Written by: gooberlanes13

Edited by: KariGorsuch

"SAM!"

SNAP. CLANK.

My eyes snapped open, and for a moment, I was drowning in the blackness.

"Bri."

I struggled, my body heavy, each breath a battle. The vell was dim, my vision blurry, but the rage quickly replaced the fog of exhaustion. I shoved myself onto my sore legs, my pulse hammering in my ears. I scanned the room, desperate for anything I could use- anything to give me an edge.

A whimper echoed, weak and distant. Rage burned hotter, sharp and uncontrollable. I turned toward the cell door. Without hesitation, I slammed my boot into the middle of the door's structure. The sound of metal cracking was drowned by the rush of adrenaline, and I marched down the walkway, ignoring the pain in my body as I pushed forward.

Within moments, I stood face-to-face with Jessie. His smug expression faltered, his pale face turning even whiter.

"What—?" he began, but I didn't wait. My hand shot out, gripping his throat, and in one fluid motion, I slammed him across the room.

The impact made the stone walls tremble. I didn't give him time to recover. My eyes flicked to Dean's still form, Bri's wide, almost defeated eyes, and Sam's motionless body.

Without wasting a second, I swept through the room, my hands flying, tearing through vampires with a primal ferocity. One by one, they fell—ripped apart, their heads severed from their bodies with ease. The rush of adrenaline drowned out the pain, the exhaustion, and the hunger. Nothing mattered but the fight.

When the last vampire fell, I took a deep breath, my chest heaving. But before I could register what had happened, I caught movement in my peripherals.

Jessie.

I dashed forward, positioning myself between Bri and Jessie—too late. Jessie was faster. His hand shot out, locking around my neck. He lifted me off the ground, his cold eyes glaring at me with twisted satisfaction.

"Slow your roll, hotrod," Jessie taunted, his grip tightening. He glanced over at Bri, who was poised and ready to strike. "She's supposed to be dead-dead..." His gaze flicked back to mine, a dark amusement flickering in his eyes. "...You heard her scream, didn't you?"

I gasped, my feet kicking uselessly in the air as I clawed at his hand, but it was no use—he held me too high, too far out of reach.

When Bri's eyes found mine, I saw the shift in her. The fury in her gaze mirrored my own. Without a second thought, she lunged.

Her machete flashed through the air, cutting through Jessie's distracted figure like a hot knife through butter. His eyes widened as the blade sliced clean through his neck.

He released me with a strangled cry, collapsing to the ground in a heap.

I crumpled to my knees, choking on blood, my vision swimming with spots. But before I could fully collapse, Bri was by my side, her hand on my shoulder, steadying me.

"Eve?" she whispered, her voice barely a breath, filled with concern and disbelief.

I looked up at her, exhaustion evident in my gaze, the weight of everything pressing down on me. And then, before I could form any more words, everything went black.

"How did she—?" Dean's voice echoed from somewhere distant as I began to stir, fighting to wake up. His words died in his throat as his eyes widened at the sight of Jessie's headless body, mere inches from him. "—Bri, did you—?"

"With a little help," Bri answered, her voice warm with quiet pride, causing me to stir more intensely. My eyes fluttered open, and I saw the cold stone ceiling of the chamber above me. Bri's eyes widened in shock as she stepped closer. "She's awake!"

"Eve!" Dean's voice was a mixture of relief and disbelief as he dropped to my side, but before I could fully register anything, a tall figure stepped into view, holding his head in one hand.

I grinned, the familiar sight of Sam's tired, but relieved face helping clear the fog in my brain. "You missed it..." Dean teased, a grin breaking through, but Sam only glared at his brother.

"She's freezing," Dean muttered, his voice still softening despite the sarcastic edge.

"You have a jacket, asshole," Bri snapped back, looking around the blood-soaked chamber with a deep scowl. "Fuck."

Sam's eyes shifted to the piles of dead vampires scattered around us, his voice soft but serious. "Did you see how this happened?"

Bri's genuine confusion was clear as Dean helped me sit up, propping me against his leg. "I really don't know..." Bri's gaze flicked to me, her eyes wide with uncertainty as I struggled to keep mine open.

I gave her a small grin, doing my best to reassure her as Dean draped his leather jacket over my shoulders.

"Put your arms through the sleeves this time," Dean's voice hissed, though I could hear the mix of relief, concern, and something else—something softer—beneath his words. "How the hell is she alive?"

Bri knelt beside me, taking my chin in her hands and carefully inspecting me. "She looks dead," she remarked casually, earning a small glare from me.

"Thanks," I whispered, my voice barely audible as I struggled to form the words.

"Seriously though..." Bri frowned, gently pulling my hair away from my throat. She sighed, her gaze lingering on the wounds that marred my skin. "She's been beaten, stabbed, and bitten..."

Dean's face hardened as he took in the sight of me. The weight of the silence was thick between us, even though I could barely keep my eyes open. I could feel the tension settling around us, the unspoken questions hanging heavily in the air.

Sam broke the silence, his voice calm but insistent. "Can we have this moment at the hotel or Bobby's place? We need to get out of here before more show up."

Dean nodded, his grip tightening around me as he swept me up into his arms, holding me bridal style. Sam moved to balance his brother, the four of us maneuvering through the sea of bloody bodies, heading back the way we came.

I woke with a jolt, my body being gently placed into the front seat of the Impala, the doors slamming shut behind me with a force that yanked me fully awake. As I blinked the fog from my mind, I looked around, noticing the night had fallen. The townhouse we'd just escaped from flickered with an eerie glow from the windows before it was completely swallowed by flames.

A figure stormed past the window, the unmistakable silhouette of Dean, who slammed into the driver's seat and caught my eyes immediately.

"They won't hurt you anymore," he muttered, the weight of his words settling in the air between us. The engine roared to life as he pulled out of the driveway, the night air rushing in through the cracked windows.

I smiled softly, unsure of what to say. My eyes darted to the backseat, where Sam and Bri sat, their faces worn and bloodied, evidence of the hell we'd just crawled out of. Bri's hand settled on my shoulder, offering a comforting squeeze. It didn't make the pain go away, but it reminded me I wasn't alone.

"We're swinging by the hotel to grab our stuff, then heading to Bobby's," Dean added, his voice steady but carrying a hint of exhaustion.

I shifted in my seat, the weight of my thoughts pressing down on me.

Dean glanced over, his tone softer than usual. "You can stay in the car."

Bri, looking between Sam and Dean, spoke up. "She's not speaking." Her eyes lingered on me with concern. "Like, she said one word, but it barely came out."

"She's probably dehydrated and starving," Sam interjected, his voice laced with quiet concern as he gently placed a hand on Bri's knee, grounding her. "Who knows what she went through down there."

I felt Bri's gaze on me again, and then Dean's. At that moment, an internal war raged in my chest. The sight of Dean should've made me feel anger, betrayal, but what I felt instead was relief. Relief that he was alive. Relief that Sam and Bri were too.

My job was done. We had won. We'd survived.

A deep sigh escaped me as I pressed my forehead against the cool glass of the window. The darkness of the night wrapped around me, but the images of Jessie, William, and the unnamed vampire wouldn't leave. Every hour, like clockwork, their faces flashed in my mind, pulling me back into the nightmare, making it hard to truly rest.

*****

Time seemed irrelevant now. It felt like an eternity had passed, but in reality, only a few hours had gone by. I woke up again in the Impala, by myself, the hum of the gas pumps being the only thing breaking the stillness. The Mustang sat at the pump next to me, and for a moment, everything felt frozen—until I heard the familiar sound of the gas pump clicking off.

"Hey, you're awake!" Sam's voice cut through the silence as he walked over, pulling the pump out of the Impala. "How are you feeling?"

I blinked at him, rolling down the window just enough to hear him more clearly.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, leaning against the edge of the car, the bright gas station lights casting a glow on his face. "Bri and Dean went inside to grab some snacks for the road."

I shrugged, my answer as silent as it was simple.

Sam stepped closer, his expression softening. "Bri's been really worried about you." He gave me a smile before leaning into the passenger window and pulling me into a brief hug. It was oddly comforting—warm and steady, like a tether back to something solid.

When he pulled away, he chuckled, shaking his head. "We're all pretty relieved you're still with us. Not just us, though—Bobby too."

"We're just glad you're alive," Sam added, his tone warm and sincere as he patted my shoulder. Then, without another word, he headed back toward the Mustang.

Just then, Bri appeared at the passenger window, holding up a King Size Reese's with a dramatic flourish. "For you." She grinned, teasing as she fake-bowed and tossed it into the car. "We've got a few hours to Bobby's. You've been out most of the drive."

Bri's smile softened, and she handed me a bottle of water next. "Here. You need this." She leaned in and pulled me into another hug, one that lingered just a little longer than the one from Sam. "I love you," she whispered into my ear.

My heart skipped a beat, her warmth seeping into me in a way I didn't expect. For a second, I felt something unfamiliar—her heartbeat, maybe, or just the raw intensity of the moment. But fear quickly gripped me, pulling me back, and I smiled weakly, waving her off as Dean slid into the driver's seat.

Dean started the engine, and without another word, we were back on the road.

An hour and a half later, the silence between us felt heavy, even in the car's familiar rumble. Dean kept glancing at me, his focus switching between the road and me in the passenger seat. Finally, he broke the quiet.

"Not hungry? Thirsty?" he asked, his voice laced with something I couldn't quite place—concern, frustration, maybe both.

When I didn't respond, he sighed, his jaw tight. "You know... I lost it when I thought I lost you." His voice softened at the last words, but the pain was still clear in his eyes.

My heart fluttered between rage and excitement as Dean's words hung in the air, but I still couldn't find my voice.

"I wish I could talk to you, Eve," he muttered, his voice low. "Tell you how I feel, but I just don't... know..." He trailed off, clenching his jaw, his eyes fixed on the road, then darting out the driver's window. "...Why did you choose yourself?"

The words hit me like a punch to the gut.

Why wouldn't I?

I glared at him, my chest tightening. I knew exactly what he was doing—taking his frustration with the situation and his feelings towards me, and twisting them into an accusation. He was taking his anger and confusion and unloading it all on me.

And for once, I was grateful that I couldn't speak. Because if I did, I might not be able to hold myself back.

The next hour and a half passed in suffocating silence, the only sound the rumble of the Impala's engine and the occasional sound of his breathing. It wasn't until the car came to a stop in front of Bobby's place that I even remembered to breathe again.

"There she is," Bobby greeted as he approached, his eyes softening when he saw me. He pulled me gently away from Bri for a brief but warm hug, his arms around me steady and comforting for a moment. As he moved past us to meet the boys, I glanced back at the Impala and the Mustang, both of them lined up in front of Bobby's house. The trunks were open, revealing stuffed duffle bags—our lives packed into fabric, ready for the next move.

Bri pulled me toward the door, guiding me inside. She carefully sat me down on one of the worn, dusty chairs in the dining room. Without a word, she moved quickly, a blur of efficiency and concern. She grabbed a cup of coffee from the counter and tossed a blanket over her arm from the office bed.

"There." Bri's voice was firm but trembling as she placed the steaming mug in front of me. She draped the blanket over my shoulders, its warmth mixing with the lingering heat of Dean's leather jacket still resting around me.

"Eve?" she said softly, her eyes searching mine. But I didn't respond. I was too distracted, too lost in my own swirling thoughts.

The cup of coffee sat there, tempting, but something inside me recoiled at the thought of drinking it. Coffee had always been my thing, but right now? It didn't seem to matter. I didn't want to touch it, didn't want to smell it, didn't want the comfort it usually gave me.

A soft shuffle of footsteps from the kitchen broke through my haze. Three pairs, moving in unison, paused behind me. But I didn't turn. I couldn't. Not yet.

"She hasn't said a word," Bri frowned, her voice barely above a whisper.

"She managed to say something in the car," Dean added, his voice tinged with frustration. "But it sounded like she was choking on sandpaper."

I caught Bri's glare from the corner of my eye, but I didn't respond. I couldn't.

"She's been through hell," Bobby's voice boomed as he shuffled in from the kitchen and into the office, his boots heavy on the floor. "Give her some time."

I blinked slowly at the coffee in front of me, as if willing it to make some sense of the world. It didn't.

"I should've been there sooner..." Dean muttered, his voice low, barely audible. He was standing a few feet away, and I could feel the weight of his regret hanging in the air.

Bri was the first to speak up, her voice sharp but still holding some care. "Yep."

The tension in the room thickened, but I could feel Bri's demeanor soften as she recognized the hurt beneath Dean's words. "I mean... how could you have known?"

Dean shifted uncomfortably behind me, his voice quieter now, almost like he was speaking to himself. "She's your best friend, Bri. I don't expect you to play nice." There was a beat of silence, thick with unspoken guilt, before he exhaled heavily. "...I did this."

I felt Dean shift behind me before I heard him exit the kitchen with Sam in tow. But not before Sam leaned down and gave Bri a quick kiss on the head in a new moment of affection.

"Eve..." Bri's voice cut through the quiet. "Whatever happened to you down there, whatever they did—you're safe now. You're here with family."

I blinked, still mute, the weight of her words sinking in, but not enough to shatter the numbness.

"You know," Bri continued, her voice trembling slightly, "Sam was worried sick when we got the call you were missing. I lost my shit... tried to jump Dean, but Sam wouldn't let me..." She let out a short, shaky laugh, but it was full of pain. "Damn, I was a mess."

Her words began to sink in slowly as I fought the urge to look at her, to respond, but it felt like too much. My eyes finally, unwillingly, lifted from the coffee cup.

They met hers.

Her wide, hopeful eyes stared back at me, and a deep frown settled on her face when she saw how I was struggling to maintain control.

"Eve," Bri said softly, cupping my face in her hands. "Can you hear me? It's me... Bri... Brianna?"

I blinked back tears, but the effort was futile. On the third try, the wall I'd been holding together broke. Warmth flooded my chest, and my emotions spilled over like a dam unleashed. The tears poured down my face, despite my best attempt to hold them back.

"Bri?" The name was barely more than a choked whisper as I collapsed forward, my posture failing me completely. I collided into her chest as she wrapped her arms around me, pulling me close.

"Shhh..." she murmured, the sound of her voice a soft, soothing balm. "You're home. You're safe, hun. I'm here."

I could feel the gentle rhythm of her rocking, comforting me with each tender movement. Her hands rubbed my back, her fingers brushing my hair away from my tear-soaked face.

"I did it for him," I managed to choke out, my voice breaking under the weight of everything I'd held back.

At the sound of my words, I felt Bri freeze. She stiffened, then shifted slightly, trying to meet my gaze. But my eyes remained shut, the tears falling freely now, carrying everything I'd kept buried inside for so long.

"Eve..." Bri's voice cracked as she tried to pull my face up to meet hers. But I couldn't—my eyes were closed, the tears streaming freely now, and there was nothing to stop them from falling.

I sniffled, twisting my head so my nose was free to breathe and my mouth to speak. "Sam needs Dean. If Dean hadn't made it out of there, Sam would've been lost in the battle of getting Dean back—you would've lost him..."

Bri's grip shifted, but she didn't interrupt, letting me continue.

"...You guys should've just left me there." My words came out in a breathless whisper. I pulled away from her chest, my gaze dropping to the coffee mug in front of me. "I can't do this."

"Do what?" Bri asked, her voice gentle but firm as she took my chin, forcing me to meet her eyes.

"This life..." I whimpered, the tears dripping off my chin, splattering onto her lap. "I keep getting everything wrong. Maybe Dean was right..."

"Eve." Bri's voice cut through my self-doubt sharply, and I could feel her presence tightening around me, anchoring me.

"...Wrong place. Wrong time." My voice barely registered as I spoke quietly. Bri gently cupped my face, forcing our eyes to connect again.

She let out a breath before speaking again, her voice steady, though her concern was clear. "First of all, leaving you down there was never an option. It will never be." Bri brushed some stray hair from my face, her touch tender, but her words firm. "Second of all, you weren't wrong about the werewolf or the cult. You did what needed to be done, Eve. You always do."

Her words hovered in the air, heavy with meaning, before she pulled me back into a tight hug.

"When you're ready to talk about what happened, I'm here," Bri's voice was a soft whisper, soothing the storm I was trying to bury. It wasn't about her, though. It was about the last person I saw before everything turned—before I was almost killed. Before I was beaten, stabbed, and left for dead...Dean.

Flashes from that night came rushing in, the image of him taunting me, then the darkness. The tug of regret caught in my chest, especially at the memory of the kiss on the cheek in the car, when I should've known something was coming, should've said something.

I pulled myself away from her arms, frowning at the untouched coffee mug in front of me. Bri's curious gaze flickered between me and the mug, her eyebrows narrowing in suspicion.

"Are you going to drink that?" she asked, her voice laced with a hint of humor but concern bubbling beneath.

"No," I sighed, shifting in my chair. "I think I need some air." I stood up, my knees shaky but determined. I placed my hand gently on her shoulder, giving it a small squeeze before I walked toward the kitchen door and stepped out onto the front steps of the house.

My first moment alone since escaping that godforsaken cell. I soaked in the stillness of the night that surrounded me, the air crisp and cool, but it felt oddly suffocating.

The distant crunch of twigs under the feet of unseen animals reached my ears. The soft, intermittent flap of lightning bugs flickering in the air. But then, something else. A rhythmic thudding began to resurface in my mind.

At first, it was faint, but it quickly grew louder, more insistent. I could feel my pulse quicken as the blood-soaked images flashed through my mind. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block them out, but they were relentless.

The thudding became a symphony of chaos—different paces, different rhythms, but they all blended into one. Confusion clouded my thoughts as I struggled to identify what it was. I pressed my hands over my ears, as if that would make it stop. I even tried to hum, hoping the sound would drown out the madness.

It didn't.

Instead, the suffocating weight of it pushed in, suffusing every part of me. But, as I focused on pushing it away, something strange happened—it faded. Not gone entirely, but lower, quieter, like someone had turned down the volume on a distorted stereo.

I let out a frustrated sigh, wrapping the blanket tighter around my shoulders, as if trying to bind myself against the memories that tried to overtake me—blood, frantic running through the woods, and, just as I expected, Dean's voice cut through the fog of my mind.

"Look," his voice was softer now, yet firm, like it had always been when he was trying to convince me of something important. "I'm not gonna sit here and tell you nothing's gonna go sideways, 'cause that'd be a load of crap." I could see his earnest green eyes, feel the weight of his gaze. "But I will tell you this: I've got you. Whatever happens, we'll handle it."

The memory made my chest tighten, my chin pulling into my neck as if his words had wrapped themselves too tightly around me.

"Is this seat taken?" The sound of his voice behind me startled me. I jerked, my heart leaping in my chest. He raised his hands in mock surrender, a gesture I knew well.

I didn't look up at first. When I finally did, just enough to register it was him, I dropped my gaze back down to the steps in front of me. There was something moving down there—something just out of reach of my vision, and for some inexplicable reason, I couldn't look away.

Dean settled next to me on the steps, the cool breeze swirling around us as he passed me a cup of hot chocolate. For a brief moment, I almost let myself indulge in the comfort of it, the warmth of the cup, the promise of a simpler moment. But as he adjusted himself beside me, the feeling slipped away like water through my fingers.

"Eve..." His voice was low, hesitant, as he looked at me. "How are you holding up?"

I let out a heavy sigh, my gaze fixed firmly on my shoes, my mind a tangled mess.

"So, you're not talking to me now?" His tone held a trace of frustration, but I could feel him inching closer, sliding over on the step.

I shot him a side-eye, suspicious, and then he asked again, softer this time. "Can I at least ask if you're okay?"

"I'm fine," I bit out, the words slipping through gritted teeth. I still didn't look at him.

"Are you?" Dean's voice turned more insistent as he shifted on the step, stretching one leg out while the other bent inward. He leaned against the railing behind him, his posture more open now. "Because you don't look it."

"– How would you know?" The words flew out of my mouth before I could stop them. Rage simmered in my chest, and I shifted uncomfortably at the sudden surge of heat. Dean blinked, clearly taken aback by my attitude.

"How would you know anything about me other than how tight my ass is, how soft my lips are, or how much you'd love to bend me over one of these rails?" I snapped, not caring how it sounded.

Dean's eyebrows shot up in surprise, but his lips curled into a cocky smirk. "I mean, if I did, you wouldn't be able to walk the next day..."

"– More like you'd be bed ridden," I retorted, my voice colder now.

Dean chuckled, but it wasn't the kind of laugh that reached my ears. I didn't laugh, not at all. My gaze stayed locked on the ground, still avoiding his.

"Dean..." I sighed, my voice quiet but edged with something I couldn't quite place. I glanced up, meeting his eyes for a brief moment before looking back down. "What even is this?"

There was a small movement at the edge of the final step, and my attention was caught by a spider climbing steadily up the side. It was tiny, unremarkable, but it's quiet, purposeful steps were somehow grounding in the chaos of everything else.

Dean parted his lips to respond, but no words came out.

I kept my focus on the spider, trying to steady my thoughts. "What is this?" I repeated, tilting my head as I watched it continue its climb. "Because whatever this is..." I gestured between us, but still didn't make eye contact, my eyes following the tiny creature's movements. "...It's hot, it's fun, it's addicting."

I caught Dean's head nodding out of the corner of my eye as I spoke.

"But... is that all this is?" I questioned, finally tearing my gaze from the spider to meet his eyes. "Is that all this'll ever be?"

Dean's lips pressed into a fine line, and he inhaled sharply. I could sense the tension in the air, feel the weight of his internal struggle. His gaze shifted slightly before he let out a heavy sigh, the cocky grin creeping back to his face, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"It could be more..." he began, his voice lower now, almost pained.

"...but it won't." The words came out before I could stop them, and his eyes went wide at the sharpness in my tone. "You know, not everything has to be a joke or a sarcastic comment. I just wish you'd been honest from the beginning. It would've saved us—well, me—the heartache."

"Eve—" he started, but I stood up, cutting him off. I handed the untouched hot chocolate back to him with a small, almost bitter grin of thanks before slamming my hand down on the railing to emphasize my point. Without another word, I turned and disappeared into the kitchen.

I froze when I stepped inside, realizing I was alone. A strange impulse overtook me, and before I could second-guess myself, I picked up the now-dead spider from the step and popped it into my mouth.

The odd taste was nothing like I expected—almost like a potato chip, crisp and bizarrely satisfying. But more than the taste, the incessant thudding in my head disappeared completely, the rhythmic pulse that had been hammering against my skull finally gone.

"Eve?" Bri's voice echoed from behind me, and I froze mid-bite.

"What are you...?" Her question trailed off as I turned to face her, the spider still lingering on my tongue.

I waved it off dismissively, "Dean tried to talk to me."

Bri raised an eyebrow as she took in my posture, the way I seemed disconnected and stiff, almost like I was holding my breath. She opened the door, pulling out a beer for me and a soda for herself, then handed me the chilled glass.

I took it but didn't open it. Instead, I passed it over to the counter without a second glance.

"Eve, are you sure you're okay?" Her concern was written all over her face, but I shrugged, attempting to deflect.

"I'm fine." I swallowed the spider, the last bit of it catching in my throat, and gave my chest a light, dismissive punch before brushing past her. The sound of the soda can opening didn't even register in my mind as I grabbed the untouched coffee mug off the table and poured it down the sink, letting it wash away with the rest of my silence.