Written by: KariGorsuch

The room was quiet save for the rustle of pages and the occasional frustrated sigh. Sam sat across from me, his brow furrowed, one hand resting on his cheek while the other flipped through a faded leather-bound journal. I could see the exhaustion still clinging to the corners of his eyes, but he pushed through it like always, laser-focused.

I stared down at the laptop screen in front of me, blinking through the ache behind my eyes. The words had started to blur together a while ago, but I wasn't ready to stop. Not when this ring—whatever it was—could be the key to unraveling everything. To saving Dean. To keeping Azazel and Eve's fate from hanging over our heads like a damn noose.

Sam reached for his coffee, took a sip, and set it back down without looking up. "Find anything?"

I shook my head, scrolling down another page of useless info. "Only that collectors in the fifties were paranoid and apparently allergic to documentation."

He smirked faintly, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Sounds about right."

I let out a soft sigh, leaning back in my chair. "You know, if I ever end up with some ancient, cursed artifact, remind me to leave behind a trail of breadcrumbs and a neon sign."

Sam looked up then, and the soft gleam in his eyes made my breath hitch. "You won't," he said, voice low. "Because I'm not letting anything take you."

That flicker of emotion passed between us again—too deep for words, too sharp to ignore. I swallowed hard and nodded, my voice quieter this time. "Same goes for you."

For a moment, neither of us moved. Just sat there in the lamplight and silence, surrounded by half-open books and fading hope, both holding on by threads woven out of stubbornness and love.

Then Sam blinked, brow furrowing as he tapped the page in front of him. "Hey—what about this guy? Jonathan Hayes. Private collector, specialized in pre-Christian relics. Lived in Kansas City in the '50s."

I leaned forward, the name stirring something in the back of my mind. "Jonathan Hayes," I echoed, narrowing my eyes at the yellowed page. "That sounds... familiar."

Sam turned the book so I could see it, his finger resting on a paragraph halfway down the page. "Says here he was eccentric—big on secrecy. Apparently had a whole vault under his estate. People thought he was a crank until a bunch of legit artifacts turned up in estate sales after he died."

I scanned the paragraph, the pulse in my neck picking up. "Do we know what happened to the estate?"

"Not yet," Sam murmured, already flipping to the back of the book for citations. "But if any part of it survived—or if the ring was sold off—there's gotta be a record."

I nodded, already pulling the laptop closer, fingers flying over the keys. "Property records, auction houses, old news clippings... something has to lead us there."

Sam leaned in beside me, his shoulder brushing mine, warmth bleeding into my skin through his flannel. His voice was soft but certain. "Hold on- look at this." He clicked onto an auction house site, pulling up an upcoming auction.

I scooted closer, eyes scanning the screen as Sam scrolled. The logo at the top read Halworth Estate Auction House, and the listing beneath it was a detailed catalog of rare artifacts scheduled for bidding in three days.

My heart skipped. "Sam... is that—?"

He clicked to enlarge the image. There, under the category 'Unverified Occult Relics,' was a grainy photo of a tarnished silver ring nestled in a velvet case. The design was unmistakable—an ouroboros, encircling an obsidian stone etched with symbols older than Latin.

My breath caught. "That's it. That's the ring."

Sam stared at it like it might vanish if he blinked too hard. "Jonathan Hayes' estate must've been split and scattered. Looks like someone's finally surfacing pieces of it."

I exhaled, tension spilling from my shoulders. "Three days."

Sam nodded, already bookmarking the page. "We've got time to get there. But if it's listed like this..." He trailed off, jaw tightening. "Others could be after it, too."

"You mean demons."

"Or worse," he muttered.

I sat back, chewing the inside of my cheek. "Would other hunters try to go for it?"

Sam let out a slow breath, leaning back in his chair, fingers still curled loosely around the mouse. "Yeah," he said, voice low. "Some would. Especially the ones who don't ask too many questions first."

I frowned. "But it's dangerous. That ring—if it's connected to Eve, or the deal, or hell contracts—"

"Doesn't matter to some of them," he said grimly. "If a hunter hears something could take down a demon or buy leverage against one? That's enough. They'll take the risk."

A knot tightened in my stomach. I could already picture it—someone with just enough knowledge to get in over their head, tampering with something they didn't understand.

Sam rubbed a hand down his face, the weight of it all sinking in. "We're not just going to be racing demons. We're going to be racing people who think they're on our side."

"We're not going to be able to sneak in and steal it. We're going to have to actually attend this... auction- ball thing." I sighed heavily, leaning back in the chair.

Sam gave a quiet groan, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling. "Of course it's a ball thing. Because nothing's ever simple."

I let my head thunk softly against the back of my chair. "So what, we clean up and play dress-up while trying not to get hexed, ganked, or outbid by a crossroads demon in a tux?"

Sam huffed a tired laugh. "Pretty much. We'll need aliases, cash—or something better than cash—and eyes on everyone in that room."

He leaned forward again, fingers flying across the keyboard as he pulled up more info on the event. "Looks like it's invite-only. Black tie. High-security. The whole 'we're fancy and mysterious' shtick."

I raised a brow. "Please tell me you have a tux somewhere."

Sam groaned under his breath. "I'm going to hate this."

I grinned despite myself, the image of Sam Winchester in a tux both deeply amusing and... annoyingly distracting. "Oh, come on," I teased, nudging his knee with mine. "I bet you clean up pretty well. Bet you'll have half the room swooning."

I laughed, leaning back on the table, letting the rare lightness crack through the tension. "Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that. You show up in a tux, all broody and heroic? They're doomed."

He shook his head, but the corner of his mouth curled. "What about you, then? You in some floor-length dress, probably with a slit and a plan to kill something tucked into your garter? That's gonna be the real problem."

I cleared my throat, nudging him again. "Please. I'll be lucky if I don't trip over my own hem trying to smuggle a blade in."

Sam leaned in, just a little, eyes warm. "Don't care what you're wearing. You're still the most dangerous one in the room."

My breath caught, and I shifted, trying to play it off like his words hadn't just ignited something deep and aching inside me. "I highly doubt that. After all, you, Dean, and a whole bunch of unknowns will be there."

Sam's gaze didn't waver, his voice dropping low. "Yeah, but none of them have more to lose than you."

That stopped me cold.

I opened my mouth, then closed it again, unsure of what to say to that. Because he was right—and we both knew it. I had skin in this game, heart and soul on the line, and it wasn't just about Dean anymore. It hadn't been for a long time. Somewhere between Cold Oak and this moment, it had become about us.

I dropped my eyes to the floor, suddenly finding the pattern in the wood grain a hell of a lot easier to look at than him. "Guess I better find a dress that says 'I might kill you, but fashionably.'"

He chuckled under his breath. "Think Eve's got something like that in her closet?"

I paused, then smirked. "Absolutely not." I pushed up from the table, glancing back at the laptop. "Not for the caliber that this... thing will probably require. I'm gonna grab her- figure out how we get entry while we're gone?"

Sam gave a single nod, already turning back toward the screen. "Yeah. I'll dig around, see if I can track the guest list, maybe find a name or two we can borrow." He paused, fingers hovering over the keys before glancing up at me. "Be careful. You two are going to stand out enough as it is."

I arched a brow. "Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence."

A faint grin tugged at his lips, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "You know what I mean."

"See if we can get on the list legitly- the less we have to lie, probably the better. Also less chance of any... issues arising from using stolen names."

Sam nodded again, more thoughtful this time. "Yeah. Less moving parts. Less chance of someone calling us out mid-waltz."

He tapped the keyboard, scanning through what looked like layers of encrypted invitations and private access lists. "Looks like the auction's being run through a front—some private antiquities firm with enough shell companies to make the IRS cry. But... if we pose as potential donors or interested buyers, we might be able to get in without faking identities."

I leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. "You thinking aliases or our actual names?"

He gave me a sidelong look. "If we're walking in as ourselves, we need a damn good cover story. Something that explains why two hunters are suddenly dabbling in dark market antiquities."

I smirked faintly. "Guess we're leveling up."

He didn't return the smile this time. "I'll dig. Maybe there's a loophole—some kind of open invitation to newer bidders. Or a contact we can lean on."

I pushed off the frame. "Good. Less fake, less fallout. I'll be back soon."

Sam nodded once more, his eyes following me a second longer than necessary before flicking back to the screen. "Be safe."

Minutes later, Eve and I were in the Mustang, headed for one of the larger dress companies that were in town.

Eve tapped her fingers against the steering wheel, sunglasses perched on her nose despite the overcast sky. "You realize we're probably gonna have to lie our way into fittings, right? Places like this don't just hand over red-carpet gowns to anyone."

I glanced over, amused. "They'll hand them over for anyone with enough money sadly."

Eve let out a short laugh, her mouth curling into a wry smile. "Touché. Money talks, bullshit sparkles."

I snorted. "Isn't that backwards? Anyway- I really don't think we'll have to lie our way into fittings. Only issue might be alterations, but we might be lucky enough to find ones we like without needing them."

Eve shrugged, pulling into a spot with a practiced ease.

She threw the gear into neutral and set the parking brake, then turned to face me, the smirk still playing on her lips. "I mean, I wouldn't mind a little white-lie spy mission, but if we can walk out of here legally hot, I'm not gonna complain."

I rolled my eyes fondly, already opening the door and stepping out into the brisk air. "Let's just focus on hot for now. Legally or not."

Eve fell into step beside me as we crossed the lot, her boots clicking confidently against the pavement. "What's your game plan? You going full femme fatale or mysterious heiress with a vendetta?"

I shot her a side glance. "I was thinking somewhere between 'don't touch me' and 'I've definitely killed a man in this dress.' But also something that will make men stare."

Eve let out a low whistle, clearly impressed. "Damn. You're going for blood and hearts. Respect."

We pushed through the boutique doors, the warmth and quiet opulence inside hitting like a wall. Plush carpet, racks of silks and satins, and a crystal chandelier that definitely cost more than Bobby's whole salvage yard.

Eve leaned in, her voice a conspiratorial murmur. "So... cleavage or legs? Gotta pick a weapon of choice."

I smirked. "Why not both?"

She laughed, nudging me with her elbow. "Now that's the spirit. Make 'em pray and sin at the same time."

One of the attendants—elegant, severe, and dressed in all black—approached, clearly trying to assess if we were worth her time. Before she could say a word, Eve turned on the charm again.

"We're in need of two gowns," she said smoothly. "Formal. Elegant. And a little dangerous."

The woman blinked. "Dangerous?"

I smiled. "We're attending an event where the stakes are high, and the company's... complicated. We need to look like we belong."

That got her attention. She gave a small nod, then gestured toward the back of the boutique. "Follow me. I think I know exactly what you're looking for."

As we followed her deeper into the racks of shimmering temptation, Eve leaned in again, voice low and teasing. "You realize Sam's not gonna be able to form a coherent sentence when he sees you, right?"

I grinned. "That's the idea."

Eve chuckled under her breath, giving me a look that was equal parts mischievous and approving. "You're gonna break him. I'm here for it."

We reached the back of the boutique, where the dresses hung like treasures—sleek, sophisticated, and dangerous. The attendant—now less reserved—began pulling out options, holding up a deep blue gown that shimmered in the light.

The fabric seemed to ripple as she held it up, the deep blue glistening like midnight itself. It was fitted at the waist, with a plunging neckline and a slit up the side that promised both elegance and danger in equal measure.

"Something like this," the attendant suggested, her eyes gleaming as if she knew exactly what I needed. "Very striking. It'll turn heads."

I stepped closer, running my fingers over the fabric, feeling the cool silk glide beneath my touch. "I like it," I said slowly, my gaze already flicking to a dark emerald number beside it—sleek and dramatic, but with a sharp, almost dangerous edge.

Eve noticed the shift in my focus. "Oh, that one's definitely going to make them sweat." She grinned, nudging me again. "But you're right, that blue one's got the perfect 'don't mess with me' vibe."

The attendant, sensing an opportunity, pulled out a third dress—a bold crimson that practically screamed power and seduction. "And if you're feeling a little... fiery," she said, holding it up for me to see.

I raised an eyebrow at the blood-red silk. "That's one way to leave an impression," I murmured, giving Eve a sidelong glance. "Think Sam will survive?"

Eve's grin widened. "Honestly? I don't think any of them will."

The attendant waited, seemingly in suspense as I examined the three dresses. Each one had its own allure, its own power. I could feel the weight of the decision settling over me.

After a moment of careful consideration, I turned to the attendant, a smirk tugging at my lips. "The blue one," I decided. "It feels like it was made for an event like this."

The attendant nodded in approval, clearly pleased with the choice. "It'll fit you perfectly. If you'd like to try it on so we can look at alterations," she gestured towards the fitting rooms. "Then I can work with your friend to find her perfect gown."

I gave a nod, following her gesture toward the fitting rooms. "I'll give it a try," I said, stepping forward. I glanced at Eve, who was already scanning the racks again, her eyes lighting up with interest.

"Try not to break any mirrors," Eve teased, flashing me a wink as she dug through the selection.

The attendant led me to a spacious fitting room at the back of the boutique, a soft, elegant curtain drawn across the entrance. I stepped inside, the cool air of the fitting room brushing against my skin, and began to peel off the clothes I had worn there.

The dress slid easily over my shoulders, its fabric sleek and whisper-soft against my skin. When I finally turned to face the mirror, I let out a slow breath. The blue gown was everything I had hoped for—fitted perfectly to my body, the hem just above the floor, which would leave a tantalizing glimpse of my heels. The plunging neckline was bold but not overwhelming, and the slit up the side added a dash of daring, but still within the realm of sophistication.

I moved, watching how the gown flowed around me, how it clung to all the right places. There was power in the way it made me feel—elegant, dangerous, untouchable. It was the kind of dress that demanded attention, but only from those who were worthy of it.

A soft knock on the door brought me out of my reverie. "Everything fit alright?" the attendant called.

"Perfect," I replied, smoothing down the fabric as I stepped toward the curtain. "I'll take it. Let's just make sure there aren't any alterations needed."

As I walked back out into the main area, I saw Eve holding up a dress of her own—a deep black that practically shimmered in the light. She raised an eyebrow as I approached, her eyes scanning me from head to toe.

"Well," she said, voice low with approval. "Looks like you're going to cause a scene."

I gave her a mischievous smile. "That's the plan."

Eve smirked, stepping forward to give me a once-over, her fingers tapping lightly against the fabric of the dress she was holding. "I think this is the start of something very, very fun," she said, her voice dripping with mischief. "Though, I might just need to up my game a little."

She stepped into the fitting room to try on her own dress while I turned back to the attendant, confirming my choice. There was no hesitation this time. The blue dress was the one. As the attendant went off to finalize the transaction, I glanced at the mirror again, admiring how the gown made me look, how it made me feel.

Before long, Eve emerged, the black dress fitting her as if it had been tailored just for her—gorgeous, bold, and effortlessly stunning. She gave me a smirk as she spun slowly, making sure I got the full view.

"Not bad, huh?" she said, a playful challenge in her eyes.

I chuckled, raising my brows. "Not bad at all. You're gonna turn some heads, Eve."

She laughed, giving me an exaggerated wink. "I'll leave some of the attention for you, don't worry."

The attendant returned with a polite smile. "The dresses are ready. Anything else I can help you with?"

I turned to Eve with a sly smirk. "We need heels that will match the dresses- beautiful but comfortable."

Eve raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a grin. "Comfortable? We're about to crash an auction full of demons and hunters, and you're worried about comfort?"

I shrugged, a smirk still tugging at my lips. "If we're gonna be on our feet for hours, might as well not suffer. Plus, I'm not planning on breaking an ankle mid-fight."

Eve laughed softly, clearly approving of my logic. "Fair enough. Let's make sure we're both stylish and functional."

The attendant nodded enthusiastically, leading us to a small section filled with shoes—elegant yet practical. She picked out a few options for each of us, all of them tall and sleek, but with enough structure to support us through whatever chaos was sure to come.

I picked up a pair of black, strappy heels with a pointed toe, the perfect balance of deadly elegance. They weren't too high, but high enough to be more level with Sam.

Eve caught the glance I threw at the shoes, then at the mirror—then at the shoes again.

"Ohhh," she drawled, sliding her sunglasses down just enough to peer at me. "You're picking height now? For Sam?"

I rolled my eyes, though a smirk tugged at my lips. "I'm not trying to look like a hobbit next to him, Eve. The man's a tree."

She cackled. "A tree who is going to forget how to speak when he sees you in that dress and those heels."

I just shook my head, biting back a grin as I turned back toward the register. "He better."

"Trust me," Eve said, following with her own box of heels tucked under one arm. "If he doesn't, I will personally shove him into a wall and remind him how to appreciate things."

I snorted, shaking my head. "You're such a menace."

She winked. "You're welcome."