Written by: gooberlanes13

Edited by: KariGorsuch

"Regret?" The voice echoed through the air like it had teeth. "Darlin'... I haven't even started."

Smooth. Southern. Vicious in velvet.

It slipped in under the ringing in my skull, warping the words as if they were underwater. I couldn't tell if he was laughing or if my brain was just cracking under the pressure. My head throbbed like a tuning fork pressed to bone, the sound escalating again as he crossed the threshold—one slow, deliberate step at a time.

The Ring had gone still. Silent. Cold.

He hadn't.

I saw the motion first. Sam, moving fast—grabbing Bri, yanking her back behind him like she was made of glass. Dean was already in front of me, shoulders squared, a quiet click punctuating the moment as he cocked the shotgun.

But I couldn't stand.

I couldn't even breathe right.

My palms were braced to the floor, and I was still hunched forward—jaw clenched, spine shaking, muscles screaming like my body had memorized fear before my mind caught up. A few more drops of my own blood collided with the floor as I squeezed my eyes shut, attempting to regain control.

He hadn't even touched me. Hadn't looked at me.

And still—my fangs dropped.

My vision blurred at the edges, pupils blown wide as some ancient instinct tried to warn me: predator.

Not just stronger. Older. Wrong.

I felt it in my teeth. In my blood. Like my cells were shrinking from his shadow.

And I knew, without question, that I was outclassed.

He was still just a silhouette in the doorway, backlit by the morning sun and smoke. Tall, broad-shouldered, and moving with the kind of casual confidence that screamed royalty or monster. Maybe both. I couldn't see his face yet.

Didn't need to.

His voice did the work.

"You lot made quite the mess," he drawled, pacing one slow step farther into the room, boots creaking against the warped floorboards. "Acting out like that? Stealing? Burnin' holes in the air. No manners at all."

The air grew colder.

And thicker.

Like the room itself was holding its breath.

Dean didn't flinch. Not visibly. But I knew tension when I saw it. His fingers curled tighter around the grip of the shotgun. His stance widened. Not out of bravado—but out of readiness.

Sam was watching the man's shadow too—but his focus kept twitching between Bri and the Ring. Like he didn't trust either of them not to explode.

My vision pulsed again, another hot spike of static behind my eyes, and I finally forced a breath through clenched teeth. My voice came out rasped.

"Who the hell are you?"

That's when he stepped into full view.

And smiled.

It wasn't wide. It wasn't even showy. Just the barest upturn of lips beneath pale eyes and a weathered face that didn't look quite human. He looked like something that had worn a thousand skins and only recently remembered how to make them look alive.

"The name's Urzin," he said, like it should mean something to us. "Knight of Hell. Pleased to meetcha."

No one moved.

Every single instinct I had screamed danger.

Sam's grip on Bri shifted just slightly, like he wasn't sure if he needed to pull her back farther—or push her forward.

Dean's jaw ticked. "Knight of Hell, huh?"

Urzin gave a slow, infuriating nod. "Last of the originals. Before the chains. Before the Crowns. Before y'all started playin' soldier."

He looked around then, gaze drifting over all of us like he was assessing livestock.

Then his eyes landed on me.

And he grinned like he recognized something I didn't even know I was hiding.

Urzin's grin widened.

Not wolfish. Not manic. Just certain. Like he'd already won something we hadn't realized we were playing for.

His eyes—lightless, not black, not red, just... void—dragged over me again, slower this time. My stomach knotted. Not in fear, not exactly. It was something more primal. Recognition without memory. Like his presence had been written into my instincts before I was even turned.

"You," he murmured, voice thick with amusement. "Now you... you're a surprise."

Dean shifted, a near-silent step closer to me—protective, automatic—but Urzin didn't flinch. Didn't even look at him. Just kept his gaze locked on mine like he was studying a crack in the glass.

"Didn't think any human could survive that type of transition and live to not feast," he said softly, like it was just between us. "Though, I'm assuming you've had some support along the way."

I didn't answer.

Didn't move.

Because I wasn't sure if I could.

Because there was a weight to his words—like he knew what I'd become, but more than that, what it had almost turned me into. Like he could still smell the near-loss of control, the hunger I kept locked behind every breath.

And he was enjoying it.

He smiled again—smaller this time. Meaner.

Urzin let his gaze drift lazily across the room now, like he was taking in a gallery of curiosities.

"Well, well," he drawled, stepping once more into the center of the cabin. "You four have made quite the stir, haven't you?"

The smirk returned—sharp now, smug with something behind it.

"Not just stealing a relic that should've been six feet under the Pit. No, no. That would've been expected." He gestured vaguely toward the still-smoldering sigil where the Ring sat inert. "But the Casper Cult? Really?" His brows lifted. "Didn't think The Leader's nest could be broken from the inside. Let alone by a bunch of... what was it they called you two..? Curious little kitties?"

His gaze flicked to Bri, then to me.

"Brianna and Evelyn. Just two girls with questions. Until they stumbled into a couple of Winchesters and decided to play Apocalypse." A slow, almost amused shake of his head. "Cute."

Dean didn't move, but I could feel the heat rolling off him.

Urzin kept going, pacing now like he was enjoying the sound of his own voice. Or maybe just ours not daring to speak.

"You know what I see when I look at you?" he asked, glancing at each of us in turn. "Not hunters. Not soldiers. Just a mess of weaknesses."

He pointed lazily at Sam first. "You—heart on fire, head in the fog. Think your pretty grief and borrowed power'll make you strong enough to change your fate."

Then Dean. "You—anger in armor. Built a whole damn personality out of control issues and sacrificial tendencies. I give you a year. Maybe less. You'll tear your own soul apart just to keep your brother breathing."

He turned to Bri. "And you. Baby bloodline. Stuck halfway between being a key and being a lock. Can't even tell the difference yet, can you?"

Then—

Me.

His eyes met mine, and something in them hummed.

His hand rose lazily—and just like that, the ringing in my skull vanished. Gone. As if it had never been there. My breath rushed in like a wave crashing over a dam. It didn't feel like relief. It felt like a favor I hadn't asked for.

"And you," he said softly, with a hint of something crueler now. "Already bleeding for them. Already fading. That ringing, the pressure you're feeling from earlier? That wasn't just the ring. That was your body responding to that type of power... giving out. One down..." He pointed at me before his gaze shot back across the group. "Three to go—Oh, I forgot, Sammy."

Sam clenched his jaw, glaring between him and my slow, subtle movement.

"You died already...that's right," He smirked, with mock realization. "Still...you didn't stay dead—" his eyes cut to Dean, then down to me again. "Pity."

I braced one hand on the wall, forced my knees to lock. I pushed myself to my feet, and glared straight back at him.

"Little boy playing at being a man," I said, voice sharp, rough, but steady. "Typical limp-dick personality trait."

For a beat—just one—the room went still.

Urzin's smile faltered. His head tilted, and his eyes flared with something darker. A low, unmistakable glare curled at the edges of his face. Dangerous. Furious.

But then—

He laughed.

A low, raspy chuckle from deep in his chest, like he didn't know whether to strike or applaud.

"I do love a little fight," he said. "Shame you're already cracking at the edges." His voice was rising now—building toward something. I could feel it coming like a wave—

But that's when Dean stepped in. "Back off."

One word. Gritted. Gun still raised.

And Sam—voice low but sharper—added, "You've made your entrance. Now get the hell out before we show you how we handle uninvited guests."

Urzin's eyes narrowed and the smile, again, returned. Lazy. Controlled.

But I saw the flicker of irritation beneath it now. The slow-burn smirk of a man cataloging payback for later.

Urzin turned toward them slowly, the tension thick enough to strangle on.

Dean's shotgun was still up, steady, locked dead center on Urzin's chest. Sam stood just behind, hands raised slightly like he was ready to either cast or catch, depending on how fast things went to hell.

My eyes found Bri's, whose was blown-wide and her face had drained of color a little—clearly I wasn't the only one feeling this 'Knight of Hell' bullshit.

Urzin didn't flinch. Didn't blink.

Just looked at them with a smile like he'd seen this exact moment play out a hundred times. And not once had it ended in anything but blood.

"Back off," Dean warned again, voice like gravel and gunpowder.

Urzin's eyes glittered, faintly golden now in the daylight.

"Now see," he drawled, "that's adorable. Really. But you might've misunderstood the nature of my visit."

Sam tensed. "Then clarify it."

Urzin shifted his stance, remaining in the center of the room, fingers dragging lazily along the edge of the scorched table like he was admiring a centerpiece.

"I'm not here to chat. Or to throw punches. Not yet, anyway." His gaze flicked to the Ring, then around at each of us. "I'm here to collect."

The word hit like a dropped blade.

Dean's jaw clenched. "Collect what?"

Urzin's grin sharpened. His eyes cut first to Bri, then to me.

"I'd love to walk out with all four of you," he said, almost wistful. "The Ring, the book, both Winchesters, the girl dripping prophecy, the vamp with the dying light—Hell would call it a haul."

He tilted his head, pretending to consider. "But I'm a reasonable man."

He stepped forward once—just once—and the floor groaned under his heel.

"So I'll settle."

Dean's voice came low, harsh. "Settle for what?"

Urzin didn't answer immediately.

His gaze swept across Bri—who stood frozen but burning—and then over to me, slow and deliberate. I didn't move. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. But I could feel Sam shift beside her, Dean twitch beside me.

And Urzin smiled.

"A taste," he said softly.

His meaning wasn't metaphorical.

"Something to carry home. A wound. A promise. Doesn't matter."

He looked at Dean then. "You know how this works, don't you? Give Hell an inch..."

Dean didn't move. But the silence that followed said enough.

Urzin inhaled like he was savoring the tension.

And then he lifted one hand—just one—and the air shifted again. His gaze flicked between us—between me and Bri—then settled.

On her.

I saw the twitch of his fingers before he even moved.

And then—

He reached.

Right for her.

Bri didn't even flinch. Sam tensed in front of her, one hand raised as if he'd be fast enough to stop it. Dean shifted, a curse half-formed—

But I was faster.

The second his hand extended, I was there.

Between them.

In one flash of motion, I'd wedged myself between Urzin and Bri, shoving Sam back with one forearm across his chest before he could blink. My fangs twinkled in the sunlight streaming into the cabin. My body ached still, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered except the blood running high in my throat and the cold certainty in my bones.

He wasn't taking her. He wasn't touching any of them.

"You want to collect?" I hissed, eyes locked on his, voice low and lethal. "Then take me."

The room erupted.

"No—"

"Eve, stop—"

"What the hell are you doing?!"

Dean's voice cracked like a whip. Sam grabbed my arm, trying to yank me back. Bri took a step forward like she was going to physically drag me out of the way.

But I didn't move.

Not an inch.

Urzin watched me with something flickering in his eyes—not rage. Not even amusement this time. Admiration.

Twisted. Dark. But real.

"Well," he murmured, voice lower now. "Didn't think you had that much bite left in you."

"I'm not letting you take her," I said again, teeth bared. "And you're not laying one finger on a Winchester."

His grin crept up like smoke curling from embers.

"Protective," he said, tilting his head. "I like that." He leaned in slightly, close enough I could smell that scorched scent—bone ash and old leather and ruin.

"You offering yourself up, sweetheart?" he murmured, voice dipping to something almost intimate. "On your knees or teeth first?"

"I'll pick the second option," I snapped, not blinking. "You won't leave with skin."

Before he could respond—

"Take us both."

Bri's voice rang out—clear, shaking—but firm.

We all turned.

She stepped out from behind Sam, eyes locked on Urzin, face pale but hard as iron.

"You want her?" she said, chin lifting. "Then you get me too."

"Absolutely not," Sam growled, grabbing her arm.

"Are you insane?" Dean barked, moving forward.

"You don't get to make that call—"

"I do if she's throwing herself to a goddamn Knight of Hell!"

Urzin chuckled low, like the argument was entertainment.

Bri didn't flinch. "I'm not letting her go alone," she said, steady. "So if you take one, you take both."

Sam looked like she'd just stabbed him.

Dean looked ready to shoot everyone.

I turned slightly, enough to glare over my shoulder. "What the hell are you doing?"

"What you just did," Bri said, voice breaking at the edge. "You think I'm going to stand back and let you get dragged to Hell?"

Urzin let out a long, exaggerated sigh.

"Touching. Really. It is." He looked between the two of us, eyes glowing again with that awful, satisfied glint. "This... this is why I love humans." He raised a hand—just slightly. Just enough. "Always so willing to die for each other."

Urzin looked between us—me and Bri—like a child at a candy counter.

"Well," he drawled. "A matched set. That does sweeten the deal."

Sam lunged forward again, but Bri's hand snapped out and stopped him.

Dean, still silent, looked like he was about to combust.

Urzin ignored both. He glanced to the table.

The Ring.

Then he moved.

Deliberate.

Toward it.

But I was already there.

Again.

Between him and the table. I planted my boots, arms spread slightly—not in surrender, but in warning. "No."

He arched his brow. "Excuse me?"

"You don't get the Ring. You want us?" I flicked a glance at Bri, who stood steady behind me, her face pale but locked. "Fine, but the ring stays with the boys."

Urzin stared at me. Longer this time. Not with fire. But with calculation.

I could feel the moment something shifted in him. Not the anger, not the dominance—but the strategy. He straightened slowly. Tilted his head. Smiled.

"Alright," he said. "No Ring. Not yet."

Dean exhaled like a fuse was about to blow.

"But here's my offer," Urzin continued, his voice going silky, mock-gentle. "I take the girls. For now. You two—" He nodded at Sam and Dean. "—do me a favor."

Dean's voice cut in sharp. "What kind of favor?"

Urzin's smile widened.

"I'll let you know," he said. "When I feel like it."

Dean stepped forward then, eyes burning, rage radiating off him like heat. "Not happening."

"Oh, I think it is," Urzin said lightly. "Unless you'd rather I just kill one of them now and take the Ring anyway."

I could feel the words in Dean's throat—could feel the way they scraped at his insides, clawing up. His gun shook slightly in his hand.

"Dean," I said, voice low, trying to catch his eyes.

But he didn't look at me. He was staring at Urzin.

And then—barely above a whisper—

"You don't get to take her."

Urzin raised a brow. "Oh?"

Dean finally looked at me. And for one suspended heartbeat, it was just us. Just him, breaking apart at the seams.

"I—" He stopped. Jaw clenched.

Started again.

"I'm not—She's not—"

His breath hitched.

And then, sharp as a snap:

"No deal."

I stepped forward before Urzin could react, cutting Dean off, keeping my voice steady, even though I was dying inside.

"Dean—"

"No." His voice cracked like thunder. "No goddamn deal. Not with them. Not with you—" he threw the words at Urzin "—and not with any sick game where we hand over people we love like bargaining chips."

The room went still again.

That word echoed.

Love.

No one moved. Not even Urzin.

He just watched. Smiling.

Dean realized what he'd said—almost said—and turned away sharply, jaw tight, eyes blown.

Urzin gave a long, slow exhale.

"Well," he mused, "this just keeps getting better."

For a second—just a breath—no one spoke.

No threats. No posturing. Just the four of us standing in a circle that felt more like a noose.

Dean still had his back to me, jaw tight, chest rising like he hadn't remembered to breathe yet.

Then—

He turned.

Slow. Controlled. But not careful.

And his eyes found mine.

Locked.

And in that moment, something shifted.

Not his stance. Not his expression.

His heartbeat.

Fast. Sudden. Crashing against my senses like it had something to say before he did.

He didn't speak. Didn't have to. Whatever it was—grief, guilt, rage, love—it flickered there between us like static, sharp and blinding. My breath caught.

Not because he was looking at me like that.

But because I felt it.

In my chest.

In my throat.

Like a word I didn't know how to say.

I blinked, caught off guard. Of all the weapons Dean Winchester had ever wielded, I hadn't expected this one. Not now. Not in front of them.

And behind us—

Bri and Sam.

Not touching. Not moving. Just watching each other with the kind of ache that had its own gravity, despite Bri's tension. Like if they let go, they'd fall apart. Or worse—pull each other down with them.

The whole room pulsed with it.

The weight of the unsaid.

The things we didn't dare speak out loud in case they made this real.

That's when the sound hit. Urzin clapped his hands together once—slow, mocking, the sound like a gavel slamming bone.

"Well," he said brightly, voice slicing through the stillness, "this is touching. Really groundbreaking stuff. I'm on the edge of my seat over here."

He tilted his head, eyes flicking from Dean to Sam with theatrical interest.

"But lucky for you boys, I think I've just figured out what you can do for me."

The air snapped colder.

He turned toward the Ring again—but didn't move closer this time. Just looked at it, long and fond, like an old friend.

Then he looked at Sam and Bri.

Then Dean.

And finally—

Me.

His eyes beamed. Lit with some cruel delight as if the plan had been sitting there all along, just waiting for someone to set it in motion.

"You're going to use that pretty little trinket," he said, voice smooth as oil, "to take a trip back. Way back."

Dean's brows dropped. "Back where?"

Urzin grinned. "4004 B.C.E. Give or take a solar hiccup. Garden of bloody Earth." He leaned closer, like he couldn't help himself. "And you're going to bring me something."

The temperature dropped another degree.

Sam's voice came out hoarse. "What?"

Urzin's smile turned cold. "Her necklace."

He didn't have to clarify who she was.

We all knew.

"That little charm she wore?" Urzin went on, voice light, mocking. "Wasn't just an accessory. That was her start. Her gift. Given to her by the Big Man upstairs, back when He was still handing out blessings and punishments like candy."

He turned his gaze back on me, eyes drinking in my stillness. "I want it."

A pause.

"And when I have it?" he continued, tone bright and cruel. "I'll forget about the Ring. I'll give up the girls. No more collections. No more threats."

Dean took a step forward, fury simmering just beneath his skin. "And if we say no?"

Urzin's smile vanished.

Flat. Empty.

"No necklace," he said simply, "no girls."

He turned toward the door—casual, humming some tune like none of this mattered. Like he hadn't just offered to tear our world apart.

Two steps.

Just two.

Then he paused—glancing over his shoulder like he'd forgotten something.

"But don't take too long," he added. "This timeline's not as patient as I am." And then—he snapped his fingers.

Light.

White-hot and immediate.

It wasn't a spell. It wasn't smoke. It was wrong. A rift in the air, like something tearing through dimensions, not space. A void cracking wide open.

"No—" Dean surged forward—

But it was too late. The pressure hit first, like gravity in reverse—pulling, not pushing. A force that took, not struck.

I felt it wrap around me like chains made of wind and light and bone-deep cold, dragging down my spine like a hook.

Bri screamed, triggering my hand to immediately clasp onto hers.

Sam's shout echoed somewhere. Dean shouted my name—my name—and I twisted, reaching for him.

"DEAN—!"

Our hands missed by inches.

And then the world fractured.

Gone.

No sound.

No light.

Just silence.

And the aftermath—just a glimpse before everything faded into a deep blood red haze, I saw Sam hit his knees. Dean stood frozen, chest heaving, hands still half-extended like he could pull us back by force of will alone.

But we were already dust in the space between.

Vanished.

Taken.