Sam

Dean grumbled the entire rest of their meal, but he didn't really mean it. This seemed to be the first real break in Anna's mental state since she snapped out of the wraith's control back when she'd convinced them to take her back to Wyoming.

Anna had always had a hidden playfulness to her, pulling pranks that they could never quite pin back on her and making cutting jokes. Even if she lacked her form- her usual deviousness, the fact that Anna had been joking around with them at all rekindled a hope that the hellhound attack had nearly extinguished in Sam.

Her little ketchup stunt had completely disrupted the research he had started to do, but it was totally worth it. The rest of lunch had been spent laughing at Dean, and the two of them unsuccessfully trying to get back at her. It was almost unfair how much faster than either of them she is. Every attempt at revenge ended with a slapped wrist and Anna's rough laugh.

Now Anna was settled inside the car as they sat outside the diner, Sam balancing his laptop on his knees as he looked up the history of Donna's house.

"Sam, what I meant earlier… about Donna. I just meant that she's doing good. With her husband, kid. With this whole Amityville thing being thrown at em' but they're hanging tough." Sam forced himself not to look at Dean. He'd been trying for ages to get his brother to open up to him, about anything, everything. Usually it's like pulling teeth. No way is he screwing up when Dean is volunteering the information freely.

"Yeah, I guess she is." He murmured noncommittally, doing his best to look busy with the laptop. Dean folded his arms tightly across his chest, staring towards the Impala.

"You ever… you ever think that you'd want something like that? Wife, rugrats, the whole nine?" Sam froze. He very carefully didn't look anywhere near his brother. There is no way this question is just a coincidence. Sam carefully examined the keyboard of the lap he had balanced across his knees.

"I don't know Dean." He admitted honestly. "Before, you know, with Jess… yeah I wanted it. I wanted it so bad with her Dean. But she's gone and with everything that's been happening this last year I haven't really thought about it. But yeah, I think if I had the chance to have normal… I'd take it and run." He paused and carefully studied his brother.

"You?"

"Give up hunting?" Dean asked him, eyebrows drawn high on his face, the disbelief on his face almost comical. Sam held in his sigh of relief at his brother's predictable return to type. But something inside him also broke at the words. Dean, of all people, deserved normal. To live in a nice house, with a pretty wife and a couple of kids.

To be able to not risk his life everyday for no thanks and usually a wanted sheet.

If Sam had it his way, that normal would include Anna. Or rather the Anna they'd seen today, with the french fries and the jokes and laughter. He still isn't too sure about what had happened with the hellhound or her sword, but the longer he thought about it the more he could rationalize it.

They had a demon killing knife, and the Colt could kill lots of things. It's totally reasonable for Anna to have another weapon that can kill unkillable things. And she spent three earthside years in hell. Dean was gone for four months and came back thinking it had been forty years. He also said that it felt like time was always speeding up. Who knew how many years she'd been down there. It's not that crazy that her fighting choices would have gotten more brutal, and she's made a desperate choice in the heat of the moment.

Anna would be fine. One day. They both deserved it. And Sam would do anything for his brother.

"Uh, well, that house of theirs is old, really old. Like hundreds of years. I found a legend, it's unconfirmed but still…" Sam trailed off. Dean's attention was on the car. God it was almost like nothing changed. The two of them still totally oblivious, just sending the other sad little looks whenever the other's back was turned. But Anna wasn't entirely sane, and Sam would kick his brother's ass if he tried anything right now. Anna deserves better than his brother behaving like a jackass just because he doesn't know how to manage his feelings.

"Saying?" Dean prompted him, startling Sam. He hadn't realized that their silence had stretched out for so long. Or that Dean was paying any sort of attention to him.

"Supposedly in the 1720's house was owned by a guy named Isaiah Pickett. Legend has it, he hung a woman in his backyard for witchcraft. A woman named Maggie Briggs." Dean leaned over his shoulder to read the computer screen while Sam kept working.

"Ok, so an angry ghost witch." Dean grumbled. He hates the witchy ones. Dean claims that they're the most annoying.

"If it's true." Sam hedged. "It still doesn't explain what Murdered Chylde means." Dean groaned, wiping a hand over his face.

"Or where the bitch is buried." Sam closed the laptop, stowing it away inside his bag. The two of them got up, walking back to the car. Anna leaned out the window, watching the two of them with wide eyes. Something about her still unsettled Sam. He wasn't sure if it was the docile way she let them steer her out of the case, or if it was something about her but he needed a little bit of time alone. Time to think. Process.

"You know it's a long way back, but I can see if I can find something in the town records." Dean didn't even look at him, sliding into the car. Plus, leaving the two of them alone might end up being a good thing in the long run.

"It's worth a shot." Dean shrugged starting up the car. Sam sighed, glancing at the curled up form in the back of the car. He hoped that he's right; that Anna is one of the good guys. He isn't sure if Dean would survive losing her again.

He certainly wouldn't survive having to put her down. Neither of them would.