked. Personal differences aside, Dad knew what he was doing when it came to hunting. If Dad said a vengeful spirit doesn't have a focus, rather uncontrollable rage, then Sam believed it was true.

"I know what you're thinking," Dean said. "But what if being trapped in stone like that slowed everything for her? You said the spirit seemed sad. What if it was more like she was suffering from an untreated wound? Instead of losing focus, her anger festered."

That made a pretty good theory. All they really needed was to salt and burn, but having more information could never be a bad thing. Sam nodded again.

"Maybe that's why she first manifested as a weeping statue. Frustrated vengeful spirit. For all we know, when she was suffocating people what she really wanted was for someone to fight back and release her."

"Which is exactly what we did," Sam said, setting his sandwich down. He wasn't hungry anymore. They'd screwed up and this town was paying for it. "Damn."

"Yeah. She scoped out the obvious places for her killer. The Dairy Queen, by the way, is located where the schoolhouse was. The scene of the crime. It was probably freak chance we were there when it happened."

Damn, he didn't know how he'd forgotten how good Dean was at this job. It still surprised him, when it shouldn't.

"I wonder how long it'll take her to focus less on seeking vengeance and more on destruction," Sam said.

"Not that long." Dean stood, noticeably favoring his right side. "I brought the police scanner in. There haven't been any other incidents, but that doesn't mean there won't be."

"I still think we have to worry about how she'll react when we go out there to dig her up."

Sam knew he was beating a dead horse, but Dean wasn't the only one allowed concern for his brother. He could be backup, but there was only so much fighting he could do one handed. That wasn't even taking into consideration hiding their activities from the cops.

"I can handle it, Sam," Dean said with a hint of annoyance.

"Dean, the cops are bound to have increased patrols around the cemetery since we blew it last night. I know I've said this before, but do you really think you can dig into frozen ground fast enough to not get caught?"

His brother glowered at him.

Sam slid his nearly empty bag of Fritos aside, stood and moved to sit on his bed. Resting against the headboard, he watched Dean start pacing.

"Look, I'm not repeating this over and over because I like the sound of my own voice."

Dean halted, turning toward him. "I know that, Sam. I do. But we don't put innocent people in the line of fire. Our job is to protect."

But who would protect them? Dean would say they didn't need protection. It would be a lie. There were cracks in Dean's façade wide enough for Sam to understand there was nothing in the world his brother needed more than protection. Not in a fight. Dean could fend for himself physically. Sam had realized at an early age what lay beneath the bravado was vulnerable, and to this day he didn't know what to do with that. Because Dean was his big brother. Dean couldn't need the same things he did.

"There are people here who know what's going on," Sam said. "They've already been exposed."

Dean's jaw locked stubbornly. Sam hated letting him down, but he knew he wasn't well enough to watch Dean's back.

"If not Deputy Graham, then maybe someone else." Sam imagined a big football-player type. "Will's roommate could handle it."

"I can't believe you just said that. I can't believe any of th…"

The angry response was cut short by a knock on the door. Dean trailed off, heading for the door. He peered through the peephole and Sam saw his shoulders slump.

"What the hell is up with people in this goddamned place?" Dean grumbled, opening the door.

Salvation walked in, in the form of Deputy Graham. Dean scowled, and Sam smiled.