Amy was quite pleased that her devious plan had worked.

It had been her idea, though she'd vehemently deny that to Benny boy when they met up at the bunker. He needed some nice alone time with his memory-tinkered father figure.

There was something off about his memories. Duh, she thought. But the sensation she'd labelled angel on my shoulder kept poking her and sort of flailing in the direction of Ben's head.

Amy could take a clue. The memory troubles were far from over. Yippee.

So there she was, plan achieved, ulterior motives engaged and ready for action. Curiosity, for one. And...

She shoved that thought right back into its little cage. Wait.

Amy grinned over at Sam, who was currently achieving the amazing feat of paying zero attention to the road and still not crashing Dean's Baby. He was staring at her instead, the WiFi Signal Of Worry smoothing out as soon as she looked over.

"So!" she said, trying so hard to actually be cheerful instead of just slathering it over her tone like so much useless paint. "You know more about hunting than anyone. Pretty much."

Sam turned his attention back to the road and Amy didn't believe for a second that it was because he needed to see where he was going. He had rad driving skillz. "Anyone alive." he said softly.

Amy made herself push back the black-and-white-and-red laughter and blood and the bare hands tendons taught ripping through skin and It's not your fault darling and-

She pulled on her hair, twisting the chestnut and white into a candy cane rope. "Who died?" she asked. "The most knowledgeable hunter of years past?"

An exhale, forced out like Sam was trying to keep a flood of memories back, but she could see in the mirror how dulled the pain was in his eyes and she knew it wasn't nearly as recent as her family. "Bobby Singer. Best source of knowledge a hunter could hope for. A good man, too."

Amy swallowed hard, trying to force down the memories crowding at the edge of her mind of her father, hair like hers but with a kinder smile, his faded green fleece jacket that smelled like wood smoke when he hugged her.

Warmth stirred against the webbed bones of her shoulder, almost like a hand and she shifted back into the seat, letting the angel on her shoulder comfort her.

She'd decided it was an angel, whatever was giving her the powers. An angel not unlike the ones from her grandfather's stories - power and comfort. Amy was still confused at how that meshed with the typical supernatural angel (she'd heard tales of full on possession but she was herself. Duh.) but it wasn't her concern at the moment. Her concern was with the other end of the supernatural spectrum.

Amy looked back at Sam, and words flickered. Tales told of the Winchester brothers and Ben's lovely way of describing their luck. It slipped out before she could help herself. "So you're acquired a large portion of Satan's luck, huh?"

Sam nearly crashed the car. Amy shrieked and her knife was in her hand. "What? Where?"

The Impala eased onto the side of the road. Sam's hands were white on the steering wheel. "Would you like to change?"

"What?"

"Change." He gestured to the sticky mess her tea had made at the collar of her shirt.

Amy poked at it, decided it would be a good idea. Stared at Sam through narrowed eyes. "You were so excited about realizing I'd like to change that you nearly crashed the car?"

Sam shook his head, almost laughed. It wasn't a sound that rang of amusement. "I'll tell you when you've changed."

So, basically, give him a moment. Amy nodded, slid out of the car and around to the trunk. It took only a second to shimmy into a new shirt - purple this time - but she waited anther minute regardless.

When she finally got back in, Sam no longer looked like he was going to give himself a heart attack. instead he wore a darkly amused smile. Amy raised an eyebrow. "Something funny?"

An actual laugh, now. "Just hit pretty close to home. I've been possessed by Satan."

He said it like he was saying I've been to the store to buy cheese.

Amy snorted before she could help herself. "Well that sucks on a truly epic scale."

Sam restarted the car, and the Impala rumbled back to life. It was uncanny how similar it sounded to Ben's Apple. That was what she called it, anyway. Amy made a mental note to start referring to his car as such as soon as possible. She greatly enjoyed Ben's massively offended face. It... It reminded her of Tate. A lot of Ben did.

"Hey," Sam said gently. "Anything wrong?"

She looked down, saw the knife back in her hand, her fingers curled around the blade, blood starting to well. Warmth tingled down her arm, and her fingers loosened without her say-so, bright blue sparks sealing the shallow cuts. It fizzed like she imagined Pop Rocks would. Tate had tried putting Pop Rocks on his scrapes once, when they were seven. He'd been convinced it would heal them, like he'd been convinced Fruit Roll Ups would heal a cut that had ended up needing stitches.

Funny how he was the one possessed now, the one with instant healing. Maybe if he was awake, he'd have some measure of peace.

"What do you know about demonic possession?" Amy said. Scraped the blood off onto her jeans. "Not a high-level one. Plain black eyes, not a flicker of recognition, that sort of thing."

Sam got the look Amy was starting to label the I Remember Pain Bitchface. "How to kill them?"

Her heart felt like it wanted to explode and she shook her head so fast her ears rang. "No, how to free the host. Exorcisms, right?"

Sam hummed an affirmative. "We don't do that much anymore, though. They usually come at us too fast."

"And the knives come out." Amy ran her thumb across her palm. Only a small slick of blood. No pain. "I know."

Amy dug for something happy, summoned a grin. "Whatever. Just... Wondered."

Then she flipped on the radio. Static. Turned the knob, trying to find music but her hand pulsed warm and her fingers twisted it in the other direction and all of a sudden there was a station.

"Heat of the moment-"

With reflexes beyond anything Amy had ever seen, Sam slapped the radio off. Took a deep breath. Scowled. Flicked his eyes to Amy's in the mirror. "What day is it today?"

"The number?" Amy started digging for a phone.

"The day of the week."

"Oh," She consulted the phone with the wolf on the back, Garth's hotline. "Tuesday."

A deep, deep sigh.

Amy smiled for real this time. "You guys are pretty touchy about a lot of stuff, aren't you?"

Bitchface 'I Could Be Sarcastic But My Face Says It Better'.

"Hunting," she said disdainfully. "Ugh."

"Someone has to do it."

Amy might've whined a little more about the suckiness of hunting, but Garth's phone rang, the silver wolf head on the back dancing from side to side. She snatched it up, pressed it to her ear. "Garth?"

"Hello there, Amy!" he said, and for the first time in a while Amy remembered why Garth irritated her so much. If he had anything on Tate...

"Do you have anything?"

She could hear his joviality fading away. "Amy, I'm sorry, I haven't been able to find anything on him. But I have been able to find the Winchesters, which is a-"

Amy took the phone from her eat, clicked it to speaker. "Say hi, Sam." she ordered.

"Hi," Sam said obediently. "Who's that?"

"Sam!" Garth sounded astounded. "You've met Amy?"

Obviously, Garth.

Mumbles affirmatives and bland questions filled the line until Garth claimed that 'the wife' and him had plans and Amy was glad to hear the static-laden speech end.

Sam was grinning, which irritated her. She couldn't quite place her finger on why. "Garth's a good guy. He'll find whatever it is you're looking for."

"I hope so," she said, "I really hope so."

A pause. Amy forced the words out. "It's okay, isn't it, to fight for family? Even if you become like," she gestured to herself, the knife on her lap now. "This?"

Sam laughed like he thought she was talking about Dean, flicked his head so his ridonkulous hair settled back out of his face. "They're always worth it. Even if all they eat is burgers, and they like Taylor Swift." Sam knew about her brother somehow, Amy could see it in the way he was still looking at her and not the road and how he was trying to make light of it like he didn't know.

Jokes always hid the pain.

"You don't give up on family." Sam, serious now but avoiding her eyes. "And they won't give up on you."

And miracle of miracles, they had to turn off and Amy knew they were close. A real grin came now, as she imagined how Ben was feeling stuck in a car with his own personal Angst. Capital A Angst.

The Impala rattled to a stop outside of a door set in a hill, cement stairs and wood door and metal railings. The grass around it didn't look like it'd gotten the memo of the whole spring thing.

Sam was out of the car and fiddling with a little box by the time Amy had hauled her aching butt off the seat. The door clicked open with a little half-felt snick in the weird little part of Amy's brain where magic poked around.

"Magic?" she asked, slinging her bag over her shoulder. The angel wasn't there anymore, settling somewhere to the side of her rib cage. Her lungs eased out a little, the gentle warmth starting to untease the knot that had been tangling for days.

A raised eyebrow. "Yeah."

Amy eyed the little box. Dark wood, worn smooth with a sliding top. It certainly didn't look recent. Or mass produced. "One key?"

A nod.

Amy took a few steps in, took in the cavernous space for a half second and flung her bag over the railing. Sam winced as it crashed down to the floor. There wasn't anything breakable in it. She didn't think.

Amy waved her book at him, the final of a series she was enjoying. "I'm going to park myself in the doorway. They'll be here pretty soon, right?"

Without waiting for an answer, she belly flopped across the threshold. Raised an eyebrow at the gentle giant. "If anything can get past me in five minutes, I'll become your research slave for all eternity. It's not going to happen."

Sam shrugged. Held back a laugh. "Sure. I'll go... Set up rooms or something."

"Fantastic." Amy flipped open her book. "And Sam? Thanks."