What happened at the psychiatric hospital, had thrown me for a week. My mind is just racing with what I hadn't thought about in centuries. My mind was far from my current problems, but they never seemed far behind.

I was out in a bar, sitting at the counter, the bar busy with life. My leather jacket slung over the back of the chair, as I leaned onto the counter top, a glass of whiskey in my hand. A flip phone next to my resting arm, and just as I looked at the phone - it came to light, flashing and letting out a vibration. I frowned as the display on the front didn't display a name, so being curious, I grabbed the phone, and flipped it open, opening the message. My eyes scanned the message, and it was from someone I didn't think would ever ask for my help. MIster Dean Winchester. In the message, he asks if I could meet them in Housatonic, Massachusetts, at this specific address that was included in the message. They had a case that they could use my skill set on.

Did Sam finally tell Dean what I asked him too all those weeks ago? Was Dean ready to trust me? It was intruding to think about. There was no doubt in my mind that Sam would have told his brother what transpired in his room that night. It was something I had to face, but wasn't going to break that easy.

Flipping the phone closed, I down the remaining half glass of the whiskey, and placed the glass down. I spun on my stool, and slid off, brushing part of my dress that I was wearing down. It was comfortable, and flexible enough to fight. I grabbed my leather jacket, swinging it over my shoulder. My boots clicked against the ground, making my exit clear. A few eyes stared me off, which was always a bonus.

I left the bar, and soon found myself on the path, and cocking my head around briefly to see it not with life. I blinked, and I was transported to the address that was in Dean's text. I was standing on a porch, and I was on what is believed to be a farm. Without hesitation, I knocked on the door, and waited for someone to answer it. The door to the home was slung open, and to my surprise, a seemingly bald man had answered it, his eyes wondering my figure.

"I hear you have a ghost problem?" I strolled past him, a smirk tugging at my lips. I walked through the hallway, but turned to the left to see Sam and Dean on the sofa, and a Mother and a daughter to my left, sitting opposite. "Hello boys," the smirk continued to tug at the inner corner of my lips. "Thanks for the text Dean," I brought my leather jacket round, and slung it towards him, which made him catch it.

"This is Abigael. Our... Friend," Dean found a word to introduce me. Well he couldn't just say Demon slash witch friend. I turned my head to the Mother and Daughter and offered a tight thin smile.

"So, when did this start?" I pondered the question out into the air.

"Started a month or two after we moved in," the man spoke from behind, as he was in the threshold of the living room door, holding suitcases.

"Yeah, first I-It was, uh, bumps and knocks and, uh, scratches on the walls. And then it started breaking things," the mother announces.

"And then it attacked Katie?" Sam's rough husky voice pierced the air. My eyes darted over to the teenage girl.

"That was two nights ago," Katie's father states.

"Can you show them, honey?" Katie's mother locked eyes with her daughter, and asked politely. She was willing. So she pulled back the blanket, and stood up from the sofa. She grips the bottom of her pink shirt, and lifts it up to bare her stomach. Engraved into her skin was the message.

"Murderd Chylde," Sam states, it was kind of a horrifying thing for a teenager to bare.

"May I?" Katie locked eyes with me, as I was asking permission to touch the engraving. She nodded her head gently as I stepped around the boys, and came close to Kaite's wound. I extended my hand over her stomach, and slowly hovered over the words, trying to feel who had engraved them there. Small glimpses of a woman appeared in my mind, but the flashes were brief. Wherever she was when she was alive it was dark, and cold. My eyes snapped back open, as I pulled away from Katie's stomach.

My eyes darted from Katie to the boys, giving them a look, meaning I will tell them later.

"Katie," Dean's rough voice pierced the air. "Everything's gonna be fine. I promise," Dean had a way with his words, and it made people believe in him. She offered a small smile to him. "Why don't you guys take yourselves a little vacation. And, uh, we'll take care of it," his eyes flicked between Katie's mother and father.

"Thank you," the Mother spoke with a sigh of relief.

"I'll meet you boys in the car," my eyes flicked between the Winchesters and I leaned down to grab my jacket that was nudged in between the couch and Dean. I lifted back up quickly and walked from the living room to the front door, and out. The fresh air blew through my hair, as I descended down the porch steps, and towards the Impala. As I reached the last step of the porch, I blinked and was transported inside of the Impala, waiting for the boy's arrival.

Five minutes or so went by, and they left the house behind. They climbed into their respectable sides, Dean behind the wheel, and Sam the passenger.

"What did you do?" Dean was the first to speak, casting his head over his shoulder to meet my gaze.

"Hi Abigael, how are you? I'm fine Dean, thanks for asking," my voice was laced with sarcasm as he wanted to get straight down to business. He didn't look impressed with my snarky comment. "All I could get was a dark cold feeling," I explained.

"Not very helpful," Dean remarks, shifting in the driver's seat while turning his head back around to start up the impala. "Couldn't you have helped her with the marking?" He questioned, as the impala's engine roared to life, purring, as it waited for Dean to drive.

"Part Demon, remember," I made a 'duh' expression as I caught his gaze in the rear-view mirror. He rolled his eyes, and shook his head, as he pressed his foot on the gas, and off we went.

I felt Sam's gaze flicker back now and then, and we made eye contact a few times, and I could see in his eyes he wanted to know more. About me, and my past, but now wasn't the best.

We all sat in silence, as Dean drove to the Patriot Burger Diner, hungry after our little time together. Sam and I found a table in the middle of the diner, Dean getting his brother's order, and even asked me if I wanted something, but I declined. I was sitting with my back to the cash register station. Sam was to my left, already on his laptop researching.

There was awkward silence between Sam and I, all I could hear was his fingers tapping the keys of the keyboard, and his eyes darting across the laptop screen. I crossed one leg over the other, waiting for Dean's arrival.

"I imagine you finally told Dean?" My voice broke through the silence, alerting Sam to cock his head towards me, quickly registering my words.

"I did. He must be open to the idea at least," he responded with a tight thin smile, not really sure if Dean was on board.

"We'll find out soon enough," I arched up my eyebrow to him, hearing Dean's footsteps coming back over. He sits in his chair, which is to the right of me. Sam lowers his laptop, reaching over for this salad shake pot and this sauce in this container. While Dean got a burger and fries. Dean picks up a plastic fork, handing it over to Sam.

"This is what you call eating out?" My question lingered through the air, as the boys turned their heads to lock eyes with me.

"Do you not eat?" Dean states.

"Only the souls of children," I retorted back to him, letting out a chuckle, finding it funny, but neither did them. "Tough crowd," I rolled my eyes at him. "Course I eat. But not greasy junk food," my eyes glimpsed the greasy juices slipping away from Dean's burger.

Suddenly, I could hear the rattling sound, and my head turned to the source. I see Sam shaking his container of the Health Shake, while he is looking at his laptop. Dean and I stared at him, but it took a few moments to catch on. The shaking stopped, and his eyes flicked between us.

"Oh, you shake it up, baby," Dean mocks, but Sam softly shakes his head, clearing his throat and continuing to shake it. "You know, poltergeist aside, Donna looked pretty good, don't you think," now my attention snapped to Dean.

"Dude, don't tell me you've still got the hots for our babysitter," Sam retorted.

"What? No. That's weird," Dean tried to deny it, allowing a chuckle to slip out. But somewhere in that head of his, he did still have it bad. "I'm just saying that she, you know, she – she's – she's doing good. You know, with her husband, her kid. This whole amityville thing being thrown at them, and they're hanging tough," maybe Dean had some admiration for the family.

"Yeah," Sam agrees with his brother.

"You ever think that you'd want something like that?" Dean pondered the question freely. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Sam's expression turn into surprise. "Wife, rugrats, the whole nine?" I could tell Dean was curious with his brother's answer. But Sam shakes his head, letting out a small sigh, taking a moment to think about it.

"No. I mean, not really my thing anymore," Sam answered truthfully, and it was kind of sad to hear that he didn't want a family. Maybe long ago he did, but now, with what he does. It would only put his loved ones indanger.

"Yeah," Dean was obviously thinking about it, but we had more pressing matters to attend to.

"Can we get back to it?" My voice soared through the air, snapping the boys back to the reality of it all.

"Uh, well, that house of theirs, it's old – really old. Um, hundreds of years. And I found a legend. It's unconfirmed, but still," Sam read from his laptop, filling us in on what it might possibly be.

"Saying?" Dean asked with a mouthful of food in his mouth.

"Supposedly, in the Seventeen-Twenties, the house was owned by a guy named Isaiah Pickett," Sam began, he spun the laptop round for us to see what was on his screen. The website he was on was about Witchcraft, which is my specialty. "Legend has it. He hung a woman in his backyard for witchcraft – A woman named Maggie Briggs," it was also the title of the article. 'Maggie Briggs; Witch?'. Not a fruitful title but it got the point across.

"Ok, so an angry ghost witch? You know her?" Dean asked a serious question, his eyes darting over to look at me.

"I was in France at the time. So, no," I replied with no snarky comment, it was a genuine answer.

"That still doesn't explain what 'Murderd Chylde' means,"

"No. Or where the bitch is buried,"

"You know, I mean, it's a long way back but I can see if I can find something in the town records,"

"If you can find out where the bitch is buried, I can summon her, and keep her busy," I added my part of the plan into the mix. Which in truth was reasonable. "Don't look too shocked," my eyes went to Dean, he looked genuinely surprised. I grabbed a chili-cheese fry, and popped it into my mouth before Dean could protest. "I want to clear something up," my British voice rang free, as I would see like an outcast in America, but what's new. "Back at the mental hospital. I too was affected by the wraith, the bitch dosed me up good. And I don't want to talk about it. I want to bury it, so far that I can't remember," I explained, my eyes flicking back and forth between the boys. "So, please, no comments," I could have gone the different route and threatened to rip their spines clean from their bodies, but I opted for the more gentle, polite approach here. Which wasn't like me.

"Fine," Dean spoke with a mouthful of food once again, and Sam just nodded agreeing to the terms. 

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