Anna brought the car to a slow stop just before the railroad tracks.
She stepped out.
Azazel stood on the side of the tracks, hands in his pockets, waiting.
"Fifteen miles in," he said, getting straight to it. "There's a cemetery. Old crypt in the middle. You're gonna open it."
Anna frowned slightly, not moving any closer. "Why me?" she asked. "Why can't you do it yourself?"
A faint smile touched his face. "Because I can't go in there," he said. "Not yet."
She studied him for a second, then asked the obvious. "And if I say no?"
His expression didn't shift. "Then you die," he said. "Same way I brought you back, I can take it away. Quick. Clean."
Anna didn't look away. "You need me," she said. "Otherwise you wouldn't be here asking."
Azazel gave a small nod. "For this part, yeah," he admitted. "But don't mistake that for you being irreplaceable. I've got other options. People easier to push. It just takes time."
That settled it.
If she refused, she didn't just lose her life—she lost whatever chance she had left at fixing it.
"And if I do it?" she asked quietly.
Azazel's tone stayed calm. "Then you get what you want," he said. "Your life back. No running, no fear. You live it like it's supposed to be."
Normal.
That was enough.
"Fine."
Azazel reached into his coat and pulled out a gun, tossing it lightly toward her. She caught it on instinct, the weight of it solid in her hands.
"The Colt," he said. "Only thing that can kill me."
Anna looked up at him, grip tightening slightly.
"If you're thinking about trying something," he added, "don't. You won't get the chance. You'll be dead before you pull the trigger, and then everything you're hoping for? Gone."
He let that sit before continuing, voice steady.
"Finish the job first. After that… you can think about whatever you want."
Anna didn't respond. She just looked at him for a second longer, then turned.
She crossed the railroad tracks without another word and started walking into the darkness, the Colt heavy in her hand as she headed toward the cemetery.
***
Night had settled over the cemetery, dim and quiet except for the wind moving through the trees.
Bobby, Dean, Henry, and Sam all stood among the graves, spread out just enough to keep watch in different directions.
Dean walked a few steps forward, looking around at the headstones and the open ground. "Nothing here," he said, scanning the area. "Just graves. What the hell does Yellow Eyes want with this place?"
Bobby didn't answer immediately. His eyes moved past the graves, toward the center where the old crypt stood, half-sunk into the ground.
Sam kept his eyes on the crypt. "This is the center," he said quietly. "If that map was right… this is where everything connects."
Dean shifted his weight, glancing around the empty graves. "So what, we just stand here and wait?"
Bobby gave him a look. "Unless you've got a better idea, yeah," he said."We don't exactly have a tracker on Yellow Eyes telling us when he's gonna show."
A second later, Sam's head turned slightly. "Someone's coming."
That was enough.
All four of them moved without another word, dropping behind the nearest graves, keeping low and out of sight.
Henry crouched down with them, frowning. "We've got four people, all armed," he muttered. "Why are we hiding?"
Bobby didn't even look at him this time. "Because it's better to know who you're dealing with before you jump in," he said quietly. "You rush in blind, you end up dead."
Dean adjusted his shotgun, just enough to see over the stone. "Yeah, let's try thinking first for once."
Henry let out a low, dry scoff from beside him. "Yeah, because we always think before jumping in," he said, the sarcasm clear in his voice, like even he didn't believe that.
Sam didn't take his eyes off the path ahead. "Can you two not," he muttered under his breath. "Just—watch."
The sound of footsteps cut through the quiet.
Anna stepped into view, moving slowly into the cemetery. Her gaze swept across the graves before settling on the crypt in the middle. The Colt rested in her hand, and she looked down at it for a brief second before lifting her head again, checking the area.
Sam's expression shifted the moment he saw her. "Anna…" he muttered, disbelief slipping through.
"Isn't she dead?" The memory was still fresh—he had seen her go down. Unlike the others, she hadn't felt human even before that, her mind twisted enough that she had tried to kill him without hesitation.
Anna didn't notice them yet.
Sam glanced at the others and gave a small signal.
All four of them rose from behind the graves at once, weapons coming up and locking onto her.
Anna froze for a moment, then her face broke into a small smile. "Sam… you're still alive?" she asked.
Dean didn't lower the shotgun, eyes flicking between her and the gun in her hand. "You know this chick?"
"Yeah," Sam said, steady but cautious. "She was one of the special kids with me." His tone hardened slightly. "But she's not… right in her mind ."
Anna's smile thinned, but it didn't disappear. "Not right?" she said. "I was just trying to survive. Is that wrong?"
Sam didn't step closer, but his voice stayed firm. "No," he said. "But surviving doesn't mean killing everyone else."
Henry's eyes flicked to the Colt in Anna's hand.
"Give me the gun," he said, drawing the katana in one clean motion.
Anna tilted her head slightly, watching him. "Or what?" she asked. "You're gonna kill me with that?"
Henry didn't rush her, his grip steady. "Depends," he said. "Give me a reason not to."
For a second, it looked like she might actually hand it over.
Then she smiled.
And threw it.
The Colt spun high into the air.
All four of them reacted at once, heads snapping up, but it didn't make sense—she'd thrown it too high, too far off.
Henry didn't hesitate. He pushed off the ground and jumped, reaching up, fingers stretching toward it.
For a split second, he had it—then the gun jerked, shifting mid-air, not falling but pulled, yanked straight toward the crypt.
Henry's expression tightened as he dropped back down, already turning.
The Colt hit the stone with a sharp metallic crack, the barrel locking into a small carved opening in the crypt door as if it had always been meant to fit there.
A click followed.
Then another.
Mechanisms on the crypt began to move, deep and heavy, something old waking up.
"—Damn it," Henry muttered, eyes fixed on it. He had been seconds too late.
Anna was still smiling.
That was enough.
Henry stepped in and drove the katana forward in one clean thrust, the blade piercing straight through her chest. The motion didn't stop at the surface—the force carried through, pinning her back as the steel sank deep.
Her body jerked once, the smile breaking as the breath left her.
Henry pulled the blade free. Behind him, the ground shifted—stone scraping against stone as the crypt door began to open.
*****
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