A/N: I got reviews! Yay, I love you all so much for that. here is the next part.

Disclaimer: I still don't own Supernatural; more's the pity. I also don't own the name of Michael Truby, I borrowed it from someone I went to school with.

Chapter One

Two Months Later

Just a simple salt and burn, it'll be over and done within no time at all. Dean thought as the exceptionally angry spirit of Michael Truby hurled him into a gravestone. Why do things never go as planned?

Michael Truby had died a couple of months previously. The official verdict was suicide. The people in town had put it down to his wife finding out about his affair and telling him to leave. According to everyone Sam and Dean had talked to, the whole mess had left Michael extremely depressed and no-one seemed surprised that he's decided to end it all. However, now he was a pissed off spirit and terrorising the occupants of the Sunshine Motel, and it was up to the Winchester's to stop him.

So far, it was not going to plan. Michael was determined not to let them kill him and had spent the last ten minutes throwing Dean around the cemetery; which was beginning to annoy the hunter.

"Dean!" He heard Sam yell. "Are you okay?"

"Peachy," he groaned, rubbing his hand over his head; wincing as his came into contact with blood. "You get it yet?"

"Not yet."

"Well, hurry it up will you. Being thrown around like a rag doll is not how I wanted to spend my evening!" He yelled as Michael picked him up again and launched him back in the air. He didn't know how, but this time Dean ended up outside the cemetery and rolled down the slight incline until he came into contact with another grave marker. That's strange, he thought. Why isn't it at the cemetery?

He blinked several times until his vision came back into focus and stared at the name on the grave. It read:

Caroline May

Wife and Mother

May God Have Mercy on your soul

There was no date of birth, death, any indication of how she died or why she was buried outside the cemetery.

"Dean!" He heard Sam shout and felt him put his hand on his shoulder. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I think so," he tried to stand but a wave of dizziness came over him and he would have collapsed if Sam had not grabbed hold of him.

"You really look it."

"Did you get him?" Dean asked, changing the subject while trying to regain his balance.

"Yes, I did. Michael Truby's spirit is no more."

"Good, 'cos he was really startin' to piss me off."

"Let's go find a motel and get you cleaned up."

"That doesn't sound like such a bad idea. C'mon Sammy, get moving."

The Sunshine motel, as it turned out, was not nearly as nice and pleasant as it sounded. It was small, dark, cramped, the wallpaper was peeling off the walls and the hanging light was dangling precariously from the ceiling.

"Home sweet home," Dean said sarcastically as he sat down on the bed nearest the door, putting his head in his hands and rubbing his face.

"You look like crap," Sam observed, as he took the first aid kit from the bag and moved over to Dean.

"Gee, thanks. You're too kind. Can you get this over with? I really wanna go to sleep."

"Well it doesn't look like it needs stitching; I'll just clean the blood and let you get your beauty sleep."

Dean stood in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at the reflection in front of him. His face looked a mess; a huge bruise was beginning to form round his right eye. His head felt like it was going to explode it hurt so much.

He ran the cold water tap and splashed his face. Grimacing slightly, he turned to leave the bathroom but stopped when he thought he saw someone reflected in the mirror. Turning to look at the mirror again, he saw no-one. Must be the head injury, he dismissed and left the room to crawl into bed; falling asleep almost immediately.

Dean's dreams were disturbed. In them, he dreamt of the grave he crashed into outside the cemetery. Next to it stood a young woman, who Dean assumed to be Caroline May. If she had still been alive, she would have been beautiful; with long brown hair and big brown eyes, but in his dream she was horrifying. Her long hair was matted with blood and her eyes were black. She was angry; her features contorted in fury and pain. She was dressed in a long white dress, but the dress was heavily stained with blood which was pouring from her neck and arm. Dean could only stand in terror as she came closer towards him; her right arm outstretched. He could not move as she placed her hand on his chest and pushed him backwards. He landed on his back; wind knocked out of him and he gasped in pain and fear as she straddled him and placed a knife to his throat. She began to laugh maniacally as she prepared to draw the blade across his throat.

He awoke before the knife cut and the pain in his head, which had been excruciating before, became unbearable. Leaning over the bed he threw up on the floor, waking Sam in the process.

"Dean, you okay?" He asked with concern in his voice. He hurriedly got out of bed and went over to his big brother, who was currently emptying the contents of his stomach on the grubby floor of a grubby motel.

"Just fine Sammy," he replied between retches.

"What happened? Is it because of your injuries?"

"No… Just a dream… doesn't matter." He tried to sit up but he couldn't muster the strength and Sam had to catch him before he fell off the bed.

"You wanna tell me what happened in this dream?"

"Not really."

"Dean…" Sam warned, "Don't brush this off."

"I'm not. It was just a dream. It's nothing; don't make a big deal out of it."

"Fine. If you don't want to talk about it, I won't push it. You'd better get yourself cleaned up. You need a hand?"

"No, I don't need a hand," Dean replied sharply, becoming slightly annoyed at Sam's concern. "I can manage just fine by myself." Sam stared forlornly at Dean as he slowly made his way to the bathroom.

For the second time that night Dean found himself staring at his reflection in the mirror. He looked worse than he had done earlier that evening. Dark circles were forming under his eyes and his skin had an unnatural pallor that made him look almost ghost-like. The last few months had been hell for Dean, and things were beginning to take their toll. Resisting the sudden urge to vomit once more, he turned on the shower and stepped in, letting the hot spray beat down on his hurting body and relax his aching muscles.

Sam was worried about Dean. He spent several minutes just staring at the closed door after Dean had entered the small bathroom. He could tell that something was wrong, but Dean being Dean; he would never willingly admit he was in any kind of trouble or pain. Sam wished that, just for once, Dean would accept his help before he got in too deep and there was no other way of getting out of it. Sam shook his head, rubbed his eyes and then got up to clean up the vomit, waiting for Dean to return from the bathroom.

He felt a hundred times better after the shower, almost human even. Stepping out of the shower Dean quickly towelled himself dry and dressed. He was just about to leave the bathroom and crawl back into bed, hoping that Sam had cleaned up the vomit, when he caught a glance of himself in the mirror. He stared in horror as he saw something in the reflection that had not been there twenty minutes previously.

A narrow red line across his throat.