Thanks to all who have reviewed. This will be the last chapter of this piece. I hope you all enjoyed it. As always, the boys are not mine, I just like to play with them.

The brothers sat silent on the dew-soaked, mossy ground, chests still heaving with exertion. Sam, eyes closed, tipped slowly backward to lay prone. His face was pale with fatigue and blood loss, and seemed more so due to the crimson blood trails snaking down his cheeks.

"Take me home."

Sam sat up with a flail, eyes unfocused and a bit wild. Dean stilled him with a hand on his arm, and scanned the trees quickly. Finally he spotted Anna's wavering ghost, flickering in and out of sight, standing in the brush with arms crossed and a mournful pout.

"You said you'd take me home."

Dean pushed himself to his knees and held a hand out toward the spirit. "Come here, Anna," he said calmly, nudging Sam with his foot. "Get your lighter, Sam," he whispered out of the corner of his mouth. When he looked back toward Anna, he jumped to see her standing directly in front of him, head cocked to the side, eyes wide and sad.

"I want to go home."

Dean reached out as though to touch her. "Listen to me, sweetheart. I want you to close your eyes and think about your mom and dad. Can you tell me about them?"

A small smile curled Anna's mouth. She closed her eyes, lashes fringing her pale cheeks. "My mommy sings to me at night, and tells me stories about when she was a little girl…"

Sam knelt over Anna's corpse, digging in his pockets until he found a small squeeze bottle of lighter fluid. He splashed it over the body, soaking it well. He then glanced up at Dean, but Dean had eyes only for the ghost of the little girl.

"My daddy is building me a tree house, and says I can spend the night in it when I get older."

"Can you see their faces? Can you imagine them?" There was a strange tightness, a thickness, in Dean's voice.

"My mommy is the prettiest lady in the world. And my daddy is the handsomest man." The smile on Anna's face was soft, sweet.

"Do you see their faces?" Dean asked again, and Anna nodded slowly. A large tear wobbled on her lashes, then fell, sparkling like a dewdrop, toward the moss. Without looking at Sam, Dean lifted his hand and clutched it into a fist. Sam flicked his lighter and touched it to the corpse, which caught fire with a muffled 'whoomph'.

"Look at their faces, sweetheart," whispered Dean. Another tear coursed down Anna's cheek, but her smile did not waver. A warm glow seemed to brighten her face, spreading down her neck to her arms and hands and fingers, until Sam and Dean could hardly stand to look at her, so bright was the light.

And then she was gone.

Sam blinked, trying to clear the spots that swam in his vision. The heat from the burning body licked at his face. "That was a new one," he murmured, scrubbing a hand over his eyes.

Dean didn't answer, only nodded, still staring at the spot where the spirit had been. He gusted a sigh. "Let's get out of here," he said quietly. He glanced at the sky to determine where the sun was coming up. Remembering that they had parked at the south end of the reserve, he snagged Sam by the elbow and lifted him to his feet. Sam stepped sideways dizzily, so Dean leaned into him, supporting and guiding him southward through the trees.

But after a few steps he stopped, stooping to grab something off the forest floor and jam it into his pocket. Sam opened his mouth to ask, but Dean didn't meet his eye, only pressed on into the woods. It was a shockingly short walk back to the road, and only a short distance further until they spotted the Impala, parked just off into the trees. "The kid did a damn good job leading us out," murmured Dean.

Dean eased Sam to rest in the passenger seat and popped the trunk. He retrieved the tackle box that served as their first aid kit, and gently cleaned the blood from Sam's face with sterile water and gauze. A dull headache was throbbing behind Sam's eyes and all he wanted to do was fall asleep, but he knew that there was no way Dean would let him until he was sure that the concussion wasn't too serious. "Well," Sam muttered, "another one bites the dust."

Dean didn't reply, only chucked the tackle box into the back seat and flopped into the driver's seat. "Not yet." He reached into the backseat and retrieved Sam's laptop. "We need to find out who she is."

Sam opened his mouth to ask why, but the look on Dean's face stopped him. "Okay. We can do that." His fingers ticked quickly over the keys, searching the Internet for any reports of missing children from the area. He had the answer in minutes. "Anna Delaney, disappeared eight months ago from a playground near the main entrance of the reserve." He turned the laptop so Dean could see the picture included in the article. "No leads."

Dean's mouth tightened into a hard, white line. "Find the Delaney's address," he ordered, turning the ignition and breaking the silence of the morning with the Impala's throaty growl. The tires spit rocks as he floored the accelerator and fishtailed out onto the gravel road, speeding back toward town.

Sandy Delaney rolled her eyes as she heard the roar of an engine out in front of her house. Damn kids with their muscle cars, up and down the street at all hours. She clipped on an earring and stepped to the front door, shrugging into her coat. She opened the door, squinting in the morning sun, and stepped outside into the cool, late autumn air.

Then she stopped short.

Propped against the top step, was a small, mud-covered handmade doll.