Written by: KariGorsuch

The next morning came far too early. Rolling out of my twin sized bed, I groaned. Eve was stirring in her bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Digging into my bag, I dug out a pair of whitewashed jeans, pulling them on quickly. Pulling on a black tank top, I yanked a jacket out as well, tossing it over my shoulders.

Sliding my duffle bag over my shoulder, I stepped into my boots and tightened the laces. My hands were shaking slightly- not from nerves, but from the weight of everything. I couldn't get Eve's episode out of my head, I didn't want to split up either, not like this, but we didn't have a choice. Splitting up was the plan that made the most sense.

At least, that's what Sam kept insisting.

I glanced over at Eve again, her movements sluggish as she stood and pulled her jacket on. Her shoulders sagged under the weight of the morning, and I could see the hesitation in her every move. We weren't built for goodbyes- not the kind that came with uncertainties. The kind where you didn't know if you'd see each other again in one piece.

I adjusted the strap of my duffle bag, taking a steadying breath before speaking. "Eve, you sure you're good with this? We can always change the plan- Dean could probably take the Vamp issue on his own."

Eve turned to me, her expression caught between frustration and exhaustion. "No, Bri. We stick to the plan," she said, her voice firmer than I expected. But her eyes- those told a different story. They flickered with doubt, the kind that lingered when you're trying to convince yourself just as much as everyone else.

I nodded, even though my gut was telling me something was off. "Alright," I said softly, tugging the strap of my bag tighter. "But don't forget- if you guys need back up- Steal Dean's phone and call. You know I'll break just about every law possible to get there as soon as I can."

The rumble of the Impala caught my attention as it pulled up in front of the house, headlight's briefly illuminating the room from outside. Eve followed my gaze, her eyes tracing the sleek frame in the early morning rays.

"You'll be careful, right?" She asked, her voice quiet as she pulled her jacket tighter around her shoulders. "Everything I found is on the note in the glovebox."

"Of course," I said, my tone casual, though the weight of her words settled heavily in my chest. "I'm always careful."

She shot me a look that said she wasn't buying it. "No, you're reckless. There's a difference."

I shot her a fake insulted look. "If I was reckless, I would have already taken Sam to bed."

Eve blinked, momentarily stunned with my bluntness this early in the morning, before a laugh bubbled out of her- Hlaf amusement, half exasperation. "Bri! That's not what I meant!"

I shrugged, a smirk tugging at the corners of my mouth. "What? I'm just saying, I've got some self-control."

Eve shook her head, rolling her eyes, but I caught the small smile gracing her lips. "No, you've got some trauma."

I shot her a pointed look, thinking of our conversation last night. "Okay Pot. Meet Kettle."

Eve let out a soft snorth, picking up her bag. "Fair enough."

We headed down the stairs, to where Bobby and Sam were standing in the kitchen, coffee cups in hand.

Sam glanced up as we walked in, his expression unreadable. "You two ready?" he asked, his eyes flicking between Eve and I.

I nodded, leaning casually against the counter as I crossed my arms.

"Ready as we'll ever be," I said, keeping my tone light, though my stomach churned with unease. Eve shot me a sidelong glance, her expression tight, but she didn't say anything. She grabbed a thermos from the cabinet and poured herself some coffee, her movements deliberate and slow.

Bobby looked up from the maps he was studying, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly as he took in the tension between us. "You girls look like you're heading to a funeral, not a hunt," he muttered, folding one of the maps with a bit more force than necessary.

Eve managed a small laugh, though it sounded more like a sigh. "We're fine, Bobby," she said, not meeting his gaze as she took a sip of her coffee. "Just... not big fans of splitting up."

"Don't need to be a fan," Bobby replied gruffly. "Just need to get the job done. You two'll handle it. Ain't your first rodeo."

"Maybe not," I said, my smirk half-hearted. "But it feels like we're flipping a coin on who gets the worse end of the deal."

"Don't start," Sam cut in, his tone calm but firm. He set his cup down and folded his arms, giving me that big brother stare he seemed to have perfected. "This is the best way to cover both fronts. You know that."

I held his gaze for a beat, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Doesn't mean I have to like it."

Dean appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his usual air of nonchalance. "What's all this? We having a group therapy session or are we actually hitting the road today?"

"No, we're ready," I replied, pulling the mustangs keys out of my pocket. I made sure to take the long way around the table, deliberately avoiding getting too lost to Sam.

Dean raised an eyebrow at my detour but didn't comment, his lips curling into a half-smile. "Alright, just don't get yourself into too much trouble, Bri. I'm not your backup."

I flashed him a grin, pointedly looking at Eve. "You're never my backup."

Dean chuckled, shaking his head as his eyes lingered on Eve. "Guess you're right about that," he muttered, retreating to the door as the coffee drinkers gathered their thermos and filed out the door.

Bobby paused on the porch, looking at us with that sharp, knowing gaze of his. He didn't need to say a word to make it clear that he was just as wary about this split as I was.

"You kids be careful out there," Bobby said, his voice gruff but genuine. "Stick to the plan, and for God's sake, don't get yourselves into a mess you can't get out of."

Eve and I tossed him a quick two-finger salute, smiling softly.

"I mean it, Dean. No heroics," Bobby added, glaring at Dean.

Dean raised his hands in mock surrender, but there was a glint of mischief in his eyes. "I'll be on my best behaviour. Scouts honor."

Bobby didn't look convinced, but he didn't push it. He just gave a curt nod, turned, and went back inside.

I adjusted the bag on my shoulder and headed to the Mustang. My boots clicked on the concrete of the garage as I made my way toward the car, the weight of the bag pulling at my shoulder just enough to remind me that this wasn't the casual outing that Eve and I had started on.

Sam followed me silently, placing his bag in the trunk next to mine when I opened it.

We slid into our respective seats, the cold leather creaking softly under our weight as we settled in.

The mustang roared to life, the engine idling a little higher than normal due to the chill of the morning. Easing it out of the garage, I followed the Impala's tail lights out of Bobby's drive, back towards the town of Souix Falls.

The Mustang hummed along behind the Impala, its engine growling in the quiet of the morning, matching the rhythm of the road beneath. The cool air seemed to make everything feel heavier, like the weight of the world was pressing down on the car, both physically and emotionally.

The Impala's brake lights flashed as it came to a stop at the on-ramp to I-29, even though the light ahead of them was green. I could feel Sam shift beside me, his body tensing as we neared.

The Mustang coasted to a stop beside the Impala, both engines rumbling softly in the quiet morning air. For a moment, it felt like the entire world had slowed down, leaving just the four of us in this suspended silence. Through the windshield, I could see Dean and Eve sitting in the Impala, their figures still, their faces unreadable. Sam shifted beside me, his gaze steady as he glanced at them, then at me.

We didn't say anything. Words felt unnecessary, maybe even unwelcome, in a moment this heavy. Instead, we just sat there, our eyes meeting through the glass like we were trying to burn the memory of each other into our minds, just in case.

Finally, Dean turned his head, meeting my gaze with a small nod. It wasn't much, but it carried everything—stay safe, don't do anything stupid, and come back in one piece. Eve leaned forward slightly, her eyes flicking between Sam and me, her lips pressing into a thin line.

The Impala, heading South, towards a Vampire hunt.

The Mustang, heading North towards my uncle's house, and hopefully answers.

Every Rose Has It's Thorn played softly over the radio, filling in the quiet.

We drove in silence for a while, both of us lost in our own thoughts, humming or singing along quietly to the songs we knew.

"Bri," Sam's voice broke the long stretch of quiet, his tone softer than I expected. I glanced over, keeping my hands steady on the wheel. His expression was thoughtful, his brows drawn together just enough to let me know he'd been turning something over in his mind.

"Yeah?" I replied, keeping my focus on the road ahead. The Mustang's engine hummed beneath us, a steady rhythm that matched the weight of the moment.

He hesitated, running a hand through his hair. "About yesterday... in the garage," he started, his voice careful, deliberate.

I raised an eyebrow but kept my eyes on the road. "What about it?" My tone was neutral, but I could feel the tension creeping back in, tightening my shoulders.

Sam exhaled slowly, as if choosing his words with care. "I know I can be... pushy sometimes," he admitted "But I wasn't trying to piss you off back there. I just-"

"Pushy?" I snorted. "Sam- you redefined the word. You're a fucking bulldozer when you don't get your way.

Sam tilted his head, a half-smirk playing on his lips. "A bulldozer, huh? I thought I was more of a... persistent problem solver."

"Sure," I replied, rolling my eyes and turning my attention back tothe road. "Keep telling yourself that. Whatever helps you sleep at night."

He chuckled softly, the sound cutting through the tension. "Maybe I push too hard sometimes. But can you blame me? You're stubborn as hell, Bri. And you keep everyone but Eve at arms length like it's your full-time job."

I exhaled sharply, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. "Because I'm used to it, Sam. That's how it's always been. If I don't handle things, who will?"

His gaze was steady, but there was no judgement in it. "You don't have to handle everything on your own," he said, his voice calm but firm. "You've got people who care about you- people who want to help. But you've got to let them."

I let out a short, bitter laugh, shaking my head. "The last guy who 'cared' about me, destroyed me, Sam. You got the first hand experience- so forgive me if I don't roll out the welcome mat for help."

Sam's jaw tightened, his eyes flickering with a mix of anger and understanding. "Yeah, I did," he said quietly, the weight of his words sinking between us. "I saw what it did to you, Bri."

I kept my eyes on the road, my grip tightening so much that my knuckles turned white as his words landed like a punch to the gut.

"You aren't the only one who's been burned, Bri," Sam continued, his voice softening but still carrying the weight of his own scars. "You think I don't get it? That I don't know what it's like to have someone you trust ripped from you? Hell, I've been dealing with that kind of shit for years. I watched my girlfriend burn, watched my own father abandon me, and the whole time, I had to keep moving forward. But that doesn't mean that I shut people out. It doesn't mean I push away the ones who care."

His voice had a rawness to it, a vulnerability that hit me harder than I expected. I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his confession settle in the pit of my stomach.

"I'm not asking you to trust anyone right away, let alone myself," Sam continued, his eyes never leaving my face as I drove. "But pushing everyone away, pretending you're fine all the time- it's not the answer. It's not the way to heal."

I fought the urge to roll my eyes, but the sting of his words hit too close. "I'm not trying to heal, Sam. I'm just trying to survive."

"Surviving isn't living," he said softly, almost as if he were speaking to himself. "It's just getting by. And I don't want that for you. Not for me. Not for anyone."

I didn't respond right away, the silence stretching between us. There were so many things I could say, so many things that I wanted to say. But all that came out was a quiet, "I'm sorry."

Sam shifted in his seat, glancing at me with something that looked like relief in his eyes. "You don't have to apologize, Bri."

Silence fell back over the Mustang, the hum of the engine and the soft music filling the space between us.

"Take exit 63A," Sam instructed, reading out his phone's navigation.

I glanced at the road sign ahead, then back at Sam. "Exit 63A," I repeated, following instructions. The Mustang shifted lanes smoothly, and I took the turn off I-29 onto I-94.

I slowed the Mustang, glancing at the house as we pulled into the cracked gravel driveway. The place looked like it hadn't been touched in years—windows dusty, the porch sagging, and the lawn overtaken by weeds. It had an air of quiet neglect that felt almost eerie.

"This it?" I asked, looking over at Sam, who had his eyes locked on the house.

"Yeah," he replied, his voice quiet but firm. "This is it."

I put the car in neutral, the engine rumbling to a stop as the silence hung thick in the air between us. The weight of what we were about to do was settling in, and I could feel the knot in my stomach tightening.

"Are you sure about this?" I asked, my fingers drumming nervously on the steering wheel.

Sam didn't answer immediately, his gaze drifting to the house, and for a moment, I could see the shadows of his past flickering behind his eyes. He took a deep breath, then turned back to me, his expression softening.

"I know this is your Uncle's place, but please. Stay close until we either find him, or find out what's going on."

I nodded, the seriousness in his voice cutting through my hesitation. I understood why he was asking. "You never did tell us what exactly it is you needed Uncle Brad's help for."

Sam's expression hardened slightly, and he let out a soft sigh, like he was trying to piece together words that wouldn't come easily. He shifted in his seat, glancing once more at the house before his eyes met mine.

"Dean and I didn't tell you, because we didn't want you two getting involved with the Supernatural," he said quietly. His voice was laced with guilt, the weight of past decisions that he'd kept hidden from me. "You know that you are descended from Eve. Well, your uncle was the one who got rid of Eve the first time. We need to know how."

"You're telling me that my uncle..." I trailed off, trying to make sense of it all. It felt surreal, as if we had crossed into some kind of twisted version of my life that I didn't recognize. "He killed Eve? How- Why?"

Sam shook his head. "I dont have the answers to that- I wish I did. But that's why we're here- to figure that out."

I popped the driver side door open and got out. "Then let's go."

Sam followed me out of the Mustang, his movements measured, like he was bracing for something. He didn't say anything else as we made our way toward the house, the air thick with the weight of unspoken words. His silence was just as loud as anything he could've said, and it felt like the entire world was holding its breath along with us.

The old porch creaked beneath our feet as we reached the front door, its wood warped and weathered by years of neglect. Sam reached for the doorknob, his hand hovering for a second, a moment of hesitation before he twisted it open. The door groaned, swinging inward on rusted hinges, revealing the dim interior.

The smell hit me first- dust, old wood, and something faintly metallic. I shivered as the memory of The Grande hit me. I stepped inside cautiously, scanning the room. The furniture was covered in dusty sheets, forgotten, just like the house itself. Everything seemed frozen in time, like a memory that had been left to decay.

"Sam?" I whispered, my stomach rolling. There was a strange noise that seemed to come from upstairs, like a faint scraping sound.

Sam didn't answer immediately, but his eyes were scanning the room, looking for any sign of movement, anything that might give us a clue. "Stay close," he muttered, drawing his pistol.

I copied the motion, the familiar weight of my 1911 settling some of my nerves. We cleared the entire bottom floor together before pushing our way upstairs.

The stairs creaked under our weight, the sound eerie in the heavy silence that had settled around us. My hand tightened on the grip of my pistol, the cold weight grounding. Each step seemed to echo louder, as though the house itself was holding its breath.

At the top of the stairs, Sam paused, his eyes scanning the dark hallway. The scraping sound from before had stopped, but something still felt off. The air felt colder up here, and the oppressive stillness hung heavy. Sam's shoulders were tense, his focus sharp as he slowly advanced down the hall, his footsteps deliberate.

I moved a few steps behind him, my eyes flicking to every shadow, every corner. The feeling of being watched prickled at the back of my neck, but I didn't speak. No sense in drawing attention to ourselves. The last thing I wanted was to be caught off guard.

We reached the first door on the left, and Sam signaled me to stop. He gently turned the handle, pushing the door open just enough to peek inside. I stayed just behind him, waiting, listening for any hint of movement.

Inside, the room was dim, the only light coming from a small window at the far end. It was mostly empty, save for a few boxes and what looked like an old desk. But there was something else. A large, dark stain on the carpet near the desk- fresh, or at least not old enough to blend with the dust that had accumulated everywhere else.

Sam's gaze flicked to me, a silent question in his eyes. I nodded, acknowledging that I saw it too. Something was wrong.

He slowly pushed the door open wider, stepping inside with quiet precision. I followed, my boots silent on the floor, every sense heightened. The smell of old blood lingered in the room.

Sam motioned for me to stay back, then moved around the desk, his pistol raised. The movement was fluid, controlled, as he closed the distance. I stayed behind him, my own weapon ready, eyes scanning the room for any signs of movement.

Sam reached the desk, his eyes narrowing as he rounded it. And then he stopped, his face shifting from concentration to something darker.

There, slumped on the floor beside the desk, was a body. It was barely recognizable- pale, cold, and unnaturally twisted. The skin was stretched tight over bones, and the eyes were wide open, glazed over in a vacant stare.

"It's him," I whispered, my voice shaking slightly. I hardly remembered ever meeting my Uncle, but I'd seen enough pictures to be able to recognize him.

Sam's jaw tightened, his face going grim as he stared at the twisted, lifeless form of my uncle. His fingers flexed around his pistol, but he didn't make any move to approach the body.

"This is bad," Sam muttered under his breath, his voice low and controlled. "Real bad."

I felt a cold shiver creep down my spine, the reality of the situation hitting me hard. My uncle, the one person who could answer the questions we had, was dead- mutilated.

I swallowed hard, my throat tight. "How?" I asked, though I wasn't sure I wanted to know the answer.

Sam didn't look at me. He just shook his head slowly. "Not sure. But it's clear someone- or something- wanted him to suffer."

A chill washed over me, and for a second I couldn't breath. I knew the world I was getting involved with was dark- dangerous even- but this? This felt different. Personal. Someone had sent a message, and I was starting to think it was directed at more than just my uncle.

"Do you think it was Eve?" I asked, the question slipping out before I could stop it.

Sam hesitated, then gave a curt nod. "It's possible. Whoever did this, they had to know who your uncle was, and what he did. He wasn't just some hunter- he was one of the best. If someone's trying to send a message..." his voice trailed off, the implication sinking in.

I took a slow breath, trying to steady myself. "So, what now? We just leave him here?" The thought made my stomach turn.

"No," Sam said sharply, his voice firm. "We'll give him a Hunter's funeral, and we'll find out what happened."

I swallowed, trying to push down the lump in my throat. "Alright," I managed to say, though the words felt hollow.

Sam's gaze flicked over to me, and I saw the understanding in his eyes. "Bri- if you're not up for this- I can do it. I can come back-"

I shook my head quickly, cutting him off. "No, Sam. I may not have known him well, but this is my family. I'm not going to leave it to you."

Sam didn't say anything right away, but his jaw tightened as he gave me a long look. I knew he was weighing the situation, considering if he should push me further or not. But then he sighed, his posture softening slightly.

"Alright," he said, his voice quieter, more understanding now. "Let's do this together, then."

I nodded, taking a deep breath as I tried to steady myself. We got to work, Sam taking the lead in wrapping the body while I helped, my hands shaking just enough to remind me of the weight of the moment.

Once Uncle Brad's body was wrapped up, Sam picked him up and carried him downstairs before setting his body on the covered couch. "We'll come get him tomorrow morning- before the sun is up."

I nodded, my throat tight as I watched Sam carefully place my uncle's body on the couch. The weight of the moment settled heavily in the pit of my stomach. There was so much I didn't understand- and there was no way that he would now be able to tell us what we needed to know.

"Tomorrow," Sam repeated, his voice low but firm. He looked over at me, his eyes searching mine for any sign of hesitation.

We lingered for a moment, both of us lost in the quiet tension of the room, before Sam turned and walked toward the door. I followed, pulling the door shut behind me with a soft click that seemed to echo in the stillness of the house.

The quick walk back to the mustang was silent, and neither one of us spoke as we got in, the engine roaring to life beneath us.

The drive to the hotel was uneventful, the road bathed in the crimson afternoon sun. The silence between us was comfortable, though heavy with everything left unsaid. When we reached the hotel, Sam didn't waste any time. He got out, his movements deliberate, and I followed his lead.

The hotel lobby felt unnervingly still, the kind of quiet that made even the faint hum of the vending machines sound loud. The faint smell of stale coffee lingered in the air, mixing with the faintly floral cleaner they'd probably used to cover up years of cigarette smoke.

Sam approached the desk with his usual calm demeanor, his voice low and even as he spoke to the clerk. I stayed a few feet back, my arms crossed tightly over my chest. My eyes roamed the room—cheap paintings, fake plants, and a scratched-up brochure rack by the corner. It was the kind of place that was meant to be forgotten the moment you left it.

I watched Sam lean forward slightly, sliding the clerk a credit card and nodding at whatever they were saying. He made everything seem so simple, like he could command the room with his steady tone and quiet confidence.

It almost irritated me—how unshaken he seemed. But then I caught the faint tension in his shoulders, the slight furrow in his brow as he glanced back at me, a silent question in his eyes. Are you okay?

I gave him a quick nod, though my throat felt tight and my chest heavy. I wasn't okay, not really, but I didn't have the energy to say it out loud. Not yet.

Sam returned to me a moment later, key card in hand. "Room 214," he said softly, gesturing toward the stairs. "Let's get settled."