Rebecca Nourse sat up in bed, gasping for air.

She'd had the dream again. The one where someone pressing onto her chest, trying to kill her.

With a sigh, she glanced over at her clock. It was 5 AM. The birds were chirping outside her window.

Throwing back the covers, she got up out of bed and padded into the bathroom.

Might as well stay up. After all, it was her day off.

Becca put her hands on her hips, glaring at the lawnmower. Her bicep was beginning to hurt from pulling on the starter. It was personal now.

"GUARANTEED TO START" was written across the lawnmower in happy block letters.

"Bullshit," she snorted, yanking the string again.

Nothing happened.

She sniffed, wiping her forehead with her arm.

Her lawn was in desperate shape. Her flower beds had died again. The grass was all dried up….again. She was sick of looking at it. It was all getting mowed again. Today.

"Salem? This is a joke, right?" Sam asked his brother as they approached the city limit sign.

"Just passin' through, Sammy," Dean assured him. They'd been driving all night, hoping to make it out to Gloucester before the sun came up. The trek had taken longer than Dean had anticipated. But if his memory served him correctly, entering Salem meant that they were about an hour away from Gloucester.

"Tell me again what's in Gloucester."

"There's been these weird reports of deaths of lobsters," Sam replied, flipping over the newspaper.

Dean chuckled, shaking his head. "Damn. Things have been slow lately, haven't they?"

He turned down a side street, thinking it would be a shortcut to get to 128.

It was a cul-de-sac. In a residential neighborhood.

"We're lost."

"Now hold on a minute," Dean held up his hand. "I just need to think."

"Maybe you should go back to the rotary or something."

"That was miles back. I'll just turn around down here and get back on the other road."

As the Impala reached the cul-de-sac, Sam and Dean saw a curvaceous blonde in a pair of cut off shorts out in her front yard, fussing over her lawnmower.

"Well hello…" Dean let out a whistle.

"It's 6 o'clock in the morning. What is she doing? God, this place is so beyond weird." Sam rolled his eyes. He hated Salem with a passion. It was like a carnival side show, bastardizing a tragic moment in history. And cashing in on it.

Dean pulled up to the curb and shut the car off.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm gonna give the little lady a hand," he replied, as if the answer were obvious.

Sam reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was tired, hungry, and cranky. And he desperately wanted a shower. He'd hoped that they would arrive in Gloucester with enough time to check into a hotel before they began snooping around.

As his brother hopped out of the car, Sam knew that a nice, hot shower and mysterious lobsters were going to have to wait.

Becca looked up as a big black car came to a stop in front of her driveway. She glanced over the top of her sunglasses. There were two men inside. They were obviously lost.

She smiled as the door opened and one of them got out.

"Morning."

"Good morning. The museum doesn't open until 10."

Dean couldn't hide his smile. Of course she would assume they were tourists.

"No, we're just passing through. Took a wrong turn trying to get to 128. I stopped because….well, it looks like you could use some help."

He saw her eyebrows go up from behind her purple Wayfarers. "Wow, thank you." She stepped back from the lawnmower, gesturing towards it. "Be my guest."

Becca watched, impressed, as the ridiculously handsome stranger tugged on the string. He made it look effortless. The lawnmower rumbled to life.

Sam slapped his hand to his face when he saw Dean begin to push the lawnmower across the yard.

"What are you doing?" Becca yelled. She looked at the other man in the car, thoroughly confused.

She stood there, watching a complete stranger mow her lawn. She blinked a few times, before heading over to the car. She leaned down in front of the driver's side window and gave the man in the passenger seat a little wave. "Hi."

"Hey." He looked like a little puppy stuck in a cage.

"My name is Rebecca… Becca Nourse." Becca almost wanted to put her hands on her knees and try to sweetly coax him out of the car.

Why was that name familiar to Sam?

"Sam Winchester. And that's, uh, that's Dean cutting your grass there. Apparently."

She laughed, her nose wrinkling up. Given her young, innocent looking face, Sam would have pegged Rebecca for maybe 16 or 17 years old. However, her chest, thighs and hips definitely told him otherwise. She wore a Cat Stevens "Peace Train" t-shirt with her cutoff denim shorts. Her long, blonde hair was messy and unbrushed around her face.

"You won't be able to stop him," Sam told her.

"Why don't you get out of the car and come on inside. Let me make you guys breakfast or something. It's the least I could do." From the looks of their license plate, they were far from home.

Sam's stomach roared happily. "Got any coffee?"

"You're in New England, Sam." Becca grinned. "You know I've got coffee."

That was all he needed to hear. Sam hopped out of the car, following her into the house.

The lobsters would definitely have to wait.