Written by: KariGorsuch

The door to the hotel room creaked open, muted light spilling across the worn carpet.

Eve walked in first. Dean followed with his hand still curled loosely around her elbow, like he wasn't sure if she needed grounding, or if he did.

Sam and I came in last- his hand never leaving mine.

The room was untouched. The curtains still drawn. Half-finished takeout on the table. My duffle slumped against the chair like nothing had happened. Like we hadn't just clawed our way out of hell made from glass and guilt.

Sam let go of my hand slowly, like setting down something breakable.

Then-

"Took you long enough."

The voice didn't come from any of us.

Dean's gun was out before the syllables finished. Sam stepped forward, blocking me instinctively.

Eve froze, head snapping up.

And there he was. Leaning against the headboard of Dean's bed like he'd been here the whole time, arms folded behind his head, grinning like he was just pleased with himself.

Leather jacket. Snarky eyes. A lollipop sticking out of his mouth.

Dean groaned. "Oh, hell no."

The man raised a hand in lazy greeting. "Come on, Dean. I practically rolled out the red carpet. You're welcome."

Eve blinked, "Who-?"

"Long story," Sam muttered. "Short version, He's a Trickster. He's not exactly what he looks like."

"I resent that," the Trickster said, hopping up. "I'm exactly what I look like. Just with a little extra flair."

Dean's jaw tightened. "What the hell did you do?"

The Tricksters grin didn't falter.

"Relax. You're all alive, aren't you? Mostly intact? A few traumatic hallucinations never killed anyone. Well-" he paused, thinking, "-not anyone you liked."

I stepped forward, fists clenched. "You did that? The mirrors?"

He nodded. "Guilty. And before you punch me- which, let's be honest, you couldn't land- I did it because you needed to see what was already there. That auction wasn't about money. It was about ownership. And you, sweetheart, were halfway to selling yourselves for free."

My breath hitched. "You're lying."

The Tricksters smile didn't falter- but something behind his eyes shifted. Just a twitch of something older, deeper.

"Oh, I wish I were," he said, stepping toward me. "But let's be honest, sweetheart- you've been dangling by a thread for weeks. Guilt, grief, a shiny coat of righteous fury- very chic by the way- but under all that?" He leaned in slightly, voice low and razor-sharp. "You'd hand over your soul if it meant never losing him again."

The words landed like a slap, and I flinched. Just barely- but enough that Sam moved beside me. I didn't look at him. I couldn't.

Because it was true.

Because some small, aching part of me had whispered that deal in the dark. Had thought it. Wanted it.

The Trickster gave a soft tsk.

"You think Demons are the only ones who make offers?" he murmured. "Please. Grief's a currency. Regret's a leash. And you-" he looked at Eve now, gaze sharpening- "You're the perfect example."

Eve finally lifted her head. Slow. Controlled.

But her voice still cracked when she spoke. "You don't know anything about me."

"Don't I?" he said, his smile returning like a mask slipping back into place. "You think I made the mirrors. I didn't. I just lit the match. That place- those versions of you- it's not fiction. It's potential. And you've been teetering on the edge of becoming them for a long, long time."

Dean stepped forward fast, eyes dark. "Say another word, and I swear to God-"

"God's not here, Dean," the Trickster snapped, and for a breath, something ancient and angry rippled under his skin. "He left you on read a long time ago."

Silence.

Then the Trickster exhaled and rolled his neck like he was shaking off the moment. The grin slithered back into place. "Look. You've got demons en route and zero favors left to call. So unless you want a nice vacation in chains and brimstone, I suggest you get moving."

Sam narrowed his eyes. "Why are you helping us?"

"Demons deal in souls because they want narrative. Desperation. Regret. Righteous fury. Ever wonder why your lives feel like a never-ending greatest-hits reel of pain and noble sacrifice?"

He gestured upward, outward- everywhere. "People are watching. Every time you break? Every time you crawl back up, teeth gritted and bleeding? They're feeding on it."

Dean's grip tightened around his pistol. "Start making sense before I put a round through your head. Again."

The Trickster waved him off, snagging a bag of M&M's. "The auction was a trap. Duh. But not just for the ring. They wanted you four for a reason- and it wasn't your sparkling personalities." He popped a red candy into his mouth. "They knew what you are. What you're becoming."

I blinked. "Becoming?"

He pointed the candy at me. "You especially. You're not just a hunter anymore. You're a warning. A prophecy. Maybe a curse. That ring you stole? Not the only thing tied to Hell in that ballroom."

He flicked a golden-brown glance at Eve, whose hands had curled into fists at her sides. "And her? She's still echoing."

Dean stepped in front of her like it was instinct. "You want to try making sense sometime today, or should I shoot first and translate later?"

The Trickster gave an exaggerated sigh. "You Winchesters. Always so literal. Fine. You want the SparkNotes version?"

He turned back to me, another candy half melted between two fingers. "You," he said slowly, "are walking around with the kind of soul that doesn't stay buried. Doesn't stay quiet. You draw attention. That stunt tonight? You've let every cosmic being know that The Mother of all monsters is coming."

The room went still. The kind of stillness that settles after a bomb drops, but just before the debris realizes it's supposed to fall.

Sam spoke first, voice low. "What did you say?"

The Trickster raised both hands, candy forgotten. "Don't look at me like I summoned her. You did that all on your own- with a little help from your emotional trauma, stolen artifacts, and a flair for dramatics."

I sucked in a small breath. "The Mother of All- you mean Eve."

"Bingo," the Trickster sing-songed. "Give the girl a prize. She's coming. And she will take her vessel."

The room didn't just go still. It went cold.

Dean's mouth opened, then closed again. Like even he couldn't think of a joke sharp enough to cut through that.

My stomach twisted. "She- she can't. She needs my permission to possess me."

The Trickster's head tilted, slow and foxlike. "Oh, sweetheart," he murmured, almost pitying, "do you really think it's that simple?"

He took a step closer, and nobody moved to stop him. Not Dean. Not Eve. Not even Sam.

"You think the big bads wait around for verbal consent?" He said, softer now, almost clinical. "This isn't an angel renting out your soul for a weekend. This is Eve. She doesn't need your consent."

My throat dried. "Then what does she need?"

His eyes flicked to Eve, then Sam, before returning to me. "She needs a crack. Just one." He raised his thumb and forefinger, pinching the air like he could measure it. "A fracture in the armor. Guilt- grief- doubt. A choice made out of love- or fear. Doesn't matter. Once it's there, she slips in."

Eve's breathing had gone shallow. Dean looked like he wanted to punch a wall- or maybe him. Sam hadn't taken his eyes off me- like he knew what I was thinking.

"What happens if she gets in?"

The Trickster turned toward him. For the first time, no snark. No candy. Just a flat, tired kind of truth. "She burns everything you love trying to stay."

Dean stepped forward. "You said she needs a crack. What if we don't give her one?"

The Trickster met his eyes. "Then you hold the line," he said. "Every hour. Every day. And you pray that when the real moment comes... she doesnt find a back door."

Then he stepped back, the tension in the air clinging to him like static. "But hey," he said, cracking a small smile. "No pressure."

He snapped his fingers- but instead of vanishing, he left. Walked right out the door, humming a Sinatra tune like he hadn't just dropped a nuclear truth in the middle of the room.

The door clicked shut behind him, and the silence he left behind felt suffocating.

"Tell me this didn't start with the ring." Dean broke the silence, pacing three steps before he stopped, running both hands down his face.

I didn't answer right away, but the words left my mouth before I could stop them.

"Cold Oak," I whispered. "When Jake killed Sam."

Sam froze. Dean turned to look at me like I'd just punched him in the chest.

His mouth opened- then closed. Whatever comeback he had died on his tongue. Something in my voice must've given too much away.

Because his eyes narrowed, sharp and focused, and without a word he crossed the room, grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the hallway.

"Hey-" Sam started, but Dean cut him off with a look as the door clicked behind us.

"What the hell are you talking about, Bri?" Dean kept his voice low, but the edge was unmistakable.

"Back in Cold Oak, after Sam..." I paused, breath hitching. "After he died, Azazel showed up. Offered me a deal."

His brow furrowed. "What deal?"

"He said he'd bring Sam back. Whole. Alive. No strings." I laughed bitterly. "All he wanted was for me to say yes to Eve. I didn't, obviously... But I wanted to. I wonder... if wanting it that much was enough."

I could see the shift in his face- the flicker of horror, confusion, the slow dawning of you've been keeping this from us.

He raked a hand through his hair and turned, pacing a few steps down the hall. "God, Bri. You think I wouldn't understand? You think I haven't been there? I made that deal- for him."

"I know," I said, barely above a whisper.

The air in the hallway thickened between us. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead like angry wasps.

"I thought I could carry it," I muttered softly.

Dean's laugh was dry. Not cruel- just done. "Yeah, well, welcome to the club. We've got jackets."

I almost smiled. Almost.

But then his eyes locked on mine again, steady and raw. "You think you cracked then?"

I nodded slowly. "The Trickster said she only needed a crack."

A beat passed in silence.

Then, quieter: "Sam... He's become important enough to be the reason I break."

Dean didn't flinch- but the muscle in his jaw jumped. He looked away for a second, like the hallway ceiling suddenly got real interesting.

"Yeah," he said finally. "Yeah, I get that."

He turned back to me, more serious now. "But listen- loving him, that's not the crack. That's the anchor."

My breath hitched as Dean stepped closer, his voice lowering. "You break when you try to hold it all alone. When you shut us out. She'll get in because you're scared to lose him again, not because you love him."

He wasn't wrong.

God help me, he wasn't wrong. Not that I was going to offer that information up.

I looked away, lips pressed tight, trying to pretend the burning behind my eyes was just exhaustion.

Dean didn't push for an admission. He never did when it really counted.

He just stood there a second longer, letting the silence stretch- comfortable, weighty- and then slapped his hand lightly against my arm. "Alright. Let's go before Sam starts pacing a hole in the carpet."

He turned, already heading for the door. I stayed where I was for just a breath longer, listening to the quiet. Letting the truth settle where it wanted to, before following him.

The hotel room felt smaller when we stepped back inside- like the shadows had learned how to lean in.

Eve sat on the edge of the bed, staring at her own hands like they might do something she didn't trust. She had changed from her gown into a baggy shirt and a pair of sweat pants. Sam looked up from where he'd been pacing, his suit jacket forgotten on the chair- his white button down partially undone, sleeves shoved up. His tie hung loose around his neck, like he'd tried to take it off and given up halfway through.

Sam's eyes landed on me instantly. He didn't say anything at first, just... looked.

"You okay?" he finally asked, quietly.

"Yeah." I nodded, the reply automatic. Too fast. Too Easy.

His gaze flicked to Dean, then back to me. He didn't press- not with words- but I felt the question burning in his eyes.

What did he say?

What aren't you telling me?

I looked away first, grabbing my duffle from the bed Eve and I shared. Shutting myself into the bathroom to get changed seemed like the logical way to avoid his burning gaze.

The moment the door clicked shut behind me, I leaned back against it for a heartbeat, rethinking my life choices.

It wasn't even the bad ones- those I made peace with ages ago. It was the near-misses. The almosts. The cracks that I hadn't noticed until the Trickster traced his finger across them.

The mirror maze didn't show me what I feared. It had shown me what I already knew.

Loving Sam wasn't the problem. It was what I was willing to do to keep him.

I pushed off the door, leaving the high heels sitting on the floor, dropping the duffle beside the sink. My hands shook a little as I unzipped it, pulling out a clean pair of jeans and a shirt.

Dropping the clothes on the toilet, I reached in the shower and turned on the water- scalding hot- as if the heat of the water could wash away everything the mirror had shown.

Steam curled up instantly, fogging the glass and creeping across the bathroom like smoke as I peeled off the dress and stepped into the shower, the heat hitting like punishment. It stung against my skin, but I didn't flinch. Just pressed my back to the tile and let the water burn away the chill that had settled under my ribs.

I tilted my head back, eyes closed, letting the water drum against my collarbone, my shoulders, tracing a burning path down my back.

The ache in my chest didn't ease. If anything- it deepend. Because no matter how hot the water got, it couldn't touch what had settled underneath.

It couldn't erase the sound of my own voice in the maze- You can't save him. You never could.

My stomach twisted. I clenched my jaw and forced the memory down, stuffing it into the box I'd built for it. The one lined with family issues and too many 'what if's'.

I stayed like that until the heat began to fade, until the water stopped burning and started to cool. Then I finally reached for the handle, twisting it off.

Leaning out of the shower, I grabbed the towel off the hook, dripping water over the floor. As I dried off and pulled on clean clothes, I caught my reflection in the mirror again- cleared just enough to see how flushed my skin was.

A knock at the door startled me. Not sharp- gentle.

"Bri?" Sam's voice, tentative.

I froze, towel still clutched in my hands, wringing the water out of my hair.

"Yeah," I almost whispered, the word coming out hoarse.

There was a slight pause, like he was choosing his words carefully.

"You alright?"

I hesitated, debating heavily- settling on my normal reply. "Yeah. I'm fine."

Another pause, like he was waiting just long enough to confirm the lie. Then the doorknob turned, slow and quiet.

Sam stepped in, eyes flickering to the fogged up mirror, to the drops of water on the tile, to me- standing there in jeans and an old T-shirt that hung off a shoulder, towel still clenched in my fists.

For a moment, he didn't speak. Just shut the door behind him and looked at me like he always did when something was breaking under the surface.

"I don't believe you," he finally said. Not accusing, just... honest.

I looked away, hiding behind the towel, using it as cover while my heart kicked against my ribs like it wanted to run.

"I saw you," he continued, voice low but rising, like it was gaining weight with word. "Back there. In the mirrors."

I swallowed hard. "Which version?"

"All of them," he bit out. "But only one mattered. The one that kept looking for me."

My breath caught. He stepped forward- slower this time, careful. Like I was something fractured. "You were scared. But you weren't running. You were fighting. Every version of you that I saw... even the ones that gave up? They were still looking for me."

He reached out, hand hovering near mine. "You never stopped."

I flinched away, too fast.

"I can't do this, Sam," I choked out.

The towel slipped form my hands and hit the floor.

He stiffened. "Can't do what?"

"All of it!" I snapped, the crack in my voice finally breaking open. "The mirrors, the demons, you. I can't keep doing this."

His brows furrowed. "You think I asked you to?"

"No!" I barked. "But it's what I do! I hold the line. I carry the weight. I fix the damage. And every time I get close to you, I become the thing that might break it all!"

Sam's eyes narrowed. "So what, this is my fault?"

"No," I spat. "None of this is your fault. But you're still the pressure point. You're one thing they know I'll never risk- and they're gonna keep using that until I snap."

"You think walking away changes that?" he asked, incredulous. "You think distance protects anybody?"

"It's better than pretending I can keep this up. Better than lying to myself about what I'm capable of when it comes to you."

His jaw clenched, something dark and wounded flashing in his eyes. "You really think I'm the problem."

"I think caring about you is the problem," I shot back, too fast. Too raw. "It's the opening. The crack."

"And you're gonna slam the door shut on me for what- strategy?"

"I'm trying to keep you alive!" I shouted, my voice bouncing off the tile. "You, Dean, Eve- everyone! If cutting myself off keeps her out, then yeah, Sam. That's the move."

A deep rumble shook the walls, making the lights flicker.

Sam's breath hitched. "They're coming."

I grabbed my duffle and shouldered it, fast. "Then we're out of time."

"So your solution is to shut me out? Again?" His voice turned sharp.

"It's the only choice I have!"

"You think I haven't been exactly where you are?" Sam exploded, stepping forward now, tension radiating off him. "You think I wouldn't make every deal- every wrong call just to keep someone breathing? Keep you breathing?"

I shook my head, retreating a step. "Then don't you see?! That's exactly the problem! You would die for me, and I would break the world to stop it- and thats her way in."

He raked a hand through his hair, voice rising. "God, Bri, you keep acting like pushing me away is some kind of shield- but it's not. You're practically telling them exactly where to push you."

"And staying close to you isn't?" I snapped. "They already know! The Trickster spelled it out like I was a warning label- do you think I don't see it?"

"Then stop acting like being near me is the problem!" he fired back. "You think locking yourself down makes you untouchable? It makes you alone. And that's when they'll get you."

"I'd rather be alone than get you killed."

"You don't get to make that call for me."

"Well someone has to!" I shouted, voice cracking hard.

The silence after was instant. Heavy. My breath came in short bursts, chest rising and falling like I'd just been hit.

Sam stared at me like he couldn't decide if he was furious or just heartbroken. Maybe both. "You think this is protecting me?" he asked quietly now, the anger cooling into something sharper. "You're not building a wall. You're digging a grave."

"As long as it's just my own," I said, barely above a whisper, a sharp contrast to the shouting match.

Sam's expression shattered- whatever fire was left in him flickering out beneath something colder. Not anger. Not hurt. Grief.

"That's not how this works. You don't get to trade your life like it's some kind of damage control. You go down, bri, and we all go with you. You think I'd survive that? Dean? Eve?"

I turned away, teeth clenched against the heat behind my eyes.

"You're not disposable," he said, voice rising again. "You don't get to erase yourself from the equation just because it feels safer than holding on."

I spun back towards him. "You think this feels safe? You think I want to do this? I am doing the only thing I can think of to keep you alive!"

"And what if that's not what I want?" he demanded, closing the space between us. "What if I want to stay? What if I'd rather fight beside you and lose, than survive without you and never know who the hell I am anymore?"

The air between us went silent- charged and aching, only to be broken by the bathroom lights flickering again. The hum above us buzzed like a warning.

Sam didn't move. He was still looking at me like I was a lifeline he refused to let go of.

And that- that- was what broke me.

"God, Sam." I snapped, voice sharp enough to cut skin. "You don't even see it, do you? You think you'd die for me? You already are. Every second we stay close, you get dragged deeper into this. Into me."

His mouth opened to protest, but I didn't let him speak.

"I don't want you beside me when this explodes. I don't want to watch you fall because of something I should have handled alone!"

He shook his head. "That's not how this works. I choose-"

"Well don't!" I shoulder, stepping back like the words burned coming out. "Stop choosing me!"

The silence hit like a slap.

Sam's face froze- every muscle locking like I'd gut-punched him. And maybe I had. Maybe I meant to.

I hated myself for it. But I kept going.

"I don't want to fight beside you," I hissed. "I don't want to need you. I wish... I wish you'd stayed dead at Cold Oak so I wouldn't have to keep breaking like this!"

The second it left my mouth, I felt it.

The drop.

The silence.

The damage.

Sam went still. His chest rose once, hard. Then again- quieter. The flicker of betrayal in his eyes was unmistakable, even as he fought to swallow it back down.

"Right," he muttered, voice brittle.

He didn't yell. Didn't argue.

That would have hurt less.

He just moved to the door, every step heavy like he was hauling something that used to be hope.