Burn You to Sleep

Anna is sixteen

Her wrist was already throbbing, but Anna's knuckles refused to quit. She swung from her shoulder, daring the bones in her hand to give against the punching bag. It heaved away from her, swung back fast enough to nearly sprain her wrist as she swung at it yet again.

Anna's rage was palpable. It burned smoke out of her every pore, bled sluggishly from the broken skin on her knuckles, and burst painfully in her wrist with every punch. Red. Blue. Some combination of the two. Like when fire gets so hot that it can't contain itself, that it starts to feel cold. Frozen, even.

"Little early to tear the punching bag off the ceiling, don't you think?"

"Go," Anna grit out, swinging one more time before the bag was done swinging her way. She felt it pound through her hand, reverberate up her arm. "Away."

Dean caught the punching bag this time as it escaped Anna's vengeful fist. "I think you've abused this thing enough for one day."

Anna didn't even look up at him. She stared instead at the object of her anger— the anger still burning its way through her veins, freezing all the blood in its wake. Her breath came in short pants, a testament to the exertion she hadn't even noticed a minute ago.

"What're you doin', Anna?" Dean asked, less sarcastic and more parental.

"Training," Anna tried and turned away from the punching bag. There had to be something else she could attack in here. Her focus centered on the treadmills in the corner. Hell yeah.

She didn't even make it a step, though. Dean's hand around her bicep made her pause. She was careful not to look at him. He'd have her if she looked at him. She'd end up talking to him, and that was not what Anna wanted right now. No, she wanted to break something— break everything. Maybe the gym was the wrong place. Maybe she should've gone into the bathroom and smashed the mirror, gone into the garage and punched her hand through some car windows. Dean would've matched her energy then— he would've been pissed.

"Come on," he said instead, gentle but firm. "You need to take it easy. Your head needs time to heal." At her continued silence, he added, "You've been down here for almost an hour, Anna. If it ain't dead by now, it's immortal."

Anna was so not in the mood for Dean's stupid jokes. She tried to pull her arm out of his grip, but he fixed her with this unbearably scolding look. She turned and shoved him away, both hands to his chest. "Screw off," she practically shouted. Her own volume came as a surprise to both herself and her brother. There were suddenly three feet of space between them. "You are not the only one in this family that's allowed to be mad," Anna snapped, lethal and cold— the burning kind of cold, the so hot it's frozen kind of cold.

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" Dean challenged, voice dropping half an octave. Seemed like Anna was still good at pissing him off.

"Newsflash," she told him, snapping her fingers in time with the word. It was more of a fidget than an intentional gesture. She was so restless in her anger, like her very being was on fire. The heat was overwhelming, chasing her out of her own skin. Her hands were shaking. "The Mark is gone— You don't have the corner on being angry anymore!"

She stormed past her shell-shocked older sibling and into the hallway. Her hand was throbbing now, from her fingertips to her wrist and up her forearm. It was deep, rhythmic, and fucking beautiful. She was already coming down off the adrenaline as she slammed the door to her bedroom, a warning not to invade her space anytime soon.

She looked down at her hand. The punching bag hadn't been the only victim of her rage, but that was okay. It was good, even. Blood, inflammation— these things she could see.

But Charlie's final moments at the hands of those sociopaths, the Styne family Dean had pissed off… Anna couldn't ever know precisely what that had looked like. And there was gratitude in that but also pain. Not only had she never gotten a goodbye— she'd been denied the chance to stand at Charlie's funeral pyre. Her sister. Or the closest thing she'd ever had— would ever have.

"What's the point?" Anna asked bitterly, staring at the ceiling. She laid down on her bedroom floor, watched the room stand still. "Why do you keep giving us people and killing them? Is it, like, some cosmic joke to you? Are we a throwaway first draft of some terrible novel? I don't get it. You're—"

But she didn't know who she was talking to anyway. She didn't know if there was anyone there to hear her. She didn't know if her words could be confounded as a prayer or if they were just more blood, more

crystallized anger.

She stayed there until the anger fizzled away, melted with the dwindling heat and then grew cold again. No fire, this time, just a blizzard burying her bones in a heavy coat of snow. And Anna had no strength to dig herself out. So she stayed on the floor, arms at her sides, legs flat to the carpet, and stopped existing for a while.

()()()

"We're gonna have to talk to her eventually," Sam said, ever the reasonable one. He was exhausted, though, still recovering from… everything. There hadn't been a moment to rest in years, it seemed. "I mean, she can't cope with that kind of anger by herself, Dean."

"She don't want the help, Sam, trust me," Dean retorted and took a swig of beer. He craved something stronger— always did— but it was hardly the time.

"Maybe she does," Sam tried. Dean rolled his eyes, but his brother pushed on. "Dean, think about it. She told you directly: She thinks you've been the epitome of barely contained anger this last year. If there's anyone she'd believe has experienced the kind of anger she's got in her right now, it's you."

Dean shook his head, but it wasn't denial. It was defeat. "When the hell did I become that to her, Sammy?" He dropped into a chair across from his little brother and sighed. "Swear to god, I used to be the fun one."

Sam snorted, "And I used to be the smart one."

"Hey, don't be talkin' shit about my brother," Dean warned and pointed a finger at him.

An eye roll was his answer. "I'm serious, though, Dean, you need to talk to her."

"Course she's my job when she's pissed off," Dean grumbled, sipping his beer again. "You know, you talk pretty, Sammy, but all I hear is, 'Please don't leave the moody teenager to me.'"

Sam didn't take the bait. Instead, he countered with, "She needs you, Dean. I'm not kidding. If you don't understand by now how much she loves you, you're an idiot. No point in me explaining it to you. But you at least know you love her, so don't let this thing with the Mark spiral out of control."

Dean stared past Sam's shoulder as he took a much longer drink of beer. There were photographs pinned to the refrigerator. His favorite was of Sammy and Anna back before Sam had gone away to Stanford. Anna was only one or two, baby curls flying wildly around her face. She had her arms wrapped around Sam's head, and both their smiles were bright. Dean couldn't help but think of the kids exactly as they were in that picture. He probably would for the rest of his life— Sam would always be the big-hearted, dorky, angsty little bitch he'd been as a teenager. And Anna would always be the curious, baby-faced troublemaker who was just sweet enough to talk her way out of anything.

"I'm not losin' her to this, Sam. I won't. I just gotta figure out what she needs from me before I start running my mouth." He ran a hand over his head, hair standing on end. "Tried this morning, and I made it worse."

Sam grinned. "Good thing you've got those maternal instincts then, isn't it?"

Dean swatted at Sam's head across the table. But it was little brother instinct to duck.

()()()

Her head was throbbing in time with her wrist when Anna snapped out of her daze. The room was silent and lonely. She curled onto her side, right arm pulled into her chest protectively. She needed help, and there was no way around it.

Sitting was a difficult task, but she managed it. Standing was even worse. She sat on her bed and thought about where the boys were each likely to be. How far would she have to walk to find one of them? Who should she approach— Sam, or Dean?

She was angry with both of them, but the feeling was buried beneath her physical pain. It was easy to ignore as she opened her door and rested her forehead briefly against the wall.

"Ugh," Anna groaned and pressed her palms to the wall for support. She pushed away and walked sluggishly into the hallway. She didn't even know what time it was when she found herself entering the library. But she could see Sam sitting there with his laptop, and it sounded like Dean was moving around in the kitchen.

"Time is it?" she asked and dropped heavily into the chair adjacent to her brother. Sam looked up from his laptop, hitting the spacebar as he did. YouTube, most likely. Sam had an addiction to that site. Almost as bad as his addiction to literature.

"Hey, Ladybug." He sounded surprised but moved his cursor to check the time. "It's almost one. You get some rest?"

Anna shrugged and folded her arms on the table, a makeshift pillow for her aching head. "When'd I take meds this morning?" She mumbled almost unintelligibly into her arms.

Sam frowned for a second, then managed to interpret her question. "Uh, I don't know," he admitted. "Dean woke you up for 'em, right? Probably better ask him."

Her sigh wasn't masked at all.

"What happened to your hand?"

Anna lifted her head to look again at her swollen fingers and wrist. It looked so much worse than it had this morning. She probably should have put ice on it or something. But she couldn't bring herself to care that much. "I was stupid," she answered dully. "And kinda mad." Very mad.

"Let me look at it," Sam requested softly. He moved his laptop aside, screen still up, and reached for her arm. Halfway there, his hand stopped. He waited for Anna to offer her hand willingly.

She did, albeit slowly. "It's fine," she murmured. "Doesn't hurt nearly as bad as my stupid head."

"Can you see fine?" Sam asked, looking up at her with just his eyes.

Anna groaned in annoyance at the question she'd answered a million times in the last week. "Yes," she said shortly. Her knee bounced under the table. "It's probably been long enough, right? I mean I took 'em when I woke up. That was…" She couldn't remember. Stupid friggin memory loss.

"Still having trouble remembering?" Sam inquired. It wasn't intended to rub anything in, and Anna knew that. But it still irritated her.

"Yep. Still." She was trying not to bite her brother's head off. But she was angry with him already, and her patience was being tried again.

"And still mad," Sam said under his breath. That one wasn't a question, though. He focused again on her hand and lifted her fingers one at a time.

"It was a punching bag, Sam. It's kinda designed for people to ram their fists into it. It didn't break my fingers." She started pulling away, but Sam held her forearm in place.

"Just let me check your wrist, okay?"

Anna sighed again and rested her forehead on the table, but she let Sam manipulate her wrist. It hurt a helluva lot, but she only flinched a couple times. When he let go, she didn't move her arm immediately. She was still waiting for the overwhelming pain from all that movement to pass.

She lifted her head, though, when she heard the movement of Sam pushing his chair back and standing. "What?" She asked tiredly.

"Come on," he waved for her to follow him as he moved toward the kitchen. "I want a second opinion."

"No, Sammy, come on," Anna whined, laying her head back down. She was too tired for any of this. Way too tired to try and talk to Dean again after their fight this morning. She barely remembered it. But she knew she'd been a jerk. She usually was.

"You want to just go to the ER for x-rays then, or…?"

Anna made an irritated sound and got up sluggishly to follow him to the kitchen.

"Hey," Dean greeted as they both walked in.

Anna didn't even have it in her to be mad anymore. She just trudged to the table and sat down, assuming the same position she'd taken in the library.

"Can you look at her wrist, man?" Sam requested, opening the fridge door somewhere behind her. "Pretty sure it's a sprain, but it's really swollen."

"Fuckin' hell, I should've checked it this morning," Dean cursed himself and moved quickly around to sit across from Anna.

"S'fine," she mumbled and didn't lift her head. It was very soothing, the darkness of the tabletop, the cushion of her uninjured arm. The pain was already making her nauseous, but at least it was a little better like this. The last thing she wanted was to visit the hospital again. Granted, it would have been her own fault this time.

Dean was gentle and quiet as he went through the same steps Sam had. Anna finally winced and pulled her arm back toward her head, still not looking up.

"Y'okay?" Dean asked, more soft-spoken than he'd been for the last year.

Anna gave a shuddering sigh into her arm and the table. "Sucks," she whispered.

"I know," Sam said and sat beside her, hand settling feather-light on the back of her head. "It's getting better, though, right? This time last week, you couldn't get out of bed."

Anna was starting to wish she never had gotten out of bed. But she didn't say that. "I know," she grumbled instead, then took the risk of lifting her head. Sam had the same sympathetic look on his face, but Dean was squinting at her, looking almost suspicious. "What?" She sighed. "It's fine, right? I really don't want to go to the hospital again."

Dean's answer was just to press his palm against her forehead.

If she hadn't been so exhausted, Anna would have pulled back and snapped at him. But as it were, she just sat there miserably.

"How long have you had this fever?" He asked her, and he did not sound happy.

Anna shrugged and rested her head again. Something cold touched her elbow, and Anna griped, "Stop with the water bottles, Sam."

"Dehydration isn't gonna help this string of headaches."

She didn't even bother to reply, just sighed again, wishing she'd never left her room.

"Anna," Dean coaxed, his voice a combination of paternal impatience and fraternal affection. She didn't move or speak, but she was listening, and somehow he could tell. "You gotta eat something, drink some water, and take your meds. Then you can sleep, okay? I promise. But I'm gonna get you an ice pack for that wrist, and if it's still lookin' like hell when you wake up, we're gettin' it checked out."

When he laid it all out like that, it sounded like a simple list of chores. They might have been overwhelming if not for the calm note to Dean's voice. For some reason, Anna always felt calmer when her brother sounded so in control.

"Sound like a deal?"

Tiredly, Anna hummed a yes.

()()()

"You do know we need to talk about some things."

Anna looked forlornly out the passenger window of the Impala. "Right now?"

"Can you think of a better time?" Dean goaded.

Anna sighed. "I don't care anymore," she told him decidedly, though wearily. "I'm just tired, okay? I'm not mad, I'm not fragile, I'm not… whatever you think I am. I'm just tired."

"Rugrat, come on. We both know there's more to it than that."

"Well, I don't want to talk about it."

"So there is an it, then."

Anna started to complain, "Dean—" and then cut herself off with a huff.

"Look, if you want to talk about what happened to…" He stopped and cleared his throat, sounding pained. "What happened to Charlie," he finished, "we can talk about it."

Instead of leaning into the moment, Anna stared more resolutely at the stars twinkling outside her window. Her chin trembled and eyes welled with tears. "No," she said quietly.

"I'm sorry we didn't tell you."

The gentleness was welcomed for once, but the apology was not. Anna just said, "Stop," and fell silent again.

"Sweetheart, I did not want you to find out the way you did. We would have told you."

"When?" Anna demanded suddenly, turning finally to look at him. "When I tried to call her and she didn't pick up? Cause, you know, I think the right time to tell me would've been sometime before you gave her the hunter's sendoff."

God only knew Anna hated those damn funeral pyres. Watching her father burn on one as a little kid had been more than enough for her. And she'd stood in front of about twenty or thirty more pyres since then. Seemed like there was always someone burning.

"I don't care," Anna said again, more tearfully this time. "It doesn't matter. She's gone." I'll never see her again.

Dean was quiet beside her, but his silence was heavy. Anna almost felt bad for him. She was being hard on him and Sam, she understood that. But she couldn't imagine it hurt anymore than it had hurt her to hear about Charlie's death from a creepy Styne who'd been holding her hostage.

"Anna, I am not gonna ask you to forgive me or Sam for that. For any of this mess." He flicked his blinker on, and the red glow of the Emergency Room sign found its way through his window. "But listen to me. With time, this is gonna get better."

"I know," Anna muttered, voice shaky and small. "Not my first rodeo."

Dean stopped the car in the mostly empty hospital parking lot. He was quiet again. "Just…" He swiveled in his seat to look at her. Anna didn't return his gaze. "Give your body some time to heal before you take to the gym again, alright? That fever, that's your body tellin' you to slow down."

"Okay."

"Okay?" Dean repeated dubiously.

"Okay." Anna ran her fingers along her throbbing wrist and bit her lip hard. She couldn't cry here, not with Dean right there. She wanted so badly for this whole thing to roll off her back. The boys were fine, somehow, and they'd actually been in the trenches. They'd seen Charlie's body, made her pyre- So much for not crying.

"Anna, come on," Dean encouraged softly. He was standing outside the car, holding her door open for her. Anna hadn't seen him get out in the first place. "Come on."

Anna stared at her lap for a moment longer, then started to climb out of the car very, very slowly. She closed her eyes as Dean closed the door for her, squeezed them tighter as he put an arm around her and guided her a couple steps toward the hospital entrance. She stopped walking, sniffled and brought her unhurt hand to her face, wiping at her eyes as discreetly as possible.

"Hey," Dean called softly.

It broke something final in her. Anna turned and slammed herself into her brother. It hurt like hell when her wrist was brushed in the impact. But she didn't pull back, didn't start crying, didn't do anything but stay there. And Dean was fast to reciprocate.

The raw emotions between them were palpable, but neither cried or spoke. It was just arms clinging and Dean's face pressed into Anna's messy hair. Both of them dwelt on how close they'd come to losing each other and to losing Sammy. They dwelt on the sister they'd lost, the one they'd barely had time to mourn.

They grieved a year's worth of losses. A Winchester year's worth of losses. There were too many to count, only a portion of them tangible.

But this, here, had been one of them just a few minutes ago. And Anna was so damn grateful to get her brother back that she couldn't hang onto her anger anymore.

()()()

"She died alone, Kate."

"It sounds horrible. I never met her, but from how you talked about her…"

"She's the best," Anna murmured into her phone. "Or, I mean, she was." Her chest felt tight. "I keep thinking about how she must have felt. Those were the same lunatics that bashed my head into the wall. And they were ruthless, Katie. I mean, I thought I was gonna die, and I was terrified."

Kate was slow to answer. "I'm sorry," she said after a minute. "You didn't deserve that."

"No one deserves that," Anna agreed shakily. She ran her fingers along the ace bandage covering her sprained wrist. "I don't know what they did to her. But those guys… They were fucking crazy. And Charlie was, like, the sweetest-" She choked and twisted her mouth off to the side to avoid crying.

"Anna…"

"I gotta go."

"Okay," Kate allowed. "Try not to agonize over it," she requested.

Anna sighed, "I will."

"Okay." Kate's hesitation was audible. "Stay perfect."

"Yeah," Anna sniffled. "Bye, Kate."

As soon as she'd hung up the phone, Anna pulled her blankets up over her head and closed her eyes. It was hot, dark, and lonely in her little cocoon. But she still didn't want to cry. She bit down on her lip, and her chin wobbled. Tears were leaking hotly out from under her eyelids, but Anna kept fighting them.

A knock at her bedroom door was immediately succeeded by the door swinging open. "Anna?"

"Go away," she mumbled.

"You've been in here all day," Dean said gently as she heard him approaching her bed. He sat carefully on the edge of the mattress and pulled the blanket down under her chin. "What's wrong, Rugrat?"

Anna sighed and rolled her head to look pointedly away from her brother. "Nothing."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh." He wiped at her cheeks with his thumbs and said, "You wanna try again?"

"Nope," Anna retorted, popping the 'p' and ignoring the tremor in her own voice.

"Alright. You don't have to talk to me. But you have to get out of bed. Come on." He stood up and found her uninjured hand. "Sit up."

Anna groaned and pleaded, "Just leave me alone. I'm tired."

Dean took a measured breath and crouched at the head of her bed. "Look at me." Biting her lip again, Anna complied. Her brother's eyes were burdened with love as he spoke again. "We're gonna get you up, and we're gonna go outside. You want to go to that cafe you like? You want to see Kate or Ethan? Hell, I'll drive you to the Grand Canyon if that's what you want."

Despite not wanting to do any of those things, Anna whispered, "We can get coffee."

"Okay," Dean agreed softly, hand on the side of her face. "It's gonna be okay, Rugrat. You gotta believe me on that."

Anna nodded weakly. She'd always trusted her brothers, and they'd always come through. But this felt different. Granted, it always felt different, and things always got better. She let Dean drag her out of bed and to the car.

()()()

It was too early to have a deep conversation, but Anna felt brave. She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down across from her brother. She'd left her phone in her room– no distractions allowed. She looked right at Sam, and he seemed to sense her eyes on him.

"What's up?" he asked cautiously, setting aside his own phone to give her his full attention.

Anna swallowed and took a deep breath. "It's not your fault," she said sadly, "that Charlie died. The Stynes were total nutjobs. They would've killed anyone that got in their way. I mean, it could've-" The thought pained her, but she had to get it out, "It could've been you."

Sam's jaw was tight all of a sudden, and his eyes were damp and expressive. He shook his head in such tiny motions that it looked almost like he hadn't actually moved. "Anna," he said in a low voice that reminded her of Dean.

"I'm sorry," Anna said and wrinkled her nose at the awkwardness that was suddenly there between them. Sam was usually so easy to talk to. Then again, she wasn't usually so worried that she would hurt him by mistake. Still, she'd started this conversation, and she was determined to finish it. "I mean, I know I put a lot of pressure on you 'cause I was so scared of losing Dean. But…" She bit her lip and wrinkled her nose again, this time trying to stifle her own emotions. "I didn't ever want you to get yourself killed trying to save him. I never…" She looked away and was surprised when Sam let out a wet chuckle.

He was smiling depressingly when she looked at him. "I know that, Ladybug." He chuckled again, but this time it sounded much more like a sob. Maybe it had been one. "Don't you think I know that?" He shook his head and looked down at the coffee cup he was cradling between his hands like something to be protected or perhaps something to cling to and draw warmth from. "I made my own choices, Anna. And I… I wouldn't take 'em back." He took a shaky breath, the kind that, coming from Sammy, usually made Anna back off and let Dean take over. "Don't get me wrong, if I could save Charlie– if I could trade places with her-"

"Sam-" Anna cried in her pain and surprise. The idea was so abysmal. She couldn't stomach any more threats to her family, no matter who they came from or how benign they were.

"I know," Sam corrected himself, putting one hand out in a gesture to hang on and let me finish. "I did what I did to save Dean, and he's okay now. The rest, we can deal with."

"Not that we've been dealing per se."

Sam's smile was a little less miserable this time, but it was rather self-deprecating. He looked at his coffee, eyes flicking back up to Anna's very briefly.

"Hey- Sam?" Anna asked haltingly. His eyebrows popped up in question, and she took the prompt to continue. "Thank you," she said almost secretly.

Sam frowned in what appeared to be total confusion. "For what?"

Anna ran her fingers through her hair– her messy, frizzy, impossible hair– and was careful with her words. "Those guys," she began explaining, and felt shame when her voice came out small and soft. "I thought they'd kill me," she admitted. The idea didn't frighten her as much as it probably should have. "But then Dean showed up. He was… He looked like a stranger, and I– I mean, I was so relieved when he came home, but…"

"But he was scary," Sam finished for her.

"Oh, yeah," Anna shuddered. "One of them was… He was a kid. Like, maybe a year older than me. He didn't want to do any of it, I could see it. He needed help as much as I did. And Dean… Dean killed him. Like he was just another evil Styne."

Sam's eyes closed in consternation.

Upon seeing his distress, Anna blinked away the beginnings of tears that were in her eyes. "I don't really remember a lot after that. I mean, he hurt Cas, but I was barely conscious, so I didn't really see it. And then he left."

"I'm sorry," Sam uttered.

"No, I don't–" Anna took a breath and gathered her composure. "Thank you, Sam. You came back for me, and you were so patient and– and caring. I know it's just you, but it meant everything. I was so frickin' scared, and then you came in and just… it felt like you could fix everything by sheer force of will." She chuckled wetly, "And you kinda did."

Sam's smile was fucking heartbreaking. "I didn't fix anything," he argued in such a soft voice that it sounded more like a gift than a challenge or even an apology.

"Sammy."

"Don't," Sam said, waving her off. "It's okay."

Anna opened her mouth, wanting to say more but unsure what would help more than hurt. This felt like Dean territory. Sam wasn't okay, and that was abundantly clear. But Anna didn't have the resources to help him. She didn't know half the details of what had happened. She knew Sam would never hurt anyone intentionally. But Sam would refuse to accept her platitudes so long as he had an excuse. And it would be all too easy for him to say that she didn't understand the extent of the damage.

"Hey, look," Sam started then. "I'm sorry we never talked about Charlie."

Anna shrugged. "It's okay."

"No, it isn't. You had a right to know."

Anna said nothing. She was starting to wonder how much she actually had deserved. Maybe nothing.

"She wasn't alone," Sam promised painfully. "We were able to talk to her right before she died. It wasn't much, but it was–" He broke off and cleared his throat, eyes giving away such desolating grief. "She knew she was loved."

There wasn't much to say to that. But Anna let it sink in. She was sure there'd been terror and pain and some measure of loneliness. She'd been close to death enough times in her own life to know that much. But this still helped.

"Can we go for a drive?" Sam asked, surprising Anna out of her thoughts.

"Uh, sure," she stammered, lifting her coffee toward her mouth. At this rate, it would be cold before she took a single sip. "Least you let me play music that was released post Y2K."

Sam snorted, "Knock yourself out."

"And put my feet on the dash."

"Pushing it."

"Maybe even drive for a while…"

"Anna."

()()()

The grass was dry and dying beneath their feet. Twigs snapped and leaves crunched as Anna and Sam walked across the clearing in the woods.

Anna recognized the blackened patch of earth without any prompts from her brother. She closed her eyes for a second, letting the cold wind pull her hair back and sting her nose and cheeks. "This is where…"

"Yeah," Sam acknowledged quietly.

Anna wrinkled her nose and twisted her mouth to the side against the sudden urge to cry. Suddenly it hit her with deafening force… Charlie was dead. Charlie Bradbury was not a passionate, kind, geeky woman anymore. She was a pile of ashes and a collection of ethereal memories.

She thought she'd been grieving before. But Anna knew now that she'd been denying her feelings about Charlie and instead processing her anger against Sam and Dean.

Sam's arm brushed hers, bringing Anna's senses back online. She tucked herself against his side. It was exactly the way she'd stood at every hunter's funeral since she was a child. Sam completed the tradition by slinging his arm around her neck and hugging her solemnly against him.

"I guess I didn't believe it 'til now," Anna murmured. "I was so angry, but– but I didn't feel… this."

"I know," Sam said, and Anna believed that he did even before he went on. "You know, when Dad died, I never got a chance to say goodbye. I have a lot of regrets about Dad, but that– that was the worst of it, I think. We had a fight, just like always, and then I found him dead."

Anna didn't say anything. There wasn't anything to say.

"I'm glad you didn't have to see her, Anna," Sam confessed, and he sounded all too repentant. "But I'm so sorry that you didn't get a goodbye. I know it hurts. I know there's so much blurring right now. But I can promise you, Charlie loved you, and she knew you loved her. That doesn't go away now that she's gone."

Anna's breath trembled, but she nodded through it.

"Kiddo, I really am sorry. I wish you could've gotten something more. I wish I could give you more."

"Sam," she broke in before he could continue to apologize. "I forgive you."

Sam's arm tightened just a little bit, and his other hand cradled her head. It was a strange position for a hug, but Anna welcomed it all the same. It was easier than all the words they'd exchanged. And it was equally healing.

()()()

Anna flipped dismally through one of the graphic novels Charlie had agreed to let her borrow a few weeks ago. She'd promised, as always, to take good care of them and return them as soon as she was done. She'd already read all three of them, and she'd been excited to talk about them with Charlie. Instead, she was left trying to have the conversation by herself.

She reread each page slowly and studiously. At every phrase, she could hear Charlie's voice.

Once, when Anna had been sick with some sort of stomach virus, Charlie had come for a visit. When Anna got frustrated with the boys hovering, Charlie had stepped into her room with a copy of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.

Sometimes when her depression was really bad or she fell sick, Anna could soothe herself to sleep just by remembering the cadence of Charlie's voice as she read the book aloud two years ago.

"What's the meaning of life?" Charlie had asked her once.

A pop quiz of sorts, and Anna had passed with flying colors: "42."

Even now, the memory made her smile despite its aftertaste. Charlie hadn't written these comic books, hadn't even annotated them. But Anna still found her in them. From now on, Anna knew, she would find Charlie in everything. Just like she did with her dad, with Bobby, with Ellen and Jo, and with everyone else she'd lost since she was old enough to remember.

It sucked that Charlie's name was being added to such a long list. But this list was not a statistic by any calculation. Every single name was laced with years of memories, bleak in their sincerity. And, really, Anna believed somewhere deep inside that she would see every one of those loved ones again.

A lyric came to mind: To live is just to fall asleep; to die is to awake.

Anna liked that idea. She was sleeping. She was just sleeping. And this was all a dream. Someday she would wake up, and Charlie would be sitting beside her. Anna could only hope she'd still be speaking softly about the number 42.

It meant everything, after all.

La Fin