Written by: KariGorsuch

I let out a sharp breath, running my hand through my hair. "You really don't get it, do you?" my voice was quieter, but it didn't shake any less.

Sam's brows furrowed, but he didn't speak.

"I have nothing left, Sam." I laughed bitterly, gesturing vaguely toward the door. "My parents basically disowned me, I have no home to go back to, and now you're standing here telling me that the one thing I have left- the one thing that has given me purpose- is the wrong thing for me? It's too dangerous? I should just walk away? The fuck would I do, Sam?"

Sam's face tightened, and he exhaled slowly before stepping forward. "You could have a life, Bri." His voice was softer now, pleading. "A real one- one where you're not always running, not always looking over your shoulder. You could have peace."

"Peace?" I let out another humorless laugh, shaking my head. "I've never known peace Sam, unless I'm with you. I don't have to watch my back because I know you or Dean already are. Besides- Monsters already know of my... involvement with you. They won't stop just because I left the life."

Sam's expression darkened, frustration flickering beneath the concern in his eyes. "That's exactly why I want you out," he said, voice low but firm. "Because they know about you. Because every second you stay in this life, you're a target. You don't think I know that? That I don't see it every damn day?"

I clenched my jaw, crossing my arms tightly over my chest. "And you haven't stopped to think for a moment that I would be an easier target if I walked away? If I lost access to the information on how to kill things? What happens when one shows up that I don't know how to get rid of?"

"I don't want to lose you," he finally admitted, voice rough, raw. "I don't want to wake up one day and find out that you died alone because you thought you could handle something that should've never been your fight in the first place."

"No, you'd rather find out that I was murdered several weeks later, instead. Maybe even months. Hell- it might take you a year to find out- because I'm sure if I walked out, you wouldn't even attempt to keep in contact." I shot back. "If I stayed- at least you'd be there."

Sam flinched like I'd physically struck him, his expression shifting into something almost pained. "That's not fair, Bri." His voice was quieter now, but no less intense. "You know that's not fair."

"Isn't it?" I challenged, taking a step forward. "You want me to just walk away, pretend none of this is my problem anymore, and what? Just hope nothing ever finds me? Hope you'll come looking for me before it's too late?" I shook my head, my chest tightening. "That's not a plan, Sam. That's a death sentence."

His jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "Damn it, Bri—"

"No." My voice cracked slightly, but I didn't back down. "You don't get to do this. You don't get to stand there and tell me to leave when you know that's not an option. When you know I'd never make it out alive."

Sam exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair before meeting my gaze again. Something flickered in his eyes—something unreadable, but undeniably there. "I just... I don't want you to end up like me. Like Dean."

I let out a sharp breath, a bitter laugh escaping before I could stop it. "That ship sailed a long time ago, Sam. If you didn't want that—" I met his gaze, unwavering. "Then maybe you shouldn't have slept with me."

His face paled, breath hitching like I'd just knocked the wind out of him. His lips parted, but no words came out. He just stood there, staring, like he was struggling to find something—anything—to say.

And I knew it was a low blow. I knew the second the words left my mouth that I was cutting deeper than I needed to. But I didn't take them back. I couldn't. Because it was the truth.

His jaw tightened, his hands flexing at his sides before he finally spoke, voice barely above a whisper. "That's not fair."

I scoffed, shaking my head. "You know what's actually not fair, Sam?" I took a step forward, my heart hammering in my chest. "Having some ridiculously attractive guy interrupt me while researching. Then, I don't know, racing him on the damn highway for fun. Then watching that same guy stalk me into a bar, buy me a drink, and tell me to stay the hell away—only to turn around and save my ass the next day."

Sam's jaw clenched, but I wasn't done.

"It's not fair that this guy—who I never should've gotten involved with in the first place—tells me I'm important to some mission but also insists I should run away. That he acts like he cares but still pushes me to leave." I huffed out a humorless laugh, swallowing against the lump in my throat. "And you know what else isn't fair? That after everything, after my uncle died, after I was barely holding myself together—you slept with me."

His eyes darkened, his whole body tensing like he was barely holding himself together. "Bri—"

"No." I cut him off before he could make excuses. "You don't get to make someone fall for you when they were trying really fucking hard not to. And then turn around and tell them they should just walk away."

The room was suffocatingly quiet. Sam was still, his expression carved from stone, but his eyes... his eyes were wrecked.

I took a shaky breath, my pulse roaring in my ears. "You don't get to do that, Sam."

Sam's face was a storm of emotions, his breathing shallow, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"I never wanted you to fall for me," he admitted, his voice raw. "I never meant for this to happen."

"But I did," I continued, voice trembling. "And now you want me to walk away like it never happened?" I shook my head, blinking back the sting behind my eyes. "Like we never happened?"

Sam let out a slow, uneven breath, his gaze dropping to the floor for the briefest moment before finding mine again. "Bri, it's not that simple."

I huffed out a bitter laugh, shaking my head. "No, Sam, it is that simple. You don't get to act like what we had didn't mean anything just because it's inconvenient for you now."

His jaw tightened, the muscle there ticking as he stared at me, torn between everything he wanted to say and everything he was too much of a coward to admit.

"I never said it didn't mean anything," he finally muttered, voice strained.

"Then what are you saying, Sam?" I challenged, stepping closer, daring him to finally be honest with me. "Because all I'm hearing is you trying to shove me out of your life before I can make that choice myself."

His lips parted, but no words came out. His whole body was taut, like he was holding something back—something big, something he knew he couldn't afford to say.

"Just say it," I pressed, voice trembling. "If you regret it, if you regret me, then fucking say it."

His breath hitched, and for a second, something in his expression cracked wide open. Panic. Desperation. Longing. But just as fast as it appeared, it was gone, buried beneath layers of guilt and hesitation.

"I don't," he rasped.

"Then why are you doing this?" My voice broke despite my best effort to keep it steady. "Why are you pushing me away when you know damn well I'm not going anywhere?"

Sam exhaled, shaking his head like he was at war with himself. "Because if I don't, you'll stay. And if you stay, you'll die. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but eventually. And I—" He cut himself off, running a hand down his face, his shoulders rising and falling with uneven breaths.

"And I- what, Sam? 'I couldn't live with myself'?"

Sam's eyes flickered with something raw—something dangerously close to breaking. His jaw clenched, and for a second, I thought he might actually say it. But then, just like always, he swallowed it back.

"You don't get it," he muttered instead, voice hoarse. "I already can't live with myself."

I inhaled sharply, his words hitting me like a gut punch. "That's not fair," I whispered.

He let out a hollow laugh, shaking his head. "None of this is fair, Bri."

I took a step closer, my hands balled into fists at my sides. "You think I don't know that? You think I don't know what I signed up for?" My voice wavered, but I pushed through. "You're acting like you're protecting me, like you're saving me, but all you're doing is ripping this—us—away before it even has a chance."

His expression twisted, pain bleeding through the cracks. "I'd rather rip it away than watch it destroy you."

I swallowed hard, searching his face, desperate for something—anything—to hold on to. "You don't get to make that call," I murmured. "Not for me."

He exhaled sharply, looking at me like he wanted to say something else, something real. But then his hands curled into fists, and he looked away.

"That's the problem, Bri," he muttered. "I already did."

I let out a shaky breath, stepping back as the weight of his words settled deep in my chest. "Okay," I whispered, taking a step away from him. Brushing the dampness from my cheeks, I reached behind me and opened the door.

Sam's head snapped up, his entire body going rigid. "Bri—"

I shook my head, cutting him off before he could say anything else. "No, Sam. You made your choice... I don't understand it but..." My voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried enough finality to make him flinch. I forced my chin up, ignoring the way my heart threatened to shatter under the weight. "I'll respect it. I'll be out of your way by nightfall."

As I swung the door open, I pulled the Mustang's spare key from my pocket, the metal cool against my palm. Dropping it on the side table, I stepped through the doorway, letting the door slam shut behind me.

I didn't stop. Didn't turn around. My legs carried me forward on instinct, past the flickering motel sign, past the empty parking lot bathed in dim streetlight. The cool morning air stung against my tear-streaked cheeks, but I barely felt it.My hands trembled as I wiped at my face, as if scrubbing away the last remnants of whatever this had been—whatever we had been.

I reached the Mustang and let my fingers graze the cool, smooth surface of the hood, like I was saying goodbye to everything she represented. Pulling out my phone with one hand, I sent Dean a text before throwing my phone in the driver's seat. I forced myself to look back one last time, but only for a second. Then, I pulled my hood up, swallowing the lump in my throat. Walking away from her, from the hotel, from Eve... and from my heart.

The plane ride was a blur—half-sleep, half-waiting for the moment where I could finally make sense of what I was doing. By the time we landed in Sioux Falls, the world felt like it had gone silent, like I was existing in a space that didn't quite fit.

The airport was buzzing with people, but it all felt like white noise to me. All I had was the clothes on my back, my wallet, and the lingering ache of everything I'd just left behind. My pockets felt bizarrely empty without my phone and keys, but I didn't care. No reason in keeping them.

I shoved my hands into the pockets of my jacket, letting the cool air hit my face as I walked through the terminal. The sharpness of reality cut through the numbness like a knife—this was it. No more hiding, no more pretending I could handle it. I was here, alone, far from the world I'd been a part of.

Hailing a taxi outside, I gave him the address to Bobby's and settled in. It wasn't a far drive, and before long, I was thanking the driver and stepping out onto the end of the driveway.

The wind bit at my skin as I walked down the familiar gravel path leading up to Bobby's place. When I reached the door, I hesitated for a long minute. I didn't know if Dean had called ahead- or if he even cared. Reaching out, I knocked on the door, hoping that Bobby would be here.

A few moments passed before I heard the unmistakable shuffle of footsteps from inside. The door creaked open, and there stood Bobby, his worn face softening when he saw me. His sharp eyes, usually full of a gruff wisdom, held a flicker of concern as he took me in. "Bri..." He breathed, something close to relief crossing his face. "What the hell happened?"

I swallowed hard, my throat dry, and took a slow step into the doorway. "I... I don't really know where to start," I muttered, my voice sounding small and foreign. I didn't want to fall apart in front of him, but the weight of everything was too much to hold in.

Bobby stepped aside, nodding for me to come in. "Don't stand out there. Get inside." His voice was gentle, but there was a firm command underneath it, like he knew how close I was to cracking. He shut the door behind me and walked into the kitchen, gesturing for me to follow.

I followed him without a word, kicking off my boots and dropping my jacket onto the back of the nearest chair. The house felt the same—comforting in its familiarity, but that didn't stop the knot in my chest from tightening further.

"Sit," Bobby said, gesturing toward the table, his face unreadable. I took a seat, and Bobby grabbed two glasses from the cabinet before pouring a generous amount of whiskey into each.

He set one glass in front of me, his eyes still focused on me with that unspoken question.

I stared at the amber liquid for a second, the warmth of it seeming like the only thing that could cut through the cold I felt deep inside.

Taking a breath, I finally spoke, the words spilling out before I could stop them. "My parents basically disowned me. Sam and I fought- he wants me to leave this life. He's scared of what may happen if I stay- and not nearly enough of what could happen if I didn't. He made me fall for him-" my voice trembled, fresh tears trying to escape from my eyes. "And made his decision regarding us. I told him I respected his choice... and I left."

I stared at the amber liquid in my glass and watched it swirl as my hands shook. "I tried, so fucking hard to let him in. He played the perfect boyfriend for my parents- but the moment it came down to it, he didn't want to fight for me." My voice cracked on the last words, and I quickly took another drink, feeling the burn of the whiskey slide down my throat, trying to burn away the ache that wouldn't stop. Focusing on the burn, I forced the other emotions down. "I texted Dean I left... and left my phone and Mustang keys. They don't exactly know where I am. I... I think I'd like to keep it that way."

Bobby didn't react right away. He sat back in his chair, taking in everything I'd said. His gaze softened, but there was an edge of concern buried underneath the calmness. "You think that's best?" he asked carefully, his voice measured, but it was clear he wasn't judging, just trying to understand. I swallowed hard, my throat tight, my stomach a knot.

"I don't know," I admitted, the truth stinging in its simplicity. "But I can't... I can't work with Sam right now."

Bobby's eyes flickered with understanding, a quiet sympathy crossing his face. He didn't push me. Instead, he just nodded, letting the silence stretch between us, heavy with unspoken thoughts. Standing up, he retrieved a set of keys from beside the door. "It's not the Mustang- but it will work for now. There's a couple cases nearby that you can take- when the boys are here."

I blinked at him, my mind processing the words as I took a moment to collect myself. I nodded slowly, accepting the keys. "Thanks, Bobby." My voice was a little steadier now, but the tremor was still there, buried beneath the surface. "I appreciate it."

"You're not doing these hunts alone," he continued, settling back into his chair. "I've got a friend- Rufus- who will go with you."

"I don't need a babysitter," I snapped.

Bobby didn't flinch at my outburst. His gaze remained steady, and I could tell he wasn't about to back down. "You don't need a babysitter, Bri. But you do need someone to remind you that you have people you care about, and that you need to come back to them."

I opened my mouth to argue, but the words stuck in my throat. The sharpness of my defense died when I realized he was right. I sighed, setting down my now empty glass. "Okay. Where am I headed?"

Bobby's gaze narrowed on me. "Right now, to bed. You look like you haven't slept in a week."

I nodded, knowing I wouldn't get any further information from him at the moment. Pushing up from the chair, I moved into the living room and laid down on the couch. I stretched out, pulling the thin blanket Bobby had thrown over the back of the couch up to my shoulders.

As I lay there, the blanket wrapped tight around me, I felt the weight of exhaustion begin to pull at me. But sleep wasn't kind, not anymore. It never was. Not when the past was still fresh, still raw.

The air was thick, suffocating, and I couldn't breathe. I was standing in the road, watching the Mustang fade into the distance, the headlights casting long shadows against the asphalt.

"No, no, no" I whispered to myself, my throat tightening. I needed to stop him. I needed to call him back, but no sound came out. My body wouldn't move. I was stuck-paralyzed- my feet glued to the ground, my chest aching as I stared at the fading taillights of the car.

Then, a screeching noise broke through the silence. The screech of tires. A flash of headlights too bright to ignore.

I turned, desperate to escape, but it was too late.

I was back in the warehouse, the dark place where everything had gone wrong. Where Eve had ripped through Sam's soul like it was paper. His screams echoed in my ears, each one louder than the last, drowning out everything else, drowning out the rest of the world.

I was too late again.

I reached out, my hands trembling, but when I touched his shoulder, it wasn't Sam anymore. It was Eve, her eyes wide and cold, and the black veins of corruption running up her neck. Her smile was a twisted mockery, like she knew something I didn't, something I couldn't stop.

"Sam!" I shouted, but my voice came out like a strangled gasp. His body was still there, his soul lost to her.

Eve turned, her mouth stretching into that grin that made my skin crawl, and her eyes locked with mine. "You'll never save him," she whispered, her voice low and venomous. "Not now. Not ever."

I tried to reach for him again, but the air around me grew thick and suffocating, like I was drowning in it. I gasped, struggling to breathe, but nothing came. The darkness seemed to swallow thel ight around me, pulling me deeper, dragging me down into a pit of despair.

Suddenly, I was outside again, standing in front of the motel. The moon was high above, casting plate light across the parking lot. I heard the sound of footsteps behind me, but I couldn't turn around. I knew who it was. It had to be Sam. He was here, he was okay- he had to be.

But when I turned, it wasn't Sam who stood in front of me.

It was my parents. Their eyes were hollow, empty, staring at me with judgement, disappointment, and hate. Their mouths moved, but no sound came out. They just stared, and all I could hear was the muffled thumping of my own heartbeat.

And then Sam's face was there, overlapping with their faces, his eyes filled with pain, with regret. "I never wanted this for you," he whispered, his voice breaking.

I reached for him, but he stepped back, his face hardening, the space between us growing wider. "You should have left. You should've just walked away."

"No- Sam, please!" I cried out, my heart racing in my chest. "I didn't mean to-"

But my voice was lost in the chaos, swallowed by the void.

The ground beneath me trembled, the earth cracking open, and everything around me fell apart. I reached out, my hands grasping for something to hold on to, but nothing was there. I was falling, falling into darkness, into nothingness.

And then, in the distance, a bright light. Faint, flickering, almost too far to reach.

I stretched toward it, the ache in my chest growing unbearable. The pain, the emptiness, it was suffocating. I was so close. So close to the light, to everything I wanted to fix.

But it wasn't enough.

I woke up gasping, my body drenched in sweat, my heart pounding so loud I thought it might break through my ribs. My hands were shaking, my chest tight. The nightmare clung to me like a second skin, and I couldn't shake it off.

For a moment, I lay there, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling as if somehow I could escape the images that haunted me.

I hadn't been able to save Sam.

I hadn't been able to save anyone.

I clanged up at the clock, noting how little time had passed since I laid down. Groaning lightly, I sat upright, rubbing a hand over my face.

The room was dark, save for the faint glow of a streetlight through the curtains. My body felt heavy, weighted down by exhaustion and the remnants of the nightmare.

I exhaled sharply, running a hand through my hair as I tried to shake off the suffocating dread clinging to me. My pulse was still too fast, my skin clammy, but I forced myself to move, to breathe, to ground myself in the here and now.

Bobby's house. The couch. The smell of old books and whiskey lingering in the air.

Not a motel. Not a nightmare.

Sam's voice still echoed in my mind—You should have left. You should've just walked away.

I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the words to fade, but they clung to me like smoke—thick, suffocating, inescapable.

You should have left.

With a slow, shaky breath, I pushed to my feet, my body protesting the movement. The exhaustion was bone-deep, but if I didn't acknowledge it, I could ignore it. I made my way to the kitchen, the floorboards creaking beneath my steps, and filled a glass with water. The cool liquid did nothing to settle the hallow ache in my chest.

I leaned against the counter, letting the water run over my hands as my mind tried to untangle itself from the nightmare. Between one blink and the next- the water turned warm and red as Eve's laughter echoed in my head, cruel and knowing.

I jerked away on instinct, crashing into the table as I stumbled backwards. I stared at my hands, covered in blood as I sank to my knees.

A creak from the hallway caused me to look up, finding Bobby rushing over. "What the hell happened?"

I struggled to find my voice, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps. My hands were clean now—shaking, but clean. No blood. No proof that, just seconds ago, I swore I felt it slick and warm between my fingers.

"I—I don't know," I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. My heart slammed against my ribs, my pulse a wild, uneven rhythm. "I was just... it was just the water, and then—" I shook my head, squeezing my eyes shut as I forced in a slow, shaky breath.

Bobby crouched beside me, his face lined with concern. "You're running on empty, kid. Your head's all kinds of messed up right now." He reached out, gripping my shoulder, grounding me. "It ain't real."

I swallowed hard, nodding, but the phantom sensation of blood still clung to my skin. "It felt real."

Bobby sighed, giving me a moment before he stood up and grabbed a towel from the counter. He tossed it over my hands, his way of offering comfort without making a big deal of it. "Clean yourself up," he said, gruff but not unkind. "Then go get some real rest- in a bed- not my dang couch."

I wiped my hands off, even though I knew there was nothing there, before pushing myself to my feet. "I can't. Everytime I try to sleep- I get these. The only time I don't... is when I sleep with Sam."

Bobby let out a long breath, rubbing a hand over his face. "Bri- I ain't got a fix for that," he admitted. "But you can't be runnin' on fumes. You'll get yourself killed and I doubt that's what Sam wants- whether he's bein' an idjit about it or not."

"Sam made his choice. He doesn't get a say in anything I do." I dropped the towel back onto the counter. "He doesn't get to know a damn thing about me anymore."

Bobby arched a brow, crossing his arms over his chest. "That so?" his voice was calm, but there was an edge to it- like he saw right through me.

"Yeah," I muttered, clenching my fists as I crossed my arms. "He wanted me gone. So I'm gone."

He sighed, shaking his head. "You can say that all you want, but it ain't that simple. You don't just cut someone out when they still got a hold on you."

My nails dug into my palms as I tightened my fists, and I used the pain to ground myself. "Watch me. He decided we were through before we ever really got to happen- so he doesn't get to be a part of my life anymore."

Bobby's eyes softened, though the sternness in his posture didn't waver. "Kid," he started, his voice low and steady. "You're hurting. And you're angry. I get that. Hell, I've been there. But you can't cut someone out like that, not when you still care. It'll eat you up from the inside."

"So I'm just supposed to let him break my heart- then let him fucking know anything and everything I do?!"

Bobby didn't flinch, but I saw the sadness flicker in his eyes. "No, that ain't what I'm sayin', Bri. But you can't keep running from this. You think cutting him out will make it stop hurtin' but it won't. You've gotta deal with it. All of it."

I clenched my jaw, pushing the urge to yell down. "I tried, Bobby. I tried so fucking hard to let him in, to let him see me. He got a glimpse of who I am- and ran. Decided i wasn't worth it."

Bobby's gaze softened even more, the weight of his words pressing into me like a physical force. "No, Bri," he said, his voice firm but gentle, "he didn't run because you're not worth it. He ran because he's scared. Of you. Of what you could mean to him. And he probably thinks it's better this way—keeping you at arm's length so you're not dragged into his mess."

I shook my head, biting my lip. "Too late for that." Bobby didn't respond immediately. He just looked at me, the understanding in his eyes weighing heavy. "Yeah," he muttered after a beat, his voice thick with unspoken sentiment. "I guess it is."