Written by: KariGorsuch

As soon as Eve slumped against the backseat, I felt a sharp pang of worry lance through me. Her skin had gone pale, her breaths shallow and her hands still clutched her ears like she was warding off a pain I couldn't see.

"Damn it," I muttered under my breath, fumbling for my phone. My fingers felt clumsy as I dialed Sam's number, my nerves making me jittery. The dial tone rang twice before he picked up.

"Bri? What's going on?" Sam's voice was calm, but there was a thread of concern that wasn't there earlier.

"We've got a problem," I said, my voice low and urgent as I glanced at her again. She looked worse now, her head lolling slightly to the side. "She's having another... whatever this is. That ringing attack. It's bad this time, Sam. She's out cold."

There was a brief pause, then Sam's tone shifted to serious. "Is she breathing?"

"Yeah, but barely. I don't know what to do," I admitted, frustration and fear creeping into my voice. "I got her back to the car- but that's when she passed out. We didn't get very far- but we've got the ledger."

"Okay. Stay put," Sam instructed firmly. "We'll be there in a minute. Don't move her too much."

"Got it," I said before the line disconnected.

I slipped my phone back into my pocket and leaned forward, brushing her hair back from her face. "Hey, come on. Don't do this," I muttered, more to myself than to her. The impala felt like too-small of a sanctuary against the weight of the shadows that seemed to cling to this place.

The tinnitus attack wasn't just some random ailment anymore. It was tied to the wolf, the murder, and the Grande itself. I could feel it in my gut. Whatever haunted this place hadn't let go- and now it was set on Eve.

A soft shuffle of feet drew my attention, and I turned to see one of the men from inside, the younger one, lingering near the entrance. His eyes darted toward the car, then back into the building, as if he were debating whether to approach.

I straightened up, my hand instinctively moving toward my hip where my pistol resided. "You lost?" I called out, my voice sharper than I had intended.

The man froze, his hands coming up in a placating gesture. "No trouble," he said quickly, his accent thick and unfamiliar. "Just... you should leave. This place is not safe for you."

"No kidding," I muttered, but before I could say more, the older man appeared behind him, gripping his shoulder and pulling him back inside. Their voices faded as the heavy door slammed shut, leaving me alone with the tension in my chest.

A shadow flickered in the corner of the window, and I whipped my head over to stare at it. Nothing was there, but the oppressive weight of the Grande seemed to press down on me harder than ever.

Seconds stretched into minutes, and just as the tension felt unbearable, the sound of hurried footsteps reached me. Sam and Dean jogged out of the building, Francisca training behind with an apologetic look on her face.

"What happened?" Dean demanded, opening the far door and leaning in to check on Eve.

"She just... collapsed," I said, my voice tight. "It hit her like a freight train right as I picked up the ledger. The tinnitus thing."

Sam leaned in next to Dean and checked her pulse, his expression tightening. "We need to get her somewhere safe. Now."

Dean's jaw tightened, and he nodded toward Sam. "We're heading back to town. Put the ledger in the trunk."

I closed the Impala's door softly, stepping behind the car as Sam opened the trunk and picked up the false floor. Giving the drawn symbol on the trunks top a weird look, I set the ledger in what I guessed to be the center of the symbol, and closed the trunk.

Meeting Sam's eyes, I couldn't help but ask. "Is she going to be okay?"

Sam's gaze softened for a moment as he closed the trunk. "We need to get her away from this place."

I nodded, and slid into the backseat with Eve, pulling her head into my lap. By the time Sam slid into the passenger front seat, Dean had the impala roaring to life.

Several tense minutes passed before Eve stirred slightly against my lap. Her eyelids fluttered before her breathing steadied, and she groaned softly, shifting like someone waking from a restless dream.

"Eve?" I looked down, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Hey, you with us?"

Her eyes cracked open, a hint of her usual sharpness returning as they locked on mine. "What... happened?" She murmured, her voice hoarse.

"You had another one of those attacks," I said gently, keeping my tone light despite the lingering fear in my chest. "It hit hard, and you blacked out. We got you out of there, though. You're safe."

She frowned, pushing herself upright slowly, her hand brushing over her temple. "It was worse this time. Longer. Felt like it was... alive."

Dean glanced at her in the rearview mirror, his jaw tight. "Alive how?"

"Like it was trying to claw its way in," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Sam turned in his seat, his brow furrowing in concern. "We'll figure it out. Right now, you just focus on recovering. We're stopping at a place on the way back. Dean's idea."

Dean gave a small, humorless grin. "You two need a distraction, and we need to see what you're both capable of. Thought we'd hit up a shooting range."

Eve blinked, clearly caught off guard. "A shooting range? Now?"

"Better now than when we're under fire," Dean replied, his tone firm. "If we're going to figure out what's going on, we need to know you two can handle yourselves."

I smirked, "Guess we're back to playing soldiers. Sounds fun."

By the time the Impala pulled into the gravel lot of a dimly lit range tucked just off the highway, Eve seemed more alert. The headache that lingered on her face was evident, but she'd squared her shoulders in that determined way she had when she didn't want to show weakness.

Dean led the way inside, flashing the manager a convincing grin and paying in cash to avoid questions. Within minutes, we were in a private section of the range with a lineup of handguns, shotguns, and a couple of rifles laid out on a table.

"Alright," Dean said, sliding his jacket off and cracking his neck. "Let's see what you've got. Bri, you're up first."

I slauntered over to the table, looking over the options the boys had laid out. Browsing over the options, I lingered over a beautiful nickel plated Tarus Model 99 with pearl grips. Picking it up, I tested the weight of the pistol. "This thing is a beauty... Too bad it's too big for me."

Setting the pistol down, I stepped back from the table. "Y'all got a lot of options there." Reaching under my shirt, I drew my black 1911. Pressing the magazine release, I pulled the magazine from my pistol and cleared the chamber, catching the round that was chambered.

Dean raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed by the smooth motion. "Carrying your own hardware, huh? Guess I shouldn't be surprised."

I shrugged, holding up the 1911 for inspection. "Army training sticks with you. I like knowing what I've got is reliable. Fancy isn't always better."

Sam leaned against the wall, arms crossed as he observed. "Nice piece. Let's see if you can use it as well as you can handle it."

I tossed a smirk in his direction, "I'll show you how I can handle it."

Sam raised an eyebrow, ignoring the exaggerated gagging noise coming from Dean. "Get a room, you two." he muttered, rolling his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitched with suppressed laughter.

Stepping into position, I focused on the target ahead, tuning out the faint chuckle I caught from Sam. The 1911's weight felt natural in my hands, like the embrace from an old friend. With a calculated motion, I took aim and fired.

The sharp crack echoed in the space, followed by the satisfying thud of the target being struck dead center. My next shot landed right beside the first. I emptied the entire magazine before turning back to the others. Sam's expression had shifted to approval and a hint of something else. "Not bad," he admitted, his voice neutral.

"Not bad?" I repeated, grinning as I released the now empty clip from my pistol. "That was textbook perfect and you know it."

Sam tilted his head slightly, a smirk now fully forming on his face. "Alright, I'll give it to you- Nice grouping. But let's see if you can keep it up when the stakes are higher."

I shrugged casually, grabbing my magazine off the table and sliding it home in the 1911 before stepping up to him. "You set the stakes, Sam. I'll still come out on top."

"Yeah, he'll give you som-" Dean started to say before Eve cut him off with a sharp elbow to his ribs.

"Watch it," She growled, stepping forward to take my place at the firing line. Tugging the Sig from her hip, Eve took her stance carefully. She adjusted her feet instinctively, her movements fluid despite the lingering effects of the attack. Raising the Sig, she fired and landed a clean shot just shy of dead center.

"Not bad for someone who was out cold ten minutes ago," Dean clapped slowly, almost mockingly. Eve didn't say a word, focusing on firing the rest of the magazine. By the end of the mag, the center of her target was just a massive hole.

"You're both solid," Sam said, his tone more serious now. "Good to know you can handle yourselves and firearms. But shooting paper and dealing with what's out there? Whole different story."

"I could have told you that we were solid," Eve smirked at Sam before glaring at Dean. "Thought you said you wouldn't underestimate me anymore? Did you lie to me?"

Dean smirk faltered for a split second, but he quickly recovered. "Nah." He shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets. "Just testing. You passed. Happy now?"

Eve holstered the sig, the weight a comfort on her hip. "I never needed your approval, Dean."

I watched the exchange with a knowing smirk. It was clear Eve and Dean had a special way of flirting- mostly including getting under each others skin.

"Since we have apparently exceeded your expectations, should we hit the road? I swear that ledger is going to burn a hole in something- I just have this feeling that it holds the answers to who this werewolf is." I asked, impatient to get to the bottom of the issue.

Sam gave me a nod, his expression shifting from mild amusement to determination. "Yeah, we should head out. The sooner we figure out who the werewolf is, the better." he turned to Dean, his tone sharpening. "You good with hitting the road or are you going to antagonize Eve some more?"

Dean stretched his arms behind his head and gave a half grin. "Ready as I'll ever be. No point in hanging out here if we're not getting answers." He looked back at Eve, his eyes glinting with a mix of admiration and mischief. "You're right, You don't need my approval. But I'll still say you handled yourself pretty damn well."

Eve rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress the faintest of smiles. "Don't get soft on me, Dean. We've got work to do."

We loaded all of their weapons back into a few duffle bags, while Sam took the Tarus and tucked it into his jeans. Dean picked up the Ivory handled 1911 and did the same.

"What are our thoughts for dinner? I don't know about you- but I'm starving." I asked after getting settled back into the backseat of the Impala. Baby was nice- but I missed driving.

Dean raised an eyebrow in the front seat, clearly amused by the sudden shift in focus. "Food? I figured we'd be saving the world first, then maybe a burger after." he glanced at Sam, who was checking his phone with a look of mild concentration.

"Yeah, well, saving the world can wait a few hours, right?" I grinned, tapping the side of the Impala's door, knowing full well I wasn't the only one in need of a proper meal after everything that had gone down. "We've been running on adrenaline all day."

Eve nodded from the passenger side, her arms crossed. "I'm with her. I don't know about you guys, but I could definitely use something that's not fast food or coffee."

Sam finally put his phone down, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "Theres a place not too far out. Decent food, apparently. We can get something quick, maybe take it to go. No point in hanging around too long."

"Sounds good," Dean replied, his hands tightening on the wheel as the engine purred beneath us. "After all, foods the only thing that'll keep us going tonight. And I'm not exactly in the mood to hunt on an empty stomach."

I leaned back in my seat, feeling the warmth of the impala surround me again, but that gnawing feeling of restlessness still lingered in my gut.

Sam turned to look at Dean. "Lets make it quick. We can't afford to lose more time."

"Quick it is," Dean replied, pulling the impala onto the road with a smooth motion. "How about we hit up that diner near the edge of town? Not a fancy place but it should fill us up."

"The diner sounds perfect," Eve said, her tone casual but with a subtle hint of relief.

The diner was exactly what I'd expected from a small town — old vinyl booths, checkered floors, and the faint hum of a jukebox in the corner playing classic rock hits. The smell of fresh coffee and sizzling bacon mixed in the air, and it felt like a little piece of comfort after everything that had gone down. The sun had dipped low, and the warm glow of the diner's neon sign illuminated the small parking lot.

Sam, Dean, Eve, and I slid into a booth near the back, away from most of the other customers. I kept the ledger on the table in front of me, the leather-bound book worn with age. As we settled in, I couldn't help but feel the weight of everything pressing down on me. The werewolf was still out there. The mystery surrounding the hotel. And now this ledger.

"You got it?" Eve leaned over, her voice low as she glanced down at the open pages of the book.

I nodded, pulling out my phone. "I want to pull up photos of the people who stayed at the hotel."

Sam leaned over from the other side of the booth, his eyes scanning the list. "Let's just take this one step at a time. We'll look through the names first, then match the faces."

Dean picked up a menu but didn't seem too interested in it. "I'm still not convinced we won't get hit with a werewolf-sized headache by the end of this. You sure that ledger's even worth it?"

Eve raised an eyebrow at him, her usual sarcasm masking the tension underneath. "You can keep your thoughts to yourself, Dean. It's not like you have any better ideas."

Dean shrugged, clearly unfazed. "I've got plenty of ideas. It's just you two that think you can run the show."

I shot them both a look, but before the banter could escalate, Sam turned his attention to me. "Any luck with those photos?"

I flicked through the pictures quickly, pausing when I landed on a familiar face. "Hold on, this one..." I slid my phone closer, showing the image to both Sam and Eve. "His name is Bert Ridder. I can't place him- but I swear I've seen him before."

The man in the photo had short black hair, and a worn face. His expression was stern, eyes sharp, and despite the small smile on his lips, there was something unsettling about it.

The waitress arrived then with our food- plates of burgers and fries being distributed around the table. The air around the group seemed to lighten with the aspect of food, and all conversation died off as we all dug in.

The sense of calm that had settled over the table was disrupted when Eve startled and dropped the fry she was holding. "I know where we've seen him." Causing the entire table to jolt into the realization.

I locked eyes with her, sudden realization dawning on me. "That was the older man at the hotel."

"Today. He was right- right fucking there." Eve's voice was low, but the edge of fear and anger was unmistakable. Gesturing with a knife hand, making Dean blink at every point she made.

Sam and Dean exchanged quick glances, but it was clear that they were both trying to piece things together. "Hold on- what are you talking about?" Dean asked, his voice low but laced with confusion. "That guy at the hotel- he was there today?"

"Yeah," Eve snapped, her hands clenched into fists on the table. "That Son of a Bitch." obviously taking a page out of Dean's book.

"He was the one who pulled the younger guy inside. You guys just missed it. He's the fucking werewolf. He has to be- a pureblood werewolf wouldn't age naturally, right? They live longer and all that other bullshit, right? It would make sense- He used an "attack" to cover up- what I guess would be him feeding?" I shot Sam a curious gaze, since he seemed to know the most about werewolves.

Sam was already thinking it through, his brow furrowing in concentration. "Yeah- You're right, a pureblood werewolf would age much slower. It's possible he's been hiding in plain sight, using his abilities to maintain a human appearance." He leaned back slightly, crossing his arms as he processed the new information.

Dean didn't look as convinced, though he was obviously intrigued by how he watched Eve and I bounce information off of each other. "So you're saying this guys been living a double life for God knows how long, using the hotel as a cover-up for his feeding habits?"

"Bobby said that 'purebloods are like witches or psychics in some ways. They don't just attack with teeth and claws. Their emotions- their intent- it's like pressure.' I felt it after he looked at me at the hotel- it's got to be him." Eve quoted to Dean, glaring at him.

Dean's eyes narrowed as Eve's words hit, a mix of skepticism and annoyance in his expression. "Yeah, well, that's a hell of a lot of 'might be' and 'could be,' don't you think?" He gave her a pointed look.

Eve didn't miss a beat. She leaned forward, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she shot back, "Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot. You're the expert on everything supernatural, right? I mean, sure, let's just assume I'm completely full of it. But maybe next time you'll take a minute to actually listen to what Bobby said before you start running your mouth. Just a thought."