Written by: gooberlanes13

Edited by: KariGorsuch

I came to first.

Gasping and bolting upright.

My heart hammered in my chest. The diner was still—intact—but everything was silent. Too silent.

I turned my head, pulse jumping at the sight of Dean slumped over next to me.

I grabbed his shoulder, shaking him hard. "Dean, wake up!" My voice was urgent, breathless.

For a second, nothing. Then, he groaned, stirring. His brow furrowed as he blinked blearily. "The hell—?" His voice was rough with sleep, confusion twisting his features. Then, just as fast, he tensed.

Dean's head snapped up, eyes scanning the booth across from us. Empty. His whole body went rigid.

"Where the hell are Sam and Bri?" His voice was sharper now, panic creeping into the edges.

I shook my head, my throat tightening. "I—I don't know. They were right here..." I trailed off, my stomach sinking as my gaze flicked around the diner. "And now they're just—"

I stopped short. My blood ran cold.

Dean must've noticed the way my face fell because he followed my gaze, his own eyes widening as he finally took in our surroundings.

The diner was empty. No waitress, no customers, not even the faint hum of the kitchen. Just us.

Dean was out of the booth in a flash, his hand already reaching for his gun. His jaw clenched tight as he exhaled sharply through his nose.

"Son of a bitch."

I moved to follow Dean, but the second I slid out of the seat, something inside me lurched—a deep, twisting sensation that sent a wave of nausea rolling through my stomach.

I froze, pressing a hand against my abdomen, my breath catching. Something was wrong.

The air felt thick, suffocating, like the pressure had shifted—like the whole room was pressing in on me. My chest tightened as a wave of chills washed over my skin, creeping up my spine.

Then, it hit.

A high-pitched ringing—sharp, shrill, deafening—pierced through my ears, vibrating through my skull like a blade slicing through bone. The pressure followed, crushing, filling my head until I thought it might split open.

The noise didn't just ring—it moved. It bounced off the walls, the floor, the ceiling—hell, even off Dean and me. It rattled the windows, sent tremors through the walls, made the very foundation of the diner groan under its weight.

I knew this sound.

The pressure, the way it filled every inch of the space like it was alive, like it was hunting—it was all too damn familiar.

My chest tightened as a wave of cold washed over me.

There, standing across the street amid the blur of traffic was a wolf. Its eyes locked with mine- yellow, burning, unrelenting.

I blinked, trying to shake the image. Just nerves, I told myself. But it didn't vanish. The creature stood firm, its gaze like a knife.

Then came the sound. A high- pitched ringing, sharp and all-consuming, ripped through my ears, filling my head with unbearable pressure. It wasn't just noise; it was everywhere- bouncing off the walls, rattling the window, reverberating through the cars. My knees buckled, and I gripped the edge of the table for support.

Dean was at the counter, oblivious, collecting our food. Around me, the crowd buzzed with life, laughing, eating, moving- completely unfazed.

It was just me.

The fear clawed its way up, cold and unforgiving, and I couldn't stop the surge of adrenaline, sharp as it had been back at the Grande.

"Ready?" Dean's voice cut through the ringing like a blade, the noise fading as quickly as it had come. I turned, startled, and looked back at him.

No words, no sound.

Just the ringing and that awful, twisting pull in my chest.

"Dean." My voice came out softer than I intended, thick with unease.

Dean's head snapped up from where he stood near the bar, his face going pale the second he saw mine. In an instant, he closed the gap between us, eyes darting over me like he was trying to figure out what the hell was happening.

"What's going on?" His voice was sharp, urgent.

I barely heard him. My stomach twisted again, nausea rising fast, but I swallowed it down. Not here. Not in front of Dean.

He was already kneeling beside me before I even realized I had dropped to my knees, one hand rubbing slow circles on my back. "Eve." His voice softened just a fraction. "Talk to me. What is it?"

I clenched my teeth, gripping my stomach like I could physically fight whatever this was. "It's that... empathic crap," I bit out, my breath shaky. "The sensitivity. Like in Cripple Creek." Another wave of pain ripped through my gut, making me flinch. "The Grande—I haven't had one since then."

Dean exhaled through his nose, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "Well," he said, ever so dryly, "given your, uh... condition..." He flashed his own top row of teeth in a smirk.

I glared at him, barely restraining myself from decking him then and there. "Not the time, Winchester."

Dean held up a hand in mock surrender, but the concern never left his face.

"Where's Bobby?" I gritted out, my voice sharp with frustration. "He knows more about this than I do—" I cut off with another sharp flinch as the pull yanked at me again, deep and wrong.

Dean was already reaching for his phone, but he kept his other hand pressed firm against my back. Solid. Warm. Grounding.

His jaw tightened as he checked the screen. "Damn it," he muttered, flipping it around to show me.

No signal.

Dean shifted his arm, gripping my waist firmly as he draped my unclenched arm over his neck. He pulled me a little more upright, his movements careful but strong, leading us toward the front of the diner.

He shoved the doors open with his elbow—only to stop short.

We both froze.

Nothing.

No road. No parking lot. Just... blank.

A vast, empty void stretched out before us, swallowing everything that should've been there.

Dean shoved me back inside without a word, slamming the door shut behind us. He ran a hand through his hair, his breathing just a little too fast, eyes flicking to mine with a wild, disbelieving glint.

"Well," he muttered, forcing out a smirk, "that's new."

I narrowed my eyes at him, but before I could say anything, another sharp pull ripped through my chest.

I doubled over, clutching at my sternum. It was getting worse—stronger. My breaths came uneven, shallow.

Dean reached for me again, but before he could steady me, another jolt hit, and I involuntarily let go of his hand, collapsing back to my knees.

"Eve!"

He was immediately at my side, an arm locking securely around my shoulders.

"This bad before?" His voice was tight, urgent.

I clenched my teeth, shaking my head. "No," I choked out, squeezing my eyes shut against the pain.

And then—

Something snapped.

A vision slammed into my mind, hard and fast.

An abandoned town. Buildings crumbling, rotting under a dull, black-and-white haze.

Bri stood there—helpless—something keeping her at bay.

I tried to scan as much detail as I could—

And then I saw him.

Sam.

Clear. But struggling. Fighting against another figure, someone standing with their back to me.

I focused.

A uniform.

Military.

When Sam hit the ground on his back, the uniformed figure pinning him down, I flinched. My breath caught as I squeezed my eyes shut for just a second—

And then—

Everything was gone.

I gasped, blinking rapidly, finding myself back in the empty diner with Dean.

His eyes were sharp, scanning my face, concern edged with frustration. His head tilted slightly, watching me blink everything back into focus.

My breathing was out of control, but the second his hands cupped my face, thumbs brushing across my cheekbones, I felt myself steady.

"What?" His voice was low, cautious. "What did you see? What did you feel?"

"I—" I stammered, my vision still catching up to the present. I locked onto his gaze. "I know where they are."

A flicker of doubt flashed through Dean's eyes—brief—before he gave a single nod and slowly helped me back upright.

Through gritted teeth, he exhaled. "Alright. First, we figure out how the hell to get outta here. Then—" He nodded toward me, "—you lead the way."

Out of breath, I nodded, watching as he pushed the diner doors open again. But before he could step forward, something in my gut stopped me cold.

Instinct. Something deep.

My eyes drifted away from the empty void outside, settling on Dean.

He caught the look instantly, freezing in place. "What?"

I reached out, barely brushing my fingers against his. "Take my hand."

Dean didn't hesitate. The second our fingers laced together, I squeezed my eyes shut and stepped forward.

Blinding white light erupted around us.

The next thing I knew, we stumbled hard, our knees slamming onto wet pavement.

Gasping, I glanced up—

The diner was there.

But it was different now.

The neon sign flickered, casting a dull glow across the parking lot. The distant hum of passing trucks rumbled through the night. It was alive again.

Dean's wild gaze took in the scene, then snapped to mine. "How the hell did you—?"

His words cut off when he realized—we were still holding hands.

His grip tightened for a brief second before he brought our hands to his lips, pressing a firm kiss against my knuckles. Then, in typical Dean fashion, he cleared his throat, tugging me up to my feet.

"We'll figure that out later," I muttered, shoving aside the heat rising to my cheeks. But the moment I straightened, a fresh wave of pressure hit, twisting deep inside my chest. I sucked in a sharp breath, fighting against the pain. "Sam and Bri..."

Dean followed my line of sight over his shoulder—

A familiar set of headlights cut through the dark.

The deep growl of an engine.

Bobby's F-350 came rolling into the lot, its brakes letting out a short, high-pitched squeal as it stopped.

I smirked through a wince. "'Bout time."

Dean shot me a quick glare before his focus locked back on the truck. No hesitation.

We moved, releasing our hands as Dean strode ahead, squaring up at Bobby's driver's side door the second he climbed out.

I stayed back, doubling over, gripping my stomach as the pressure grew worse.

Dean's voice cut through the night like a blade.

"Bobby—where the hell were you?" His tone was sharp, all bark and demand. "Sam and Bri are gone!"

Bobby's brows furrowed, his expression shifting in an instant. "The hell you mean, gone?"

Dean spread his arms, frustrated. "I mean, one second they were sittin' across from us, next thing we know—the whole damn diner's empty, and we're stuck in some freak-show limbo. No signal, no exit, not a damn thing."

Bobby's gaze flickered to me for a brief second—taking in my strained posture—before landing back on Dean.

"And you two just... waltzed out?"

Dean exhaled hard. "Something like that. Right now, we don't got time for twenty questions. Eve knows where they are."

Bobby's jaw tightened. He glanced toward me again, then back at Dean. "Then what the hell are we standing around for?"

I nodded, turning—only for Dean to immediately catch my hand, his fingers lacing tightly with mine as he pulled me toward the Impala.

He opened the passenger door, eyes scanning me quickly before ushering me inside. His hands lingered for a beat—checking, reassuring—before he shut the door and nodded toward Bobby.

Then—in true Dean fashion—he slid across the hood Dukes of Hazzard style before landing smoothly behind the wheel.

I smirked despite everything. "Always with the damn theatrics."

Dean flashed a grin as he fired up the engine.

The next thing I heard—the tires screeching against the blacktop as we tore out of the lot.

The road ahead stretched into darkness.

Too dark. Too quiet.

The world felt like it was holding its breath.

Fog thickened along the asphalt, swallowing everything in sight. Flashes of headlights flickered behind us—Bobby's truck, its engine growling, its beams bouncing in the rearview mirror.

My gaze shifted to Dean's hands, gripping the wheel tight. His jaw was set like stone, his eyes flicking between the empty, unwelcoming road and me.

I wasn't doing great.

Pale-faced. Rigid.

A low groan slipped from me as the pressure in my chest and stomach intensified, pulsing stronger with every passing second.

I pressed one hand against my ribs, the other bracing against the dashboard—like that would somehow help.

Dean's gaze flicked toward me again. Studying. Calculating.

Then, finally—

"Not tryin' to push you, sweetheart, but..." His voice was steady, urgent. Coaxing. The Impala roared louder beneath us. "Where the hell are we going?"

I barely blinked. My focus tunneled straight ahead, my vision going blurry at the edges, sweat beading along my cheeks.

The pull in my chest twisted. Tightened.

The pain spiked.

Then—

There.

I felt it.

The right direction. The right move.

"Left," I rasped. "Now."

Dean didn't hesitate.

With a hard yank on the wheel, the Impala skidded violently as we veered onto an unmarked road—Bobby's truck in tow.

I frowned, shifting my hand from the dashboard to the edge of the seat, digging my nails in as I curled my fingers as tightly as I could—anything to manage the pain.

The movement caught Dean's eye.

His jaw tightened. His grip on the wheel flexed.

"You sure about this?" His voice was low, heavy with tension.

I nodded. Fast.

Then, another wave of pain tore through me. I flinched hard, sucking in a sharp breath.

"I can feel it, Dean," I choked out, fighting back tears as I turned to him. "Bri's fear. Sam's pain."

Dean's eyes went wide.

I swallowed hard, pressing my lips together into a thin line. He was looking at me like he didn't know what to do—like he hated how helpless he was right now.

"They're there," I whispered, my voice shaking. "I don't know how, but I—"

Pain spiked again. I gasped, clutching my chest before looking up at him, pleading.

"We have to hurry."

Dean's expression hardened. Resolved.

"Damn right we do." His teeth clenched as he pushed the Impala harder, the engine roaring beneath us.

For a while, it was just that—the engine. The wind tearing through the cracked windows. My shaky, uneven breaths.

Then Dean spoke, breaking through the thick silence.

"Eve—talk to me, sweetheart." His voice was urgent, his hand restless on the wheel. "What the hell happened back there? How did you get us out of that diner...? Where the hell were we?"

I inhaled sharply, pushing past the pain.

I didn't answer right away. Didn't know how.

I glanced at him through the tears and sweat clouding my vision.

Finally, I whispered, voice frail.

"Dean..." I hesitated, brow pinching. "I don't—" My breath hitched, my chest tightening.

Dean's gaze flicked to me, alarm flashing across his face.

"I think something's wrong with me."

The second I said it, he looked at me fully. Not just out of the corner of his eye—not just assessing.

Really looking.

He saw it then—how pale I was. The tremble in my hands. The way I was fighting to keep myself upright.

And that was when I realized—he wasn't looking at the road.

"Dean—" I started, trying to scold, but the pain ripped through me again.

Before I could even process it, he reached over.

His hand landed on my knee. Grounding me.

The warmth of it, the steadiness, cut through the storm raging inside me.

"Ain't nothing wrong with you, sweetheart." His voice was firm—unwavering. No room for doubt.

Then, slowly, his fingers slid from my knee to my hand, prying it away from the seat.

"I'm right here."

A breath shuddered out of me—one I didn't even realize I'd been holding.

The pain was still there, but for a moment, it didn't feel as crushing.

I shifted, wincing. My voice was barely above a whisper.

"Right turn. Half a mile up."

Dean nodded without hesitation, pressing the gas harder.

And just like that, there was an unspoken understanding.

We weren't gonna talk about what was happening to me.

Not now.

Not when Sam and Bri needed us.

There was no time to question. No time to hesitate.

Just time to move.