John finished his beer then patted Sam on the shoulder, "Well Sam, what do say we get ready and head out to the hospital cemetery. With the two of us the job shouldn't take that long."

"What do you mean the two of you," Dean asked as he stepped up to the screen door, "Don't you mean the three of us?"

"Sh*t," John mumbled then quickly stood up blocking the screen door effectively keeping Dean from opening it and stepping out onto the front porch. John opened the door and pushed his son farther into the house. John had known telling Dean he wasn't going tonight would be hard, he hadn't realized just how hard until he actually had to. Running his hand over his face then scratching the back of his neck John looked into his sons green eyes. "Dean, I don't think you should come along," he held up his hand to stop his sons protest, "You were just released from the hospital today and I think you should stay and get some rest."

The look in son's eyes just about killed him. John saw that Dean thought it was because he had messed up at the museum and that John didn't trust him to be able to do the job right tonight. However, that wasn't the reason, not even close. In fact, he wanted nothing more than to have Dean go along with them. There was no one he trusted more, to have his back. Truth was, John wanted Dean to stay home and get the rest he needed because he knew the next day would be a long one and he wanted his boy to be able to enjoy it without becoming to worn down. John had to think of a way to let his son know the reason without exposing the secret.

"That's bull and you know it. I've had worse injuries then this and you still had me go out and finish the job. What's the real reason, dad? Is it because of what happened at the museum? Because the way I see it, that wasn't really my fault. It wasn't anyone's fault. It just happened." Dean stood staring his father straight in the eyes, his eyes begging his father to let him go. Begging his father to show he approved of him.

John shook his head, "Dean, my mind is set. You sit this one out. Sam and I can handle it. It has nothing to do with what happened at the museum being your fault, because you're right it was no ones fault; it's just that Hal has a big surprise planned for us tomorrow and I want you rested up and feeling good for it."

Dean huffed, "Yeah, whatever." Dean turned to go up the stairs to his room when he felt his dad's hand on his arm.

"Dean, it's the truth. There is something going on tomorrow and it's going to be a long day. I know you can handle yourself just fine and if we didn't have this thing tomorrow I wouldn't think twice about letting you go. However, this is a big deal for Hal and I wouldn't want to risk disappointing him by having you being to tired and sore to enjoy yourself," John said his voice soft and low. He watched as his son shrugged and headed up to his room his body language telling John just how dejected he felt.

John turned to go back outside when he noticed Sam had been listening in. He could tell by the look on Sam's face that his son wasn't to happy about what had happened. Sam confirmed that he was right when he addressed his father, "Dad is this really necessary? I understand you want Dean to rest, but Dean has been injured far worse than this, gone out and finished a job then drove for six hours or more before resting. He can do this. Can't you see how this is making him feel? Or, don't you care about how this is making him feel?"

"Sam there's more to it than just him being rested up for tomorrow. The spirit directly attacked your brother at the museum. We suspect; no we know; that it was gunning for him and we have no idea why. I know he can handle the job, hell he's better then most of the other hunters I've worked with. He's a natural at it. But, with one arm in a cast and a concussion on top of it, he's bound to be a little off his game. I'm not willing to take that kind of risk, are you? Having him there could jeopardize all of us. It's better if he stay behind."

The look Sam was giving John told him he understood the reason, even supported it. But, it was clear he didn't like it. John sighed, "Sam, get your head clear and focused on the task at hand. Everything we need is packed and ready to go in the truck. I'm going to let Marta know that we're heading out. I'll meet you at the truck in five minutes." Sam nodded and headed for the truck.

The ride to the hospital's cemetery was a quiet one as both men sat thinking about their missing partner. John shook his head. Stop thinking about Dean, he thought, he'll be fine come tomorrow. You made the right decision. Right now you need to focus on what you're doing.

The truck turned onto the entrance drive of the state hospital and headed to the graveyard that was located at the back of the property. Sam felt a small shiver run down his spine as they passed the Gate Cottage. Something felt off and he couldn't put his finger on it.

They parked at the outer edge of the cemetery and headed off in the direction of Hattie Benson's grave. Having searched for the grave the day before, Sam knew exactly where to go. In no time they had the grave dug up and had poured the salt and were in the process of pouring the lighter fluid into the open grave when a cold breeze passed over them. John looked to Sam and nodded for him to light the matches and drop them onto the casket.

Before Sam could get the matches lit he felt himself being thrown back hard onto the ground behind him. He landed with a grunt and froze when he looked up to see a woman wearing a long grey dress covered in blood standing before him. The woman turned her head towards John and sent him crashing into a tree causing him to hit his head on it rendering him unconscious.

The woman turned her attention back to Sam. She stared at him with her dead eyes and placed a cold hand on his cheek. Sam shuddered at the touch. He closed his eyes and wished that his brother was there to save him.

The woman removed her hand from his cheek and a sad smile formed on her lips. "Don't be afraid, I won't harm you," she said her voice nothing more than a whisper. "I just wanted to talk to you. You seem different from the others. Please don't be afraid."

Sam opened his eyes. "I must have hit my head and this is a hallucination brought on by a brain injury or something. Yes, that's it, has to be. It's either that or I'm certifiable and believe that ghosts can talk to me."

"Young sir, you didn't hit your head, nor are you certifiable. I am talking to you. Please, I don't have much time. It wasn't I who pushed your brother down the stairs. I am opposed to violence; it goes against my gentle nature. Besides, I couldn't harm him; he reminds so much of my Nathanel."

Sam rolled his eyes and huffed, "Yeah it goes against your gentle nature. Look lady you blow in here and knock me to the ground then you throw my dad against a tree knocking him out and you want me to believe that you didn't push my brother down the stairs because it goes against your gentle nature."

"Young sir, please, I did what I had to tonight so I could talk to you. I did not intend to do so much harm to your father and I am sorry, but I am trying to help you. There is another who haunts the Gate Cottage. Another who is stronger than I. She was the one who pushed your brother. She was the one, not my sweet Nathanel, who murdered me and my sweet child as he was growing in me. She then murdered my Nathanel. She was driven to it by a rage fueled by betrayal," tears formed in the woman's eyes, "I had lost my first born, that first sweet child of mine, and in turn lost my mind. I was dead inside until I met Nathanel. He brought me back to life. Loving him was wrong and I as well as my unborn child paid the price for it. I have been forced ever since to relive that night and watch as the one who took our lives, stole the lives of other's. I have been helpless and unable to stop her that is until now. I can sense you have the ability to stop her. You and your family, please you can stop it."

Sam looked at the woman standing before him. He noticed the tears that ran down her cheeks and was stunned to see that even a ghost could cry. His gut told him that she was telling the truth. He pulled himself up off the ground and walked over to check on his dad. Satisfied that he was still breathing and would wake up ok, except for the massive headache he was sure to have Sam turned his attention back to the woman. "Let's say that I believe you, what is this other's name?" The woman shook her head and backed away from Sam, panic now etched over her ghostly face. "How can we help you if we don't know her name? You have to tell me her name."

"No, young sir I can't speak her name, to do so would bring her and that would surely spell disaster for you and your father," the woman hung her head saddened that she couldn't be of more help.

"That's just great," Sam said his frustration made evident by his voice. The woman flinched and Sam felt a pang of guilt. "I'm sorry," he said his voice growing softer, "It's just I don't know how to help if you can't give me her name. Is there anything you can tell me about this woman that would help us find out who she is? Anything, at all?"

The woman sighed, "All I can tell you is look in the records. She holds a connection to Nathanel and was admitted shortly after our deaths. Please, young sir, you have to do something before more innocent people are harmed." The ghost let out a scream and faded from view.

Sam stood, stunned, staring at the spot where the woman had been standing. Snapping out of his shocked surprise he noticed his father standing by the grave his face lit by the flames of the fire that burned inside it.

John staggered over to his son and checked to make sure that he was fine. Once assured that his son was physically well he decided to check on his mental status, "Just what in the hell where you thinking Sam? We don't stand around having conversations with the damn spirits we burn them."

Sam looked at his father then down to the ground, "I don't believe that she was the one we are looking for. She told me there was another who haunted the Gate Cottage and that this one was the one responsible for her murder and the others as well."

John's jaw dropped and he once again examined his son for injuries. John was sure that his boy must have hit his head because there was no way in hell he was going to believe that Sam actually thought he had held a conversation with a ghost. "Ok, Sam let's get you back to Hal's and have him look you over. You must have hit your head or something because you know as well as I do that ghosts don't carry on conversations with those about to destroy them."

"Yeah, ok," Sam agreed. He helped his dad pick up their equipment and carry it back to the truck. He climbed inside the truck and closed the door behind him. He couldn't shake the feeling that Hattie had been telling the truth and that they had just salted and burnt the wrong body.

John looked at his youngest, concern burning deep inside for him. He knew Sam was different, special; could being able to talk to spirits be a part of that? Was Sam right and they had just toasted the wrong body? No, they had torched the right body and Sam's conversation had been nothing more than a hallucination brought on by a hit to his noggin. John climbed into the cab of the truck, started it up and headed back home. Neither man was aware of the dark figure that had been watching them from the small grove of trees just off to the side of Hattie's grave.