"A queen of hell?" Sam's eyebrows shot up as a wave of reactions rushed over his features: surprise, concern, curiosity, and a little amusement (okay, he wasn't proud of that one, but he remembered how the Trickster had referred to Lucifer as Lucy earlier, so the two ideas merged in his head to form a mental image of Lucille Ball on some sort of Hell throne, reigning over the underworld). His first and strongest instinct, of course, was to investigate further, maybe find out if his psychic powers would work on whatever brand of demon this hell queen was. He needed to do something good here, after all, to make this bizarre detour more than just a colossal waste of their time. Even though it wouldn't help his world to get rid of some other universe's potentially fictional queen of hell, it would probably help somebody.
"Who is she? What's she like?" He didn't voice his idea, because he knew exactly what Ruby would say. Going up against a demon that powerful was stupid, and Sam would have a pretty hard time preventing the apocalypse if he got himself killed fighting what might've been a figment of some witch's or god's or even his own imagination. Without someone to keep him in check, Sam tended to become the spitting image of his father: a miserable, obsessive, suicidally reckless bastard. He made bad decisions because all he cared about was exacting vengeance on the kinds of things that had destroyed his life. Ruby had saved him from that self-destructive spiral once, or at least she'd helped him focus his energies into achieving a productive goal, instead of chasing every shadow down every alley and waiting for his luck to run out.
With her here, Sam knew better than to fall back into that pattern. He already had Lilith and Lucifer to worry about, and they were more than enough. That didn't mean he was going to ignore any evil he found in Halloween Town; it just meant he had to find a way to be smart about it.
Turning back to the cabinets he'd been searching, he rummaged through the contents of one last shelf -- mostly just china plates and an obscene amount of cobwebs -- before giving up. The house clearly hadn't had any living human residents in years. "Let's get this upstairs, and we can check the restaurants later." Sam hefted the large glass jar off the counter, nodding at a set of dusty measuring cups he'd set aside to portion the salt out for people. "Can you grab those? I have a feeling you're right about things working differently here, though. Did you know there are vampires who can actually be killed with stakes?" That still seemed kind of ridiculous to him.
He refrained from mentioning that the vampires he'd spoken to had a sort of Bloodaholics Anonymous thing going, because he was planning on attending those meetings, and not just to make sure they stayed on the wagon. If by some miracle he did survive killing Lilith, Sam was going to need a plan to get himself off of Ruby's blood for good, so he was hoping some of the vampires' advice would translate to his situation. As terrifying as it was to think about going through withdrawal again -- a part of him even hoped he'd die in the fight, just so he wouldn't have to experience the hallucinations and the searing pain that reached all the way down to his bones -- what was the alternative? Keeping up the demon blood habit forever?
Sam wasn't the monster his brother had accused him of being, but he knew that potential was inside of him somewhere. He couldn't let it come out. Ruby wouldn't have understood; she might have even taken it as an insult, as his way of saying that he thought she was a monster. And he didn't. He believed in her, believed that she had changed, some of it on her own before she ever met him and some of it with his help. But there was still a demon inside of her, just as there was something inside of Sam, something impure and unclean, something wrong. It was probably why they'd been drawn to each other, but that sure as hell didn't mean they needed to talk about it. Because if his relationship with Dean was any indicator, all those words that went unspoken between two people generally stayed that way for a reason. Giving voice to them only ever made things worse.