Fic: This River’s Full of Lost Sharks 1/2

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Title: this river’s full of lost sharks (Supernatural/Veronica Mars crossover)
Author: hardlygolden
Recipient: diva5256
Rating: PG-13 (themes, language)
Word count: 12,800
Warnings: passing reference to past non-con (Veronica Mars canon)
Author's Notes: Beta by that_september, any mistakes my own. Title from Secret Meeting by the National.
Summary: For the prompt: The dead are rising in Neptune, CA. Dean and Sam join forces with Veronica to investigate. Features Dean, Sam and Veronica, with appearances from most of the Neptune gang. Knowledge of VM helpful but not essential (although you'll need to bear in mind that Veronica is not a Mary Sue... she really is that awesome!) Timeline picks up a few years after Veronica Mars ends, following on from the events of Supernatural 4.22 – Lucifer Rising, spoilers for all previously aired episodes.




“Well, that was a colossal waste of time,” complained Dean as they walked out of Mars Investigations.

“What were you expecting, Dean?” asked Sam. “A step-by-step instruction manual on the how’s and why’s of a zombie invasion?”

Dean tugged at his tie. He’d always hated wearing suits. “I was expecting that we weren’t going to get stone-walled at every turn - but so far the fine citizens of Neptune have been keeping tight-lipped about this whole rising-dead thing.”

“I thought Mr. Mars was very polite,” said Sam.

“Oh, he was polite,” seethed Dean. “He was really, really polite. But everyone seems to be shutting us out. Don’t they see we’re just trying to help? And we can’t help if we don’t know more about this zombie. Come to that - are we sure that it’s even a zombie we’re dealing with? Or anything supernatural, for that matter? Everyone we’ve talked to so far seems to be giving us a different version of move along, nothing to see here.”

“Missouri seemed pretty convinced that something was going on,” said Sam. “And we’re outsiders, Dean. Of course they’re not going to trust us.”

“Oh, they’ll trust us alright,” Dean promised darkly. “We just need to mingle. I’ll take the hot blonde.” He gestured to indicate the woman who had just passed them on the sidewalk.

“Of course you will,” said Sam resignedly. “And what do you want me to do?”

“Here’s $20,” said Dean. “How about you go out and buy yourself something pretty, huh?”

Sam rolled his eyes, but he looked more amused than annoyed, so Dean chalked it up as a win. “I’m going to go check out the library,” he said. “Call me when you’re done.”

Dean was half-way to catching up with the blonde woman when he noticed another woman leaning over the Impala.

“Hey,” he called out. “What are you doing to my car?”

“Relax,” she said, turning around and shooting him a pixie smile, and wow - this girl was gorgeous. Dean then and there retracted all his uncharitable thoughts about Neptune. “Just looking. It’s a really nice car.”

“Thanks,” Dean said automatically.

“What is it, a ’67?” she said, running her hand along the hood.

Dean gave her an appraising look. “Girl knows her cars.”

“Boy clearly doesn’t know his girls,” she retorted. “See, normally when talking to a woman, you’d use a name instead of a noun.”

“I’d love to,” said Dean, “except for how I don’t know yours.”

“Veronica.”

“Dean,” he said, holding out his hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“You too, Dean,” she said. Her grip was surprisingly firm.

He cast a quick glance to his left, but the original blonde was out of sight. He decided he’d talk to a few more locals, grab some lunch, see what happened next.

“Maybe I’ll see you around, Veronica,” he said.

“Count on it,” she said, winking.

*

The truth was, they knew nothing about Neptune. They’d been en route to San Diego when they’d got the call from Missouri.

"How you boys doing?” she’d said, in that breathless voice of hers. “Look, I know you’ve got enough going on lately, but I was hoping you boys could do me a personal favor. See, someone’s been messin’ around with the dead in California, little town called Neptune. I was hoping you boys could swing by and take a look, get to the bottom of it.”

Missouri wasn’t able to give them any more information than that. “My gift doesn’t work like that,” she’d said, getting agitated when Sam had pressed for specifics. “Don’t ask me who, what or how – I just know something dark is happening in that town, or going to happen.”

“What’s so important about Neptune?” Sam had asked.

“That’s no business but my own,” Missouri had chided, and then sighed. “I know it’s not a lot to go on…”

“It's fine,” Sam had interrupted, already calculating how long it would take them to get to Neptune. “Of course we’ll help. We’ve worked with less than that before.”

“Thank you,” Missouri had said, sounding relieved. “You say hello to that brother of yours for me, won’t you, Sam?”

Honestly, it was kind of a relief to have something as simple as a possible zombie insurrection to contend with, given the craziness of their lives lately.

*

They’d arrived in Neptune that morning, and started fishing for information.

Their first port of call had been the local county sheriff’s office, where they had been distinctly underwhelmed by the professionalism of Sheriff Van Lowe.

As they’d been walking out of his office, Inga the receptionist had pulled them aside. “If you want to know what’s really going on in this town,” she’d said, “you’d be better off talking to the former sheriff, Keith Mars. He runs his own private detective agency– Mars Investigations.” She’d pressed a business card into their hands, from a plentiful stack under her desk. From the practiced way she’d rattled off that explanation, it was a speech she delivered fairly regularly.

Keith had been much better to deal with than the sheriff – but he hadn’t had any information for them about any odd happenings in the town. The man could talk though – he’d kept peppering them with questions. Sam had got the feeling he would have kept them talking longer if he could. Unfortunately, after they’d finished the interview they were no closer to discovering anything unusual happening in Neptune – no strange deaths, no grave disturbances – nothing that sounded remotely like their kind of thing.

They had nothing to go on, except this hunch of Missouri’s – but, as Sam had told her, they’d gone on less than that before – and he trusted her, and her gift. Still – he had a new appreciation for the blind faith Dean must have had in him when Sam used to wake Dean up in the middle of the night and make them drive clean across the country based on a glimpse he’d seen in a vision. Dean’s hands had always been clenched tight around the wheel, mouth clamped to hold back questions – but he’d driven them there, always – swift and straight and true every time, just on Sam’s say so.

He sighed; wondered if Dean would take his word for anything, these days.

He was on his way to the library when he saw it – a sign pointing towards the beach. Sam hesitated. The next logical step in the investigation, he knew, was exactly what he’d told Dean: go to the library, do some research, get his bearings. He should do that. Especially if Dean got shot down by whatever local woman he was currently chatting up, and came looking for him. Sam didn’t want Dean to have to wonder where he was, what he was up to. That had been the cause of too much friction between them already.

And yet it was such a perfect day outside – fresh air and warm Californian sunshine - and he’d missed this. He changed course, deciding that a few hours at the beach were totally justifiable. After all, maybe it would be a good chance to talk to some of the Neptune locals.

So, Sam thought, as he strolled along the boardwalk. Mingle. He could do that.

There was a man sitting at a bench facing the ocean. He was absorbed in some papers. He was Sam’s age, maybe – or a couple of years younger.

“Hey,” Sam said. “Mind if I sit here?”

“Suit yourself,” said the man, not looking up from his reading.

Sam sat there for a few minutes, just looking out across the sun, sand and surf.

It was a postcard perfect day – kids building sandcastles; teenagers playing volleyball.

It was all so normal - a world apart from yellow-eyed demons and dark family secrets; from an angel and demon phoney war in all its apocalyptic fallout. From Lillith’s death, and everything after – and Sam shivered – because there were some things he wasn’t ready to deal with, not yet.

Jess had loved the beach.

He shrugged off his suit jacket, and laid it across the back of the bench.

The man sitting next to him looked at him curiously. “Not really dressed for the beach, are you?”

“Guess not,” said Sam, fingering his collar awkwardly.

“Let me guess,” said the man, flashing a grin – “can’t handle the Californian sun?”

Sam laughed; rubbed the back of his neck. “No,” he said, “actually, I used to live here for a couple of years. Palo Alto. I was studying at Stanford.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “I was pre-law, but then I had to drop out.”

“Oh,” said the man, “how come?”

“My girlfriend died.” He hadn’t meant to say that – but now he was back in California again his defenses were down, memories flooding back unbidden and unchecked.

It seemed most things could be traced back to Jess, in the end.

The man stared at him for a long moment, measuring him up. “Logan,” he said, finally, holding out his hand. “Logan Echolls.”

*

Two hours later, Dean was happily devouring a cheeseburger in the local diner when Veronica slid into the seat across from him.

“So,” said Veronica. “Word on the street is that you’re an FBI agent.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Dean, easy smile rising to his lips. “Want to see my badge?”

“No thanks,” said Veronica coolly. “I’ve got one of my own.”

“Is that so?” said Dean as he methodically slathered ketchup on his fries. “Aren’t you a little too hot for an FBI agent?”

“Aren’t you a little too alive for a dead person?” she countered.

Dean’s hand stilled half-way to the salt shaker.

“Yeah,” said Veronica. “That’s what I thought. So tell me, Bonnie – where’s Clyde?”

“Hold up - why am I Bonnie?” protested Dean indignantly.

“So not the point,” said Veronica. “Where’s your brother, Dean?”

“So not the point,” echoed Dean. He could see the vein throbbing in Veronica’s forehead.

“Listen,” said Veronica, voice a sharp staccato. “When my dad told me there were two FBI agents in town, I checked it out. And imagine my surprise when I found out my dad had just met with two certifiably deceased members of America’s Most Wanted.”

“Wait,” said Dean. “You’re Keith Mars’ daughter?”

She looked at him incredulously. “Seriously?” she said. “That’s what you’re choosing to focus on?”

“I’m just wrapping my head around it, sweetheart,” said Dean. “How’d you figure out we weren’t Feds, anyway?”

“Face it,” said Veronica, “Your car’s not exactly standard FBI issue. Some of your questions made my dad suspicious, so he gave me a call – then kept you talking while I did a little detective work of my own. And - voila!” She produced a handful of cards and dropped them on the table with a dramatic flourish.

Dean recognized the familiar collection of forged IDs. “You broke into my car?”

“Obviously,” she said. “Where did you make some of these, the local Copy Jack? I was making better fake IDs than this when I was fifteen.”

“So that would have been, what, last year?” said Dean. “Who do you think you are: Nancy Drew, teenage detective?”

Her eyes flashed, and she threw down another object on the table. “This is what a legitimate FBI badge looks like,” she said. “FYI. Considering it’s pretty clear you’ve never actually seen one before. Oh, and you might want to check out whose name is written on it.”

Dean picked it up. “Your middle name’s Lianne? Huh. I’m learning so much about you.”

“Shut it,” she hissed. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t arrest you right now.”

“What are you going to arrest me for?” Dean said. “I’m dead, remember?”

“I can arrest you for grave desecration. And that’s just for starters.”

“Grave desecration?” asked Dean, leaning forward in his seat. “When?”

“Two days ago,” said Veronica, “why, don’t you remember doing it? According to your rap sheet, that’s one of your many specialties. Or is that more Sam’s style? You’ll have to forgive me – after reading both your files it just blends into one psychotic blur.”

“I hadn’t heard about any grave desecrations. How’d you find out about it?” asked Dean.

“Sherriff’s department tried to hush it up,” said Veronica. “It’d be bad press, and that’s something our esteemed Sherriff is most anxious to avoid. Only the families of the deceased were informed, officially.”

“And unofficially?”

“I have my sources,” she said, unsmiling. “What, you read about the Lilly Kane murder and thought it would be fun to mess with a town that’s already been through too much?”

“Listen,” Dean said, “I don’t even know who this Lilly Kane chick is.”

“She was my best friend,” Veronica said, and her voice was steady but her hands weren’t as they fidgeted with her badge.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said, meaning it.

She looked at him curiously. “You are, aren’t you? Well, if you aren’t here to vandalize, loot and pillage, it raises the question: what are you doing here?”

Dean didn’t even look up. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he said.

“Try me,” she challenged. “What brings you to our sunny town?”

“Zombies.”

“As in, Romero?” she said, crinkling her nose.

“Actually, we don’t know yet,” Dean said. “Could be zombies, could be your standard issue haunting. Personally? I’m hoping its zombies.” He winked.

She stared at him. “This is the part where I tell you you’re crazy, by the way.”

“O-kay,” said Dean, slowly.

“You’re. Crazy,” she said – and then paused. “And now this is the part where you try to convince me. So. Convince me.”

“It’s a bit hard,” said Dean, “what, am I supposed to just produce a zombie out of thin air?”

“That would be a start.”

“Well, I can’t,” said Dean. “If I knew where it was, I wouldn’t have bothered your dad with all those questions, would I?”

Veronica pursed her lips. “You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”

Dean looked at her. “What, you’re going to help me?” he asked in disbelief.

“I didn’t say that,” said Veronica. “I’m just – curious.”

“Okay,” said Dean. “Crash-course to zombie hunting 101, coming right up.”

Veronica widened her eyes at him. “Word to the wise,” she confided, “I’m a very fast learner.”

*

When he’d finished, she wasn’t looking repulsed or revolted or like she was about to handcuff him to the table – which Dean supposed was a start.

Instead, she sat back in her chair and pursed her lips. “Isn’t this all a bit hypocritical, anyway – the undead hunting the undead?”

“Huh,” said Dean, “I’ve honestly never thought about it like that. But seriously – once we find the zombie we can do a police line-up, and you can play spot the human. And trust me sweetheart, it’ll be me, every time. Here’s a clue: I’ll be the one that’s not rotting.”

“Rotten, maybe,” she said, with a quirk of her lips that was almost a smile.

“Maybe,” Dean agreed. “Truce?”

“I still don’t trust you,” she said.

“I never said anything about trust.”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Truce. Hey - does this mean I finally get to meet Clyde?”

Her laughter drowned out Dean’s groan.

*

“Sam, this is Veronica Mars. I like her,” said Dean, by way of introduction. “She’s sassy.”

“Sassy?” Sam snorted. “What are you – seventy?”

Dean scowled. “People say sassy.”

“Old people say sassy,” said Veronica. “Myself? I prefer peppy.”

“Peppy,” repeated Dean.

“Yeah,” said Veronica, extending her arms like a cheerleader. “I’m about as peppy as they come.”

Sam laughed.

“What can I say,” said Veronica comfortably. “I got style.”

*

They were walking back towards the Impala when Sam realised he recognized the person approaching them.

“Frak,” said Veronica, quietly, from somewhere behind Dean’s left shoulder. “Frakity-frak-frak-frak.”

“You two know each other?” Sam said, looking between the two of them.

“We’re old friends,” Logan said smoothly. “Sam, this is Veronica Mars. Veronica, this is Sam - ”

“Winchester, I know,” she said, briskly. “We’ve met.”

“We haven’t,” said Logan, giving Dean a once-over. “Logan Echolls.”

“Dean Winchester,” Dean said, holding out his hand.

Logan shook it, but he never took his eyes off Veronica. “What are you doing here?” he said, the question clearly directed at her.

“What, no ticker tape parade? Not even a welcome home fruit basket?” she asked, and there was something in her smile that made Dean think of his favorite knife –shiny and sharp and dangerous to be on the wrong side of.

“Whoopsie-daisy,” said Logan, making a show of emptying his pockets. “Would you look at that? I’m fresh out of second chances.”

She sighed. “Typical,” she said.

“You didn’t answer my question,” said Logan. “What brings you to town, Veronica?”

“What, you miss me?” she flung back.

“Like the Joker misses Batman,” smirked Logan, and then his face smoothed out, all traces of joking gone. “You’re here about Lilly’s grave, aren’t you?”

“How do you know about that?” challenged Veronica. “Only the families were told.”

“Oh geez Veronica,” said Logan, “did it ever cross your mind that people talk?”

She looked at him steadily. Logan ducked his head.

“Jake Kane called me,” he said. “He wanted to let the people who cared about Lilly know.” His eyes glittered as he looked up. “Why, were you not on the list?”

*

“Man, that Veronica, huh?” Dean said, rummaging through his duffel bag for a clean shirt. He pulled a blue one out and sniffed it dubiously. “What a pistol.”

He chuckled.

Sam didn’t respond. He was hunched over the flimsy desk of their motel room, flicking through a demonology book Bobby had lent them. Dean snapped his fingers. “Am I talking to myself here, Sam?”

Sam looked up, startled. “What?” he said. “Sorry. I just –“

Dean shrugged. “Doesn’t matter,” he said, jaw tight.

“Dean,” Sam said, earnest. “I really was listening.”

“Yeah,” said Dean. “Whatever.” He pulled his shirt on over his head, and when he looked over at Sam, Sam had set the book down and was looking straight at him.

“Hey,” said Sam. “I’m going to go check out the bar, grab a drink. Want to come?”

“Thanks,” Dean said, “but Veronica and I are going to take a look at the cemetery first. See what we can find. Might swing by later, though?”

“Okay,” said Sam. “Listen, do you want me to come with you?”

“Nah,” said Dean, shrugging into his jacket, “it’s fine – besides – we’re mingling, remember.” He flashed Sam a half-hearted grin, keys jangling in his pocket as he walked out.

Sam tried to pretend the sound of the door shutting behind him wasn’t as final as it sounded. It would take awhile to get back to their old rhythms, he knew that.

*

When Dean knocked on Veronica’s door, a man opened it - her boyfriend, maybe, Dean couldn’t tell.

“Hey,” said Dean, plastering on a friendly smile. “Is Veronica around?”

“Who might you be?”

“Down, boy,” said Veronica, appearing in the hallway. “Honestly Wallace, you’re more protective than Backup, sometimes.”

“Backup?” said Dean quizzically – before he was nearly bowled over by a blur of fur.

“Yeah,” Veronica said, grabbing Backup’s collar and hauling him away from Dean. “Wallace, this is Dean, Dean, Wallace,” she rattled off, and then grinned cheekily. “And I believe you’ve met Backup.”

Dean gritted his teeth, tried to recover his composure.

“Hey,” said Veronica, taking a closer look at him, “are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, “I just. I don’t really enjoy being mauled by dogs.”

Wallace snorted. “Who does,” he said, patting Backup.

*

Sam walked into the noisy bar, and craned his neck, looking around. Somehow, he wasn’t surprised to see Logan sitting in a corner by the bar, cradling a beer, staring at the scrolling-text headlines on the evening news.

Sam settled into the seat beside him. “Didn’t feel like joining the party?” he asked. “It’s pretty wild in here. I could hear the noise from a couple of blocks away.”

“Bachelor party,” Logan said briefly. “But I’m not really in the partying mood.”

“You know the guest of honor?” asked Sam.

“Chip Diller,” Logan said. “We were both at Hearst together. I actually went to high-school with his fiancée.” He gave a wry smirk at the last word, but didn’t elaborate.

“Oh?” said Sam. “I hope that’s not your high-school sweetheart he’s marrying.”

Logan snorted. “No chance of that. Those two deserve each other.”

Raucous laughter broke out from the rest of the bar, and Logan turned slightly away, indicating that the conversation was over. “Hey,” said Sam, leaning in closer. “Listen, can I ask you a question?”

“Apparently,” Logan said, eyes still following the text on the television screen.

“So,” Sam said. “I hear you were pretty close to Lilly Kane.”

Logan downed his glass and slid it along the counter. “Refill, please,” he said to the bartender, without looking up. “What are you - a hack journalist doing some sort of fucked-up ‘five years on’ retrospective? Newsflash: not interested.” He made a dismissive motion with his hands.

“No,” said Sam. “I’m not writing an article or anything, I swear. I just – I need your help.”

“My help,” repeated Logan. “Congratulations, that’s a new angle. But the answer’s still no.”

“Look,” continued Sam. “I heard about the grave desecrations. I’m trying to find out who’s behind it.”

“Well, whoop-de-doo, that’s very creepy vigilante of you,” said Logan, “but I’ve already told the police everything I know – which is nothing. Zip. Nada. Zilch.”

Sam paused, trying to choose the right words. “Truth is, I’ve come across this sort of thing before,” he said finally. “I know what to look for – the kinds of things the police don’t even realize are important. I know it’s hard to talk about something like this –“

“Oh, you know do you?” said Logan, turning to fully face him. “Do you know what it’s like knowing that your girlfriend was killed because you weren’t there?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, voice heated. “My girlfriend died when I was about your age, so, yeah, actually, I know exactly what that’s like.”

“It’s just. Losing Lilly like that,” said Logan, slowly. “I know I’m sure as hell not the only one that’s lost someone they love. But how’s this for fucked-up – it was my father that killed her. So tell me – do you know what that’s like?”

Sam’s mind flashed back to a nursery, drops of blood falling into a baby’s mouth, his mother’s pleading face, “Sam, I’m sorry”. Blood will out, always and forever, and Winchester blood was not the only kind that flowed through his veins.

“No,” he lied. “I can’t even imagine.”

Logan took another swig of his drink. “It’s just. You blame yourself, you know?” he said, staring out into the distance, unseeing.

“Yeah,” echoed Sam. “I know.”

They were silent for a long moment, and then Logan collected himself – and it was fascinating watching him fold his emotions back in like they’d never existed at all. “This conversation has turned far too maudlin for my liking,” he said, showman smile firmly back in place. “I need some fresh air.”

*

“Well,” said Veronica, “this is the graveyard.”

Dean looked around. “Huh,” he said. “It’s locked up tighter than Fort Knox. This fencing looks brand new.”

“Yeah,” said Veronica, “It is. They put it in two days ago.” At Dean’s quizzical look, she elaborated. “When the graves of some of the richest families in Neptune get vandalized, you find the problem gets fixed pretty quickly to avoid a repeat incident.”

Dean whistled. “Nice,” he said. “So, how do you plan on getting in?”

“Through this gate,” said Veronica.

“Run that by me again?” said Dean, skeptically. “This locked automatic gate?” He tested the high metal fence, feeling for a grip. “Here, I think I can climb over.”

“Yeah,” said Veronica, “you probably could. But I can’t.”

“I could give you a leg-up,” Dean cajoled. “C’mon, live a little.”

“I think I’ll stick with my way,” said Veronica.

“And your plan for opening the locked gate is...”

“Open sesame,” said Veronica, waving her hands in a theatrical gesture – and the gate swung open with a mechanical groan.

Dean looked around, startled. “How did you know that was going to happen?”

“It’s not what you know,” said Veronica conversationally, “it’s who you know. And I have friends in very, very low places.”

“Hey!” protested Dean.

“Relax,” came a voice. “She wasn’t talking about you, were you V?”

*

The streets were fairly quiet in the walk from the bar to the beach. They only passed one teenager on the boardwalk.

Logan clutched Sam’s sleeve. “Sam,” he said slowly. “Exactly how much did I just drink?”

“Couple of beers,” said Sam. “How come?”

“Did you see that guy we just passed?” asked Logan, and there was something desperate in his voice.

“Yeah,” said Sam, “Why, you know him?”

“Yeah,” said Logan, jaw clenched. “He was my best friend’s kid brother.”

“Was?” said Sam, dread forming in the pit of his stomach.

“Yeah,” said Logan. “But – it can’t be him. That’s impossible. I saw him die myself.”

“What?” said Sam, whipping around to look for the boy – but he was out of sight. “Stay here,” he said to Logan, and jogged off, in the direction the boy had gone. There was no trace of him. “He’s gone,” said Sam, as he walked back to Logan.

Logan shook his head. “Forget it,” he said. “It was just a weird coincidence. It’s dark, and I’ve been drinking.”

“Who did he remind you of?” pressed Sam.

“B – Cassidy,” said Logan. “Cassidy Casablancas. But like I said, I saw him shuffle off this mortal coil.” Logan’s lips pressed into a thin line. ”Leap, actually.”

“Violent death?” Sam probed.

“You could say that. You could also say he didn’t get half of what he deserved.”

“What do you mean?” asked Sam.

“He engineered a bomb that blew up a school bus with eight people on it,” said Logan, and then – voice low, “He raped my girlfriend.”

“Wait,” said Sam, trying to reconcile that with the glimpse of the face he had seen. The boy had looked so young – just a kid himself. “Wait, he raped Lilly?”

Logan made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “No,” he said, “not Lilly. Veronica.”

“Veronica was your girlfriend?” asked Sam. They’d stopped walking, and were just standing by the boardwalk now. For a moment, the rhythmic pounding of the surf was the only sound in the world – until Logan finally spoke.

“Yeah,” said Logan, stooping down to pick up a broken fragment of shell, turning it over in his hands. “She was. Until I blew it. Then she wasn’t. Rinse and repeat.”

“Whoa,” said Sam. “Sounds complicated.”

Logan snorted. “Try living it,” he said, but there was something wistful in his voice that made Sam think that he’d be ready to try again, and again, and again. “We were epic, you know?” he said, staring out to sea.

“Maybe you still can be,” said Sam.

Logan shook his head. “Bit hard when the lady in question won’t even talk to me,” he said. “Dr Phil said it best - communication truly is the key to every relationship.”

He hurled the shell he’d been toying with into the waves – but it fell short, lying a foot from the tide line.

“In relationships, as in life - I’m a perpetual screw-up,” said Logan. “Just ask Veronica.”

*

“How you doing, Weevil?” said Veronica.

He gave her a one-armed hug, and then pulled away.

“You’re looking good, girl,” he said – and then, in a more serious voice, “How you been, Veronica? We missed you.”

“Yeah,” she said. “I know. I shouldn’t have stayed away so long.”

She turned to Dean. “This is Eli Navarro. He works part-time as a security guard, while he’s studying to be a cop. After the grave desecrations, they hired Weevil to patrol.”

“Was a time not so long ago when I was who people were trying to keep out,” said Weevil. “My, how the tables have turned.”

Veronica smiled. “You’ve done good, Weevil,” she said. “And thanks for letting us in. I don’t want to get you in any trouble.”

Weevil smirked. “Miss out on the chance to help an FBI agent break into a crime scene?” he said. “Not likely. But, seriously V,” he added, “I hope you catch the bastards that did this to Lilly’s grave.”

“Can you show us the damage?” said Veronica, walking alongside him.

“I’ll take you there right now,” said Weevil. They began walking through the rows of graves. It was a huge cemetery – sprawling and overgrown. Dean tried to get his bearings, judge how far they were from the main road.

“How many graves were affected?” Dean asked, as they walked.

Weevil met his eyes. “A lot,” he said. “Lilly’s was the worst. Think they must have been aiming for her.”

“And nobody saw anything?” Dean said.

“It’s a graveyard,” said Weevil, “nobody comes here at night.”

“Someone obviously did,” said Veronica darkly – they’d reached the site where the damaged graves were. The area had been cordoned off with police security tape. Weevil lifted the corner of it up and Veronica and Dean ducked underneath. He followed behind them.

There were about ten graves that had been affected. Dean slowly walked down the line of graves, memorising the names. Ed Doyle. Rhonda Landers. Peter Ferrer. Marcus Oliveres. David Moran. Meg Manning. Cassidy Casablancas. The dirt around all of them had been disturbed, and a foul smell permeated the air.

“Hey,” Dean said, staring at the dates. “Any particular reason why most of these people died on the same day?”

“Yeah,” supplied Weevil. “School bus went off a cliff.”

“That’ll do it,” said Dean, running his hand through his hair. He looked across the area for signs of dead grass. It looked as if someone had lit a fire all around the graves, and he couldn’t tell whether the grass was wilted or just burnt. Either way, though, it wasn’t normal – which meant that yeah, this was probably definitely their kind of case.

He looked up, and there was Veronica, standing frozen in front of a grave a few feet away. The marble headstone had been heavily battered; most of the lettering chiseled off. The faded remnants of the word “slut” were emblazoned in red paint.

As if in a trance, Veronica reached out to touch it.

Weevil ducked his head. “It wouldn’t wash off,” he said, “not completely.”

Veronica turned and faced him. “I’m going to find whoever did this, Weevil.”

Weevil gave her a small but sincere smile. “You always do.”

*

“I’ve got a name for you,” said Sam, as he entered their motel room.

“Yeah?” Dean said, looking up from the laptop. “Me too.”

“Cassidy Casablancas,” said Sam, at the same time as Dean said, “Lilly Kane.”

They stared at each other. “You go first,” said Dean, awkwardly.

“No,” said Sam, staring at him, “what did you find about Lilly?”

“Her grave,” said Dean, “it’s the one with the most damage. Definitely the main target of the attacks. Still could be a hate crime, but I’m thinking it was something darker.” He looked up, caught Sam’s eye. “What, not impressive enough for you?”

“I don’t know,” said Sam, “was she spotted walking the streets tonight? Cassidy was.”

Dean stared. “You have been busy,” he said. “You saw him yourself?”

“Yeah, about an hour ago,” said Sam. “Logan was the one who recognized him. He was walking downtown tonight, by the boardwalk.”

“That would fit with the grave desecrations,” said Dean. “His was in the area that had been disturbed.” He rubbed his hands together. “About time we got a solid lead.”

“Yeah,” said Sam, sitting down on the bed next to Dean. “Here, gimme that.”

Dean passed him the laptop, and Sam began tapping on the keyboard. Dean started taking off his boots, flicked on the television.

“So,” Dean said, five minutes and twelve channels later. “What you find? He got any family that could be putting the hoodoo on him?”

“Doesn’t look like it,” said Sam, scanning the computer screen. “Talk about your dysfunctional family, though - father in jail, mother overseas, stepmother murdered. There’s an older brother, Richard. Don’t know where he is.”

“Lemme see,” said Dean, and Sam passed him the laptop. Dean whistled. “Eleven counts of murder, two of attempted murder. Someone’s been busy.”

“Logan said Cassidy blew up a school bus with eight people on it,” offered Sam.

“That was him?” said Dean. “Man. I saw the graves of all those kids tonight. And people think my rap sheet’s bad.”

Sam gave him a severe look. “Your rap sheet is bad, Dean,” he said.

Dean rolled his eyes as he thrust the laptop back at Sam. “On paper, sure,” he said, “but we both know I didn’t do hardly any of that stuff. Maybe this Cassidy kid didn’t either.”

“Oh,” said Sam, snapping the laptop closed, “I’m pretty sure he did. What I don’t understand is what kind of motivation a kid has for doing something like that?”

Dean shook his head. “No idea,” he said, “Veronica, on the other hand? I’m guessing she’ll have several.”

Part Two