He needed to hurry.

John jammed the shovel into the ground, scooping up another clump of dirt out of the growing hole before him. He was in a small glade, set back off of a muddy, country road. A place no one would give a second glance to, if they didn’t know what to look for -- the symmetrical placement of the widely spaced trees, the non-local Morning Glory vines and flowers which had spread and thrived there over the years. The site hadn’t been made by nature, but by man. And it had been here so long, it had become almost completely forgotten.

The Impala’s headlights lit up the area, letting him go about his work. Grains of rock salt glittered in the light from where he’d systematically poured them out in a large circle just beyond the ring of trees, giving him an area more than big enough to work in.

He wiped at the sweat forming at his brow despite the night’s coolness. He had to hurry. He’d taken steps, not wanting any more interruptions. He just wanted to get this over and done with.

He was running late. And he hated being late. He’d estimated this job would be finished about twenty hours ago, but he’d been wrong. The location of the gravesite had proved illusive and the ghost he was trying to get rid of a lot more attuned with his surroundings. It had also proved way too stubborn about wanting to stay on this plane. It had been plaguing him in little ways ever since it realized what he was doing in the area. Falling pots, moved keys, jammed doors – anything it could think of to delay him.

John jammed the shovel back into the ground, letting his pent up frustration help speed him along. If all went as it should, and he broke a few speeding laws, he might be able to make up some of the time on his way back.

He’d been away from the boys too long. Being gone from them a day or two he could handle. Though there was always the constant fear nipping at the back of his neck, the ‘what if’s’ running rampant on the things which could go wrong while he was gone. But the job needed to get done. And the danger was low if he was only gone a short time. He’d drilled all he could into Dean until his eldest son could virtually recite what to do under any possible situation in his sleep.

But John still worried. Always worried. The longer his sons went unsupervised the higher the likelihood something might happen. He knew his boys. He’d been able to pound some patience into Dean for the hunt, but on anything else he had the tolerance of a gnat. Sammy didn’t mind being indoors, but even he had his limits. Children needed sunlight, they needed to be outside, to play. Cooping them up too long was unhealthy, and he knew it, but he didn’t have much choice. And leaving them with anyone else was not an option.

The shovel plunged hard into the dirt again.

The few people he’d grown close to since the loss of his beloved Mary would argue the point. Had argued the point. On one or two occasions he and Bobby had almost came to blows. It was harder to do with Pastor Jim, but the mounting silences had amounted to much the same thing. They both thought they knew what was best, but they didn’t. They just didn’t understand the danger. These were his sons! He couldn’t afford to take the risk.

But he also couldn’t take them everywhere with him. The work he did was too dangerous to involve them in…yet. The incident with the shtrigga had taught him one could never be too careful – that the evil could be smart and track him as well or better than he could them. So though they all traveled together, he kept his sons always a town over. This way no matter what happened, the creatures or the evil he was trying to deal with wouldn’t impinge on them or try to use them against him.

And he needed his sons. They were his one weakness, but also his greatest source of strength. He could see pieces of Mary in them. They were the only remnants of her he had left. He would be lost without them. They grounded him, kept him in the world. Otherwise he would have nothing to go back for, he would burn himself from within with rage and his need for vengeance and cease to be.

How many long nights had he stayed awake just so he could watch over them, study them while they slept and make sure they were safe? Those first few weeks, he’d barely closed his eyes or let them out of his sight he was so afraid they would be gone, taken from him, between one moment and the next. Brutal nightmares would visit him when he hadn’t seen them for too long. His fears would build in his subconscious, mounting inside him, showing his sons being consumed by horrors from the beyond. And there were no guarantees he could keep them safe from what was out there, no matter how diligent or careful he might be. Yet he would strive to keep them safe with his last breath if need be. He’d failed his wife, but he would rather die than fail his sons as well.

The shovel struck something metallic. Good, soon this job too would be done, another evil gotten rid of – removing the threat of it destroying another family forever. He glanced at the protective circle around the area to make sure it was still intact. The gasoline and salt he’d need were in the duffel at his feet. In five minutes this would finally be over and he could go back where he needed to be.

A familiar revving sound echoed in the glade. The Impala’s engine turned over. John looked up in surprise.

The headlights grew brighter as the car shifted into gear and headed in his direction.

Salt rings had never been meant to keep out 3500 pounds of moving steel.

Swearing, he dropped the shovel and ran toward the nearest tree.