Written by: gooberlanes13

Edited by: KariGorsuch

"Are you sure about this?" Dean scoffed from the driver's seat, pulling the Impala up outside a standard-looking Townhouse and shifting into park. His eyes scanned the quiet street, his skepticism evident in every glance.

"Yes." I smirked, carrying more bite than intended as I adjusted myself in the passenger seat, pulling out the papers I had printed off at the hotel earlier. "This is the last known address of the first person that went missing, Jessie Morpher." I flipped through the pages, my voice clipped. "I asked around, while you took your sweet time this morning -"

Dean flinched slightly but didn't argue, his shoulders tensing as he stared ahead.

"- and Jessie's father stands to gain the most from all the disappearances," I continued, handing over the papers. "He's the one thing they all have in common. And according to his arrest records, he wasn't exactly father of the year."

Dean's brows furrowed as he skimmed the printed articles, his expression growing darker with every line. "So, this guy- Jessie's dad- is the common denominator? And this was his last known address?"

I didn't respond right away, my gaze locked on the townhouse across the street. My jaw tightened as I studied the narrow staircase and the faded front door, my mind racing.

"Eve?" Dean pressed, his voice sharper now.

"Dean." I mimicked his tone, not looking at him.

"What's the guy's name?' he repeated, his patience thinning.

"Marshall," I replied curtly, finally turning to face him. "But check this out- his arrest records say he was picked up on Main Street a couple of months ago for some... colorful behavior."

"What kind of behavior?" Dean asked, his interest piqued.

"Ranting about a cult." I leaned across the bench seat, my shoulder brushing his as I tapped on the article in his hand. "He called himself The Leader."

Dean's brows knitted together at the phrase. "'The Leader'? That's it?"

"That's all he gave them," I said with a shrug, retreating to my side of the car. "The guy sounds like a nutcase, but he's the only lead we've got."

Dean exhaled sharply, flipping back through the pages. "This feels too neat, Eve. Too convenient. Are you absolutely sure about this?"

When I didn't answer, my attention drifting back to the townhouse, his voice rose again. "Eve!"

I rounded on him with a glare. "Dean!" I snapped, my voice mocking his tone as I crossed my arms, only to unfold them seconds later and smack the pile of papers in his hands. "You always underestimate me."

His lips parted, but I didn't give him a chance to respond.

"Yes, I'm sure," I growled. "If I wasn't, why the hell would I bring it to you?"

"Don't start," Dean heaved, tossing the papers onto the seat between us.

"Fuck off, Winchester," I shot back, ducking out of the Impala first. I moved to slam the door but stopped myself, shutting it gently instead.

Dean sighed, hesitating for a moment before climbing out and following me. He kept a few steps behind as we approached the door.

"It's not shut..." I whispered, pointing at the doorknob with one hand while drawing my Sig with the other. A smirk tugged at my lips as I glanced at him. "Ladies first."

Dean's glare could've burned a hole in the air, but he didn't respond, instead drawing his Colt 1911 and nudging the door open.

We swept through the bottom floor quickly, finding no sign of anyone—at least, not at first. But something about the place felt off, like we'd missed something.

"Eve, we've already cleared this room," Dean called from the doorway, impatience creeping into his voice. He glanced up and down the dim hallway. "What's the holdup? Come on!"

I shot him a sharp glare, silencing him before nodding toward the room. "This is the only place that's been disturbed."

Dean tilted his head, his brows furrowing.

"Look," I said, crouching as I pointed to the rug in the center of the room. The faint outline of its previous position was visible on the floor, and one corner was flipped up, as if it had been moved recently. "Call me crazy, but I think there's something under here."

Dean watched, his gaze darting between me and the hall as I flipped the rug over. Beneath it was a trapdoor.

"Don't ever doubt me again, Winchester," I smirked. Dean's eyes widened briefly before he stepped closer, muttering something under his breath.

"Guessing whatever we're looking for is under here," I added.

"How the hell did I miss that?" Dean muttered, mostly to himself.

"Not my problem," I quipped, gripping the trapdoor's handle. It didn't budge. "I'm not poking at that," I muttered, glaring at the stubborn door.

Dean stepped in, his stance shifting as he grabbed the handle alongside me. With a synchronized pull, we wrenched the door open, only to be hit with the stench of rot that surged up from below.

"Fuck!" I stumbled back, covering my nose and mouth.

"Ladies first?" Dean teased, his smirk cutting through the tension.

I glared at him but swallowed my pride. Fueled by stubbornness, I began my descent into the pitch-black void below. My boots hit the ladder rungs softly as I cleared my Sig, scanning the darkness as I reached the bottom.

"It's clear," I whispered, my voice barely carrying.

Dean climbed down, attempting to drop from the ladder as I had, but he landed with a stumble, knocking straight into me and pinning me against the wall.

Once again, there we were—face to face, chest to chest.

"Sorry," Dean stammered, quickly stepping back and giving me space. His cheeks flushed slightly, though he did his best to hide it.

I didn't respond to Dean, just shot him a hard expression as I took in the musky, damp, rank tunnel stretching ahead. The stench of rot clung to the air, making my stomach churn.

"Was this on the city layout?" Dean asked, his voice low, his eyes scanning the dark passage.

"The city layout?" I scoffed, keeping my voice equally quiet. "You mean the grid? No." I growled, cutting him off with a raised finger as a faint sound echoed through the tunnel. "Did you hear that?"

Dean stilled, listening intently. Without a word, we both raised our handguns, moving down the tunnel in practiced synchronization—each of us taking opposite walls, sweeping the space ahead and occasionally glancing over our shoulders to cover our rear.

"There," I whispered, nodding toward a faint outline of a door in the distance. The sound was coming from behind it—soft, deliberate movement, like shuffling feet.

Dean's eyes locked onto mine before darting toward the door. He nodded, and we advanced together, careful and deliberate, our footsteps echoing faintly in the damp tunnel. When we reached the door, Dean glanced back at me before gently pushing it open.

Inside was a ritualistic chamber. The air grew heavier as my eyes darted over the room's contents—symbols carved into the walls, candles flickering on every surface, and eight figures standing motionless, their vacant eyes shifting between Dean and me.

"Good morning," a stuffy, aged voice called out, halting us both just inside the doorway.

The voice belonged to a pale, elderly man, his figure draped in a dark cloak. He rose from behind a desk at the far end of the room, his movements unnaturally smooth, like he was gliding. His cold, sharp gaze landed on Dean first.

"Dean Winchester," he said with a slight curl of his lips. "I figured you'd come find me sooner."

"You know me?" Dean growled, his stance stiffening as his grip on the Colt tightened.

"I know of you," the man hissed, his tone dripping with disdain. He moved around the desk toward us, his pale features twisted in an unsettling smile. His gaze flickered over Dean before settling on me, sending a chill down my spine. His head tilted slightly, studying me like I was a specimen under glass.

"But you..." he murmured, stepping closer, "...I do not."

Before I could react, he took my hand with a bow and pressed his cold, dead lips against it. My breath hitched as a shiver ran down my spine.

Dean bristled, his jaw tightening as his eyes flicked between the man and me, something darker flashing in his expression.

"Allow me to introduce myself," the man continued, straightening as his devilish smile deepened. "They call me The Leader. And you are?"

"Uh..." I stammered, my mind scrambling for a response. Dean's subtle shake of his head caught my eye—don't give him your real name.

"...May. May Marks," I choked out.

"Miss May!" The Leader's unsettling grin widened as his gaze swept over me again, lingering far too long. "What a prize..."

"Hey," Dean barked, stepping forward to place himself between us, breaking the man's contact with my hand.

"Protective, I see," The Leader mused, the smile never leaving his lips as his dead eyes flicked between Dean and me. "Protective, but not possessive."

The words struck a nerve, and I felt a flicker of shame ripple through me as flashes of the night before resurfaced. Regret tightened my chest. He wasn't wrong.

My expression faltered for a fraction of a second, and The Leader caught it. His lips smacked together in satisfaction as he gestured between us.

"Ah, see?" he said with mock pity. "You've made her upset."

Dean's glare snapped back to The Leader, but the sound of fingers snapping made us both jerk forward, weapons raised—but it was too late. Two of the eight figures stepped forward, their movements eerily fast. One disarmed Dean with a hard twist of his wrist, sending the 1911 clattering across the floor. The other wrenched his arms behind his back, yanking him to the side and out of his protective position between The Leader and me.

"Dean!" I cried, my Sig snapping toward the figures, but I froze as my eyes met theirs.

Erik Williams. Jessie Morpher.

The color drained from my face as The Leader released me from his chilling embrace, only to drape his arm casually over my shoulder, pulling me closer to Dean. His touch was ice-cold, his presence suffocating.

"Now, now..." The Leader waved dismissively at Dean, a condescending smirk playing on his lips. "I can't bear to see a beauty of your standards in such distress." His dead eyes locked on mine, but my gaze was glued to Dean, silently pleading for some kind of grounding, some shred of calm in this spiraling chaos.

I didn't speak. I barely moved.

"...So, tell you what I'll do..." The Leader clapped his hands together suddenly, the sharp sound echoing through the chamber and yanking my attention back to him. "I'll give you a choice." His smile widened as he moved behind me, his palms pressing down on my shoulders, his grip firm but unnervingly gentle. He led me forward, step by step, forcing me closer to Dean. The space between us disappeared until we were nearly nose to nose.

Dean, who had momentarily stilled in his struggles, froze entirely. His emerald eyes locked on mine, wide with worry and something else—regret, maybe? Anguish? We stared at each other, both of us unable to act, as The Leader spoke again, his voice dripping with malice.

"Either I can eliminate the source of your pain..." he said smoothly, his words hanging in the air like a noose.

My mouth opened, but no sound came out. My eyes darted to Dean's, speaking a thousand words that I couldn't force past my lips.

The Leader tilted his head, observing me with grotesque amusement. "Oh, when you're as old as I am, my dear, and when you're what I am..." His voice was calm, almost conversational. "You develop certain abilities. A sensitivity to bonds, emotions. I can feel people. People like you..." He gestured lazily with one hand. "...just more... intensely."

His words sent a shiver down my spine. How did he know? How could he possibly know?

Dean broke the silence, his voice rough and venomous. "Let her go!" He jerked against the pale figure restraining him. "Eve—May!" His voice echoed in the chamber, his desperation cutting through the tension.

But I couldn't react. I couldn't move. The pain from the night before rose to the surface, an icy weight pressing on my chest. It filled my veins, numbing me. My expression hardened into something cold and unrecognizable, and when Dean whispered my real name—Eve—the look on his face broke my heart.

The Leader's chuckle slid down my spine like oil. Without breaking eye contact with Dean, he leaned down, his lips hovering near my ear. "I bet remembering that woman from this morning will help you make a decision," he whispered, his breath as cold as his touch.

My heart stopped. My eyes went wide. I froze in place as his words clawed at the back of my mind.

"How did you—?" I began, but before I could finish, the sharp crack of his fingers echoed again. A hidden door creaked open, and from the shadows stepped the woman from the motel—the one who'd tangled her fingers in Dean's hair, who'd been all over him like she owned him.

My stomach plummeted.

"Wha—" I started, but the words died on my lips as she sauntered into the room, a triumphant smirk curling her lips.

Dean's eyes darted between her and me, his expression a whirlwind of disbelief and fury. We didn't need words to communicate—we'd walked into a trap. They'd known we were coming. We'd been watched. Tracked.

"Hi, Dean," the woman purred, her voice dripping with faux sweetness. She stepped between us, brushing against Dean in an infuriatingly familiar way. Her fingers grazed his chin, and her eyes locked onto mine with a venomous glare. It was possessive. Territorial.

She tapped his chin lightly before turning away, joining the six other figures lining the walls like obedient soldiers. They hadn't moved, hadn't spoken. They just watched, their vacant stares chilling me to the bone.

My breath hitched as the pieces began falling into place, but the full picture was too horrifying to accept. My body trembled under The Leader's hand, and my gaze darted back to Dean, desperate for some kind of reassurance.

I felt my face burn with jealousy, but I forced my eyes to stay locked with Dean's.

"Now," The Leader chuckled darkly, moving from behind me to stand by my side, his presence looming like a stormcloud. "I could eliminate the source of your pain..." He gestured broadly to Dean, his pale hand slicing the air. "...Or I can spare him." His smile twisted into something grotesque, a mockery of kindness.

I froze, conflicted. My brain screamed that it couldn't be this simple. There had to be a catch. But all I could focus on was the question hammering in my brian: Will Dean walk out of here alive? Guilt gnawed at me, sharp and merciless. I'd let jealousy cloud my thoughts, assuming the worst about him and that woman this morning. But now...

Even if they had been together, none of that mattered.

Dean mattered.

His subtle shake of the head snapped me out of my spiral. His green eyes- pleading, defiant, full of something unspoken- locked with mine, and I couldn't look away.

"May..." Dean growled, his voice raw from the struggle, his chest heaving. His desperation was unmistakable, but so was the command in his tone.

The Leader's hand shot out suddenly, shoving me forward with surprising force. I stumbled, catching myself just inches from Dean.

"Choose, my dear." The Leader's voice was soft, almost gentle, but the malice behind it made my blood run cold. When I didn't answer, his patience evaporated. WIth a flick of his wrist, he gave a silent order.

Horror gripped me as the two pale figures restraining Dean moved in eerie unison. One tightened their grip, holding him firm, while the other gripped his head between their hands, their intent clear.

"No!" I choked, my voice cracking. My hands flew to my mouth as tears sprang to my eyes. I fought them back with everything I had, but the raw fear of losing him was stronger than me. What would life even look like without him? The thought was unbearable, a void I couldn't face.

"Don't," I whimpered, barely audible.

The Leader leaned in, his breath icy against my ear. "There is it," he hissed, his tone dripping with satisfaction. "There's that voice. Now, choose."

"If I..." I started, my voice shaking as I forced myself to speak. "If I choose, what happens to him?" My eyes didn't dare leave Dean's. If I broke that connection, if I looked away for even a second, I knew I'd lose him forever.

The Leader chuckled softly, patting my shoulder like this was a casual conversation. "My dear, he'll be of no concern," he lied through his teeth, his tone betraying the venom beneath. "Either I kill him, or I spare him. But either way... I'll be ridding you of this burden."

My chest tightened, my breathing uneven as his words sank in. One of us wasn't walking out of here. My stomach twisted as I thought about Sam losing his brother. Sam deserved more time with Bri. Dean had a life to live, people who needed him. And me? I wasn't sure if I meant anything to him- now or if I would ever.

I swallowed hard, forcing back the lump in my throat as I met Dean's eyes again.

"Choose." The Leader's voice cut through my spiraling thoughts like a blade. When I didn't answer fast enough, he snapped his fingers again.

The figures moved to twist Dean's neck.

"No!" I screamed, lunging forward and grabbing The Leader's shoulder. "Spare him! Please!" My voice broke as I pleaded, my desperation spilling over.

The Leader waved his hand lazily, and the figures released Dean, letting him collapse to the floor. He hit the stone hard, coughing and choking, his fury palpable.

"Dean!" I dropped to my knees, pulling him into my arms and cradling his head. His body was tense, his breath ragged, but his eyes found mind.

"Eve," Dean whispered hoarsely, his voice trembling with emotion. He glanced past me, glaring at The Leader, then back to me. "...Don't..."

But we didn't have time for anything more.

One of the figures—the man who had restrained him—moved faster than I could process. In an instant, he had me in his grip, lifting me off the ground as I let out a strangled cry.

"Eve!" Dean roared, his voice filled with panic and rage.

I thrashed against the figure holding me, kicking and clawing, but his grip was unyielding. Another figure, Jessie Morpher, moved in to grab my legs, holding them together to stop my frantic struggling.

"Let her go!" Dean barked, forcing himself to his feet. He stumbled but managed to grab his gun, his hands shaking as he aimed.

The Leader's hand shot up, and with a flick of his wrist, Dean was thrown across the room by an invisible force. He hit the desk with a sickening thud, the air leaving his lungs as he crumpled to the floor, motionless.

"No!" I screamed, tears streaming down my face.

I heard the clatter of my own weapon hitting the stone floor, and Maria Tools, one of the other figures, scooped it up with a triumphant smirk.

"Goddammit!" I yelled, struggling harder as terror seized me. I kicked and writhed, my hips twisting as I tried to break free, but it was useless.

Dean's limp form blurred in my vision as I was carried away. The echo of my voice filled the dark, cold chambers, the sound reverberating back to me as if mocking my helplessness.

And then, just silence.