Written by: gooberlanes13

Edited by: KariGorsuch

The second we stepped through Bobby's front door, Bri flung her garment bag over her shoulder like she was smuggling contraband instead of formalwear. I followed, wincing as mine thunked loudly against the hardwood.

"Nothing to see here," Bri said, way too casual.

Dean, sprawled across the couch, lifted an eyebrow. Sam glanced up from the book in his lap—one he clearly hadn't been reading, judging by the way his eyes narrowed with a spark of amusement.

"That better not be a body bag," Dean muttered, dry as sandpaper.

"Only if the corpse prefers sequins and heels," I shot back.

Bri added, "And strictly avoids male eyes before curtain call. Especially yours."

Sam closed his book with a soft thud, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "So, Kansas City's getting the full red carpet treatment?"

Dean leaned forward slightly, eyes sharp and just a little too interested. "You two really went dress shopping for this thing?"

I shrugged as I slung the bag over my shoulder again. "Guilty. Got a problem with it, fake husband?"

Dean's smirk deepened, that look in his eye turning far too satisfied. "Depends. Did you pick something elegant? Or something that's gonna make me wish I brought a shotgun instead of cufflinks?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," I teased. There it was again—that quiet, possessive undercurrent in Dean's stare. Not overbearing. Just enough to light a fire low in my stomach.

Before I could make another move, Bri snatched the dress bag from my hands.

"I'll take this—"

"Bri—"

"Zip it, Empath Barbie." She tossed the line over her shoulder with a wicked grin, her boots thudding up the stairs. The bedroom door slammed behind her with all the subtlety of a stage cue.

I turned back toward the living room where Dean and Sam were doing a piss-poor job of pretending they weren't listening. Sam's brow arched with barely-contained curiosity, and Dean was practically horizontal over the couch arm, eyes following me like I might combust.

I sighed and dropped onto the couch arm beside Dean with all the grace of a thrown duffel bag.

"Alright, spill. How the hell did you two even get us into this thing?" I asked, shifting sideways and draping myself across both armrests.

Dean scratched the back of his neck. "Made a few calls. Pulled some strings. Asked Lilah."

My spine straightened. "Lilah?"

Dean nodded, slow and measured. "She owed me one. I called it in. She came through. That's it."

"And you didn't think that was worth mentioning?"

"Figured it'd come up," he said with a shrug. "Y'know. Like now."

I didn't press—not with Sam's eyes flicking between us and Bri re-entering the room with the energy of someone who'd heard every word. She slinked into the chair next to Sam, her expression a careful mask of casual. Still, the look I shot Dean promised this conversation wasn't over.

Bobby walked in from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a rag that had definitely seen better days. "You girls get what you need?"

Bri grinned like she'd just robbed a bank. "You bet your whiskey, Bobby."

His gaze shifted to me, sharper now. "Eve... somethin's been stickin' in my craw since the other night."

Bri paused mid-stretch, while Sam's posture tensed beside her.

Bobby gestured toward them. "You found them fast. Too fast. And you were in bad shape yourself. Looked like hell had run you over and backed up to make sure. So I gotta ask..." His eyes met mine, serious now. "What exactly did you feel?"

The room fell into a hush. Even the house itself seemed to settle, as if it were listening too.

I shifted under the weight of their eyes. "I don't know," I said slowly, the words tasting foreign even as I spoke them. "It was like... pressure. Heat in my chest. Like a string got pulled taut between us. I couldn't explain it, I just knew where to go. And when I got closer, I could feel Sam. Like he was flickering—between being there and slipping away."

Sam leaned forward, a frown etching lines deep across his face. His hand moved subtly beneath the desk, and by the way Bri shifted just slightly beside him, I knew exactly where it landed.

"I felt something too," Sam murmured, eyes distant. "Right before it all went dark. It was like... like someone pulling me—or us—out of a tunnel." His voice faltered, catching on the memory. His eyes locked on Bri, voice softening. "I remember holding on."

Bobby gave a low whistle, folding his arms across his chest. "That ain't just your average tracking mojo, Eve. That's something deeper. Tied up in blood, maybe even soul."

Dean stood abruptly, too fast to be casual. "Alright. Bri—you and me, time to pack up the Impala. We roll out at dawn."

Bri's eyes narrowed briefly at the shift, but she nodded. Before following Dean out, she squeezed Sam's shoulder—a gentle touch that held more weight than words.

I started to move, to follow, to break the tension, but Sam's voice cut through the air like a thread pulling tight.

"Eve. Wait."

I paused, half-standing, heart stuttering at the way he looked at me—tired, yes. But focused. Grounded.

"That night..." he began, his voice low and rough with memory. "I remember your voice. Through everything. It was like it cut through the fog. Like it anchored me."

I sank back down, the ache in my chest burning sharp.

"You pulled me back."

I smiled, a little sad. "Wasn't strong enough to keep you alive, though," I muttered, my voice barely a whisper. My gaze dropped to my lap as the weight of it settled in again. The guilt. The ache. The not-enough.

The silence stretched—heavy but not uncomfortable. It just... was. Until I let out a breath. "You scared the hell out of me, Sam. I thought I'd lost both of you."

He nodded slowly, his voice calm, like he'd already thought this through a hundred times. "Whatever's happening to you... it might not have stopped what happened that night, but it did help save Bri. You were the one who got to her. I don't know what that connection means yet, but... I'm glad it's you."

The sting behind my eyes built again, but I blinked it away and nodded. "Me too."

We didn't need to say more. Just sat in the quiet, side by side—two people who had been to Hell and back, holding onto the frayed threads of something close to hope.

Outside, the familiar rumble of the Impala's engine cracked through the stillness. Dean was tuning her up. Getting her ready.

Tomorrow, Kansas City.

Ready or not.

That night, we lit a bonfire in Bobby's backyard. The air was crisp, wind brushing through the smoke and sending sparks swirling like fireflies across the sky. It felt sacred somehow. Like one last breath before the storm.

Dean lifted his beer, grinning wide. "Cripple Creek. First hunt. Tell me that doesn't top every screwed-up icebreaker you've ever had."

Bri snorted into her drink. "You mean besides the part where I got yeeted across a motel room by a feral werewolf? Oh yeah. Total dream date."

Sam raised a finger, ever the stickler. "Technically, you got tossed through a table. There's a difference."

Bri leveled a glare over the lip of her bottle. "Semantics, Winchester."

Dean leaned back with a bark of laughter, eyes flicking toward me. "Pretty sure I still got a scar from that night."

I raised an eyebrow. "From the werewolf, or from the whiskey shots after?"

Dean took a swig. "Both. But the whiskey hurt worse."

Bobby muttered something about amateurs under his breath, and we all cracked up.

For the first time in what felt like years, the fire didn't feel like something chasing us. It just... warmed us. Like it was allowed to.

I leaned back on my elbows in my lawn chair, the firelight dancing over the toe of my boots. I tugged the blanket tighter around my legs, savoring the bite in the air. "Still can't believe you sent us in with one clip each and said, 'You got this, right?' Like we didn't see that seven-foot werewolf standing there like it paid rent."

Dean smirked, lifting his beer in mock salute. "You were Army. Figured you could handle a little furball."

"It wasn't a furball, Dean," I shot back, giving him a look. "It was a linebacker with claws. Thing used cover, flanked us—like it had training."

"Please," Bri drawled, stretching her legs toward the fire, "he was just bitter we handled it without needing a rescue mission."

Dean gave her a glare over the bottle. "I was providing backup. There's a difference."

"Yeah, sure. How's that masculinity heating up by the fire, champ?" I teased, flashing him a grin.

Dean pointed a finger at me, mock offense on his face. "I'll remember that when you're begging me to take down a nest solo next time."

"Sounds like you're volunteering," Bri muttered into her drink, smirking.

Sam chuckled, the firelight soft on his face. "You both did good. A lot of first hunts go sideways fast. No offense, but Dean usually leaves more... mess."

Dean scoffed, sitting up straighter. "Hey. My messes are calculated."

"Purebloods though," Sam muttered, half to himself. "They're more complicated. Smarter. Calculated."

"And what was your excuse, Sam?" Bri teased, nudging his leg with her boot. "You missed twice before you nailed it with silver."

Sam chuckled. "I was gauging wind resistance. Indoor velocity. Y'know... science."

"You panicked," Dean said, grinning over his beer.

Sam didn't deny it. Just gave a one-shouldered shrug and a quiet, "Still didn't die."

"You did limp for two days," Bri added, helpfully.

I laughed, tipping my head back as the fire cracked and popped, soft shadows flickering over all our faces. The banter melted into something gentler, something earned.

"You know," I said, swirling what was left in my bottle, "we were scared shitless. But it was the first time in a long time I didn't feel alone."

Bri's voice dropped to match mine. "Same. And despite the flying snack food and cracked ribs..." she smiled faintly, "I wouldn't change a thing."

Sam nodded slowly, his eyes landing on mine across the fire. "You held your own, Eve. You both did. Most first hunts don't end that clean."

Dean raised his bottle, the flames catching the amber liquid. "To Cripple Creek. To surviving. To not shooting me—technically."

I clinked my bottle against his, smirking. "You're welcome for the restraint."

"And to the next hunt," Bri added, lifting hers toward the middle. Sam leaned in to clink gently with hers.

"May it have fewer broken bones," she added.

Dean grinned, the firelight catching the spark in his eyes. "No promises."

The moment hung between us like the last ember of a fire, the warmth lingering even as the chuckles faded. Bri's gaze remained fixed on the flames, her fingers absently tracing the rim of her bottle.

"You know..." she said, her voice quiet and distant. "My family still hasn't called."

Sam turned toward her, his brow furrowing with that soft, familiar concern. "Bri..."

"I used to think maybe they would," she went on, her words steady but carrying a weight, a weariness that had settled in over the years. "But now? I don't even know if I'd answer."

Sam's voice was calm, gentle. "I would," he said, leaning in a little closer. "You'd pick up. Because you're stronger than that."

There was a beat of silence before Bri shifted, her head leaning against his shoulder. Her fingers found his, intertwining effortlessly. His hand moved instinctively to the back of her neck, cupping it with a gentle, grounding touch. No words passed between them, but the quiet felt like an unspoken promise, a shared understanding.

The silence, thick and full of something neither could name, settled in.

I broke it first, scoffing dramatically to get everyone's attention. "Shit, I still don't have a fucking phone!"

Laughter bubbled up, a release from the tension that had thickened. Dean's gaze flickered over to me, eyebrow arched.

"We'll correct that in Kansas City."

I grinned, shaking my head. "Eh, honestly, it's one of the things I don't miss about being human." I paused, my voice turning softer, more thoughtful as I gazed at the fire, the flames crackling like old memories. "I really don't miss being human all the time... But there are moments I do. Like... dessert. Or coffee."

Dean chuckled low, the sound easy and familiar. "You get real nostalgic when you're tipsy."

I shot him a playful glare, turning my face toward the fire so he wouldn't catch the smile tugging at my lips. "Shut up."

But Dean didn't drop it. He moved closer, brushing his knee against mine in a way that wasn't accidental. His hand found the curve of my waist under the blanket I'd half-draped over my legs, his thumb drawing slow, steady circles into my side. It was grounding, subtle, and entirely too intimate.

"You know what I miss?" he murmured, his voice low, just for me.

I met Dean's gaze, his words hanging between us, heavy and sincere. "The version of me before all of this," he said, his voice softer than I expected, before tipping his head slightly. "But I wouldn't trade that guy for the one who gets to be next to you."

For a moment, the air seemed to leave my lungs. I let my hand slip into his, our fingers intertwining, squeezing a little tighter than before. "Careful," I whispered, my voice teasing but full of something deeper, "I might start thinking you're soft."

Dean's smile was just for me, a quiet warmth that softened his features. He leaned in until his forehead brushed mine, his eyes locked on mine like he was trying to memorize every detail. "Only for you, Jett."

The world fell away, leaving only the quiet flicker of flames and the rhythmic thrum of three steady heartbeats. It was peaceful in a way I hadn't felt in too long. A brief moment of calm before everything we were about to face.

Bri broke the silence, her voice exaggerated with mock exasperation. "Alright, if anyone says one more nice thing, I'm setting myself on fire."

I smirked, leaning back against Dean's side. "You're not even that drunk."

Bri made a dramatic gagging sound before taking another long drink.

Dean muttered dryly, his voice cutting through the atmosphere. "I love us. So emotionally stable."

I chuckled softly, my fingers still gently tangled with his. "Shhh, Tyler," I repeated, softer this time, and let my head rest on his shoulder, my body relaxing into the warmth of his side.

For once, everything felt right. As it should be.

We'd survive Kansas City. But tonight... tonight we'd remember why we were still standing.

The Impala smelled like leather, gunpowder, and the scent of fast food Dean inhaled at the last stop. Bri and I sat in the back, the ball gowns stuffed in garment bags beside us. The car hummed beneath us, steady and familiar, the road stretching out ahead, but for now, it felt like we could breathe.

Dean adjusted the rearview mirror, flicking his gaze between the road and the two of us in the backseat. "You know, I did take the Mustang to find you guys the other night. Finally got to drive her."

Bri snorted. "Still say it wasn't technically grand theft auto if Eve had the keys."

Sam raised a brow, the corner of his mouth lifting. "You did take it without a word."

"Semantics," I replied, kicking my boot lightly against the back of Dean's seat.

Dean gave me a look in the mirror, smirk creeping in. "Honestly? I'm impressed. You two—didn't peg you for the Bonnie and Clyde type."

"I plead the fifth."

"You're not in court," he shot back, amused.

"Still counts," I said, matching his smirk with one of my own.

At a rest stop just outside Kansas City, the air was colder, tinged with the scent of gas, cracked asphalt, and whatever strange sandwich Dean had scarfed down before we left the last town. He leaned against the Impala with his arms crossed, watching the road, quiet in that way he got when something was bothering him.

I finished stretching and caught his silence. "You okay?"

His jaw flexed as he glanced my way. "What was that look yesterday—when I mentioned Lilah?"

I didn't flinch. "It was obvious. The way you clammed up after you said her name. Something happened between you two."

Dean took a step closer, his boots crunching gravel, closing the space between us until his presence pressed warm against mine. "You don't have to be jealous, Eve."

"I'm not jealous," I said—too fast, too sharp.

His smirk deepened, but there was something softer underneath it. "You're possessive."

I lifted my chin, folding my arms. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

Dean leaned in just a hair, voice dropping low. "Nah. Just saying... you don't need to be. If I wanted Lilah, I'd be with Lilah."

I met his gaze, pulse flickering at the edge of my throat. "And yet, here you are."

"Damn right," he muttered—then kissed me. Hard. Certain. Every bit of tension behind that kiss, and every bit of promise.

When he pulled away, his lips still hovering near mine, his voice dropped a notch. "Shotgun?"

He circled around to the passenger door and opened it with a little mock bow, smirking as he gestured me inside like it was some kind of royal procession.

I rolled my eyes but grinned, stepping forward—

"SAM!"

Bri's voice rang out across the parking lot like a gunshot. Dean and I both jerked toward the vending machines just in time to see her storming out of the rest stop bathroom, fury in her eyes and a half-unwrapped protein bar clenched in her fist like a murder weapon.

"What the hell, Winchester?!" she barked, stalking up to Sam, who looked like a kid caught red-handed sneaking pie before dinner.

Sam blinked innocently. "What'd I do?"

She jabbed the bar in his direction like it owed her money. "You said this one wasn't awful!"

"I said it was better than the lemon one," Sam corrected, holding up a hand like that somehow helped.

"It tastes like regret and chalk dust," Bri snapped. "You knew it was shady!"

Sam's mouth twitched. "I said it had... character."

"It tastes like punishment, Sam!"

"It's got twenty grams of protein," he offered, like that explained everything. "And minimal joy. Which, you know... balances out."

Dean nearly doubled over with laughter. "Oh my God, she's gonna throw it at you."

Bri stormed past us, snapped open the back door with more force than necessary, and muttered something about "divorce and vending machines" as she climbed in and slammed it behind her.

"Easy on Baby," Dean barked automatically, hand twitching like the door had personally offended him.

Bri and I rolled our eyes in unison.

Sam jogged over a few seconds later, guilt written all over his face and two sodas poorly concealed behind his back. "Peace offering?" he asked, holding one out.

Dean shook his head, clapping a hand on his brother's shoulder. "You're either real brave or real stupid."

Sam handed one soda to me, then leaned into the cracked window to pass the other back to Bri. She yanked it from his hand without so much as a glance.

Dean still had my door open, one brow cocked. "You riding up front or just loitering?"

"You just want to keep me where you can see me," I smirked as I slid in.

"You're not wrong," he said, voice dipping into that familiar low drawl that sent a spark straight down my spine. He shut the door behind me like he was locking in a secret.

As he rounded the hood, I called, "Just saying—if Bri murders Sam in his sleep with a stale protein bar, I'm testifying for the defense."

Dean slid into the driver's seat with a slow grin. "Fair. But if I catch you batting your lashes at another hunter like you did with Mark, you're walking to the next hunt."

"Possessive much?" I teased, biting back a grin.

Dean's hand landed on my knee, casual but firm. "Damn right."

From the back, Bri groaned. "Can you two not flirt for, like, five minutes?"

When we finally pulled into the loop of the Crowne Plaza, Kansas City glowing like a promise around us, I practically launched myself out of the Impala. My boots clicked like intent across the polished tile of the lobby as I strutted ahead, Bri close behind and already holding back a grin.

The clerk looked up from his monitor as we approached—mid-thirties, slick hair, and a nametag that read Jeremy, slightly crooked like his too-confident smile.

"Hi," I purred, brushing my fingertips lightly along the counter. "Jeremy." I let the name hang on my tongue just a little too long. "We have a reservation under Morrison?"

His eyes trailed over me. "Y-Yes," he said, blinking quickly. "Of course. One standard room—"

I leaned in, resting my arms on the counter, giving him a generous view of the neckline of my tank top. "Is there any way you could upgrade us?" I asked sweetly, voice low and smooth. "Something... roomier?" I tilted my head, lashes fluttering just enough to draw him in. "We've had a long drive."

His smile twitched. "I—I might be able to work something out."

Behind me, I heard Dean scoff under his breath.

I didn't turn around. Not yet. I let the clerk enjoy his moment too long.

Jeremy's fingers started flying across the keyboard. "We just had a cancellation—uh, a suite actually. Two rooms, connected. Corner view. I can—"

Dean stepped up beside me like thunder breaking through humidity, his arm curling possessively around my waist. I felt the heat of his palm press low on my hip, fingers flexing just slightly—territorial.

"We'll take the suite," he said, voice gruff and edged with warning. "And a parking pass. You'll comp it."

Jeremy blinked up at him, startled. "Y-Yes. Of course. Complimentary."

Dean's gaze didn't budge. "Good man."

He didn't move until the keys were handed over. Jeremy attempted to pass me the room keys, but when his eyes met Dean's again, he hesitantly shifted his hand to pass them to Dean.

Dean guided me away from the desk with a firm hand at the small of my back, his touch hot through the thin fabric of my shirt. As soon as we were far enough away, I looked up at him with a knowing smile.

"You're kind of hot when you go full caveman," I murmured.

Dean didn't skip a beat. "You're kind of a menace when you flirt like that."

"Worked, didn't it?" I smirked.

He stopped dead in the middle of the lobby, tugging me into him so suddenly I gasped. "If he'd looked down your shirt one more time, sweetheart," he growled low, "I was gonna introduce his face to the marble tile."

I slid my hands up his chest, eyes locked on his lips. "Jealousy looks good on you."

"Keep testing me, and I'll remind you who you belong to before we make it upstairs," he murmured, leaning in until his breath ghosted across my mouth. "You want that?"

My mouth curved into a smirk. "Not here," I whispered. "But maybe... floor-to-ceiling windows and a king bed upstairs?"

Dean's eyes darkened as he exhaled slowly. "You're gonna kill me."

I turned and sashayed toward the elevators, tossing a wink over my shoulder. "Shotgun shower."

Behind me, I heard Bri mutter to Sam, "We are never getting sleep tonight."

Sam just sighed. "I hope the walls are thick."

"Holy hell," Bri said as we stepped into the suite.

Two connected rooms, one with a massive king bed, the other with two queens. Plush carpet, real marble counters, even a mini bar.

"This place is bigger than my apartment back home," I muttered.

Sam dropped his bag. "This place doesn't smell like mold and blood. Already an upgrade from Cripple Creek."

Dean tossed his jacket on the couch. "They actually wash the sheets here."

Bri threw herself onto the king bed. "Dibs."

I jumped next to her. "Co-dibs."

Dean looked at Sam. "So much for..." Dean allowed the words to die in his throat as his eyes scanned over my body and flicked to his brother, "Guess we're cuddling, Ashcroft."

Sam grinned. "Shotgun to the bed furthest from the girls' snoring."

"I do not snore," Bri declared as I covered my face to muffle my giggles.

"Lies," Sam said. "You purr like a lion with allergies."

Dean kicked off his boots and flopped onto the remaining bed. "I'm just saying, if the walls are thin... the neighbors are in for a long night, if someone falls through on their teasing..."

I tossed a pillow at him. "Dream on, Winchester."

He caught it with a grin. "Oh, I intend to."