It's dusty and hot enough to make him sweat as Sam follows John the unnamed cemetery where Dean had upset the head witch of a coven last night. The teen isn't quite sure what his father is looking for, and after getting snapped at when he first asked, he is trying to puzzle it out on his own. Sam wants to call John on it, tell him his idea of training it sucks, but he keeps pushing it down. "Whatever it takes to help Dean."

"Quit muttering, Sam." John snaps. "I'm trying to figure this out." The older hunter lifts his head to glare at his lanky son and catches the bitchface expression. "You knock that look off your face before I do."

That's a real threat, Sam knows as he tries to make his expression blank. While dad rarely hits him, he's seen Dad knock Dean on his ass more than once, and he knows some of those times were because Dean stepped in to deflect dad's anger away from him. Well, Sam can't wait to get away, but right now, Dean is more important.

"Sir, if you'd tell me what we're looking for maybe I could be more useful." Sam's being so careful to watch his words that he forgets to watch his feet and he stumbles, flailing a little before his father's firm grip on his arm stops him from face-planting.

"Sam, I was studying that rock formation you just kicked all to Hell." The exasperation in John's voice is evident, and Sam flushes red to the roots of his hair. He begins to stammer out an apology, only to have it cut off by John. "Apologies don't fix things, Boy. Just watch where you're putting your feet. I expect stupid stuff from Dean, I expect…."

That's it. Sam has had enough. He lets every fraction of his teenage rage fill him, and he pops his father in the jaw. "Stop saying shit like that about Dean!" Sam barely gets the words out before John, who was only slightly rocked by Sam's punch, slaps him open handed across the face, startling him with the pain.

"Boy, you're not old enough to start shit with me." John fumes.

Sam's holding his cheek, and his eyes water with the sting of the slap, but his dad just mad him too mad to hold back. "I'm too young to punch? I'm sixteen. I've seen you punch Dean plenty of times when he was sixteen, Hell, younger."

"That was training." John spits out the words, but he backs off a little, the truth of the accusation stinging him more that the slap is stinging his son. The two stand glaring at each other; John wondering how he let his family come to this. "And speaking of training, tell me what you noticed before you knocked down the altar."

Taking a brief breath to steady himself, and closing his eyes to picture it in his head, "Three flat rocks on the bottom, five slightly smaller kinda shaped oval rock, then a flat piece of the black rock found around here. Some branches on it, two, no three, but one is more like greenery. Something leather. A couple smaller rocks, umm, shells, something glittery." Sam is describing what he remembers.

"Good." John sounds pleased and Sam's eyes fly open in surprise. "But those smaller rocks? Think harder Sam – or better yet pick'em up. Those're shaped into totem figures. You need to see what kind. The leather – check to see what kind of hide that it's from. And then the branches – what kind of plant. You missed that there were mineral sprinklings too. See if you can find that they burned leaving the ash. We need to gather what we can and see if we can identify what exactly." John catches Sam's gaze. "Now you get to picking it all up so we can identify the parts while I try to figure out how these other folks got here. Cars? Walking? From which direction? I'll backtrack them, but I won't go far. Yell. If anyone shows up."

Sam hurries back to the Impala to pull out a paper bag to put the pieces in for analysis. He wants to be quick because he knows dad will expect him to be ready when he gets there, and he grows so engrossed in his task that he doesn't know anyone else is there until he feels a hand on his shoulder.

"What!" Sam jumps up and spins around, at first thinking dad had snuck up on him. But before he can yell, he hears the woman speak a spell of some sort, like the other night, and he is frozen and cannot make a sound. She grabs his chin and it somehow brings him to his knees. The witch studies Sam's face, brushing gently across the red imprint of his father's hand.

"Who did this to you, young hunter?" She murmurs it so gently that tears swell in his eyes. At sixteen, Sam has never actually had much of a chance to be mothered, to have someone look at him with compassion and strength. She runs her hair gently over his head, pushing his hair out of his face and bending closer to look him directly in the eye. "So tell me this? Does the other young hunter, the doll, does he protect you from this?

The woman seems to read the answer in his eyes, and when an errant tear rolls down his cheek onto her thumb, she lifts it to her mouth to taste. "Another with a destiny." She says softly.

"Get your hands off my son!" John returns to the cemetery, drawing his pistol out and aiming at the witch. With her face turned away, John doesn't see her chanting, but he sees Sam's hazel eyes widen in fright and he decides to fire, only to find he cannot move.

The woman has not taken her eyes from Sam's face. "So, your father? And does he do this often? Ah, not to you, to my doll? Your big brother? And that cocky boy, he protects you?" She pets his hair again. "I would protect you from what is to come if I could."

Then she leans in to whisper. "It's a temporary spell on your big brother, little boy. You will have him back soon enough. Will you care for him until then – even against your father? I would not have given him this lesson in weakness if I had known he was trying to be strong enough for both of you." She seems to read Sam's promise in his eyes, and she caresses his hair one more time before turning toward John.

John watches as the witch approaches. She seems otherworldly, both older and younger than him, and she sways gently as she walks toward him. She has to reach up to grasp his chin, but whatever that spell is works because John falls to his knees in front of her. She takes the gun from his hand, looks at it with disgust, and begins to disassemble it, letting the pieces fall to the ground. When she finishes, she wipes the gun oil off her hands into her flowing skirt.

Her chocolate brown eyes unfocus as she stares deeply into John's. She turns his head one way then the other studying him. "Your family – it carries a heavy burden. I will not curse you with more, although I might want to." She pulls back her hand and then slaps him hard. Without waiting, she back hand slaps him on the other side as her eyes flash. "But I do not like bullies, big man. Do not make me regret my concern for your young ones and for the dark burden they carry."

The woman wanders over and takes the paper bag from Sam, hefting it onto a hip. Then she turns back to John. "I will leave you some little thing to remember me by, something that will only cause some slight stinging pain, as long as you take care of it. Something to remind you that you should take care of these fruit of your loins, yes? You see, I mete justice."

As she begins to walk away, she adds one more thing. "You, Hunter, do not look for me or I will forget why I spared you. Go take care of the other boy. The spell on him, it is a temporary thing only."