Written by: KariGrosuch

The sharp buzz of a phone vibrating jolted me awake. I groaned, burrowing my face into the pillow as the sound persisted. Somewhere in the haze of half-sleep, I registered Sam's voice, rough and groggy, answering the call.

I blinked my eyes open, the early morning light spilling through the thin motel curtains, making everything look pale and washed out. Across the room, Sam was perched on the edge of the loveseat, his shoulders slouched, one hand scrubbing at his face as he spoke into the phone.

"Yeah... we're still here," he muttered, his voice gravelly and low, the words draggin slightly as though pulled from the depths of sleep. "Worse than we thought."

He paused, rubbing the back of his neck as if trying to shake the weight of the restless night. His tone was clipped, but weary, a blend of lingering irritation and the beginnings of focus as he processed the conversation. "Alright. Just... hang on. I'll be down in a minute."

I sat up slowly, the blanket slipping off my shoulders to pile on my waist. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I took in the room. Dean's bed was empty- his sheets rumpled but no sign on him. A glance toward the bathroom revealed the faint sound of running water- so I assume he was in the shower.

Sam's gaze flicked to me briefly, and he gave a small nod, acknowledging that I was awake as he hung up.

"Who was that?" I asked, my voice still thick with sleep as I stretched. I couldn't help but notice Sam's eyes drifting down to where my t-shirt exposed a sliver of skin above my shorts.

"Bobby," Sam replied distractedly before standing and grabbing his jacket from the back of the single chair. "He just pulled up. I'm going to help him with his bags. Want to come?"

"Yeah, give me a second." I swung my legs over the side of the bed, pulling the blankets back up to cover Eve's sleeping form.

"Can you...?" I gestured to my jeans.

Sam raised an eyebrow, his gaze flickering over to the neatly folded jeans on top of my bag before he glanced back at me. "Yeah- sure," he said, though there was a slight hesitation in his voice. "Take your time- I'll be outside."

As he stepped out, the door clicked softly behind him, leaving me alone in the room with Eve still nestled under the covers, and Dean hidden in the bathroom. Swiftly moving over to my bag, I traded my sleeping shorts for my white washed skinny jeans and a new pair of socks.

Tugging my t-shirt off, I slid a sports bra on and was in the process of pulling my shirt down when the bathroom door creaked open. Dean stepped out, water droplets still clinging to his skin, his hard hair damp and tousled. His broad chest gleamed slightly under the dim light, his body only partially covered by a towel cinched low at his hips.

I froze, my hands pausing mid-air as he caught sight of me. Our gazes flicked down at each other before quickly snapping back up. I quickly turned away, putting my back to him.

"Sorry," I muttered, suddenly hyper-aware of how small the hotel room was. I couldn't bring myself to look back at him, so I shoved my feet into my boots and hurried to the door.

He cleared his throat, taking a step closer. "It's fine. Didn't mean to-"

I turned slightly, my voice hardening as I glanced over my shoulder. "Dean- I don't care what you think. You seem like a decent guy- but you break her heart and they'll never find your fucking body. I'm not blind- I see the way you two dance around each other. She's been through enough. Don't fucking add to it."

His eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by the raw intensity in my voice, but I could see something shift in him- whether it was hesitation or realization- I couldn't tell. I also didn't care.

Before he could reply, I slipped out of the room, pulling the door shut behind me. Taking a deep breath, I bent down and laced up my boots while regaining my composure.

Laces secured, I took the stairs two at a time until I reached the lobby. Giving the desk clerk a quick smile, I ducked out of the sliding glass doors. The crisp morning air hit me as I stepped outside, a refreshing change from the stale air in the hotel.

Parked in front of the hotel was a old, battered Chevy Chevelle, its faded blue paint streaked with years of wear. Leaning casually against the front driver-side fender was an older gentleman, his trucker hat pulled low over sharp eyes. He was talking with Sam, but his attention shifted to me as I approached.

"Well, well," he drawled as I drew closer. "Look who finally decided to roll out of bed. You must be Brianna."

"Yes sir," I replied, suddenly wishing I had grabbed my jacket. The cold crept through my sleeves, but his gaze felt like he could see right through me. "You must be Mr. Singer."

Bobby chuckled, a low, gravelly sound that matched his rugged look. "Just Bobby. Ain't no need for 'Mr. Singer.' Makes me sound like I should be teachin' Sunday school or somethin'."

Sam shot an amused glance, "He's harmless. Most of the time."

"Don't you start," Bobby said with mock irritation, pointing a finger at Sam before turning back to me. His sharp eyes softened slightly as they studied me. "So, Brianna, Sam here says you've been holding your own pretty well. That true?"

Caught off guard by the sudden curiosity, I hesitated. "I guess so," I said cautiously, brushing a strand of unruly hair behind my ear. "I wouldn't say I'm anything special, though. Almost got eaten by a werewolf."

"Modesty and manners," Bobby muttered, shaking his head. "Great for first impressions, not so great for stayin' alive. Let me give you some free advice, kid- Never undersell yourself. The worlds already tryin' to do that for you."

I nodded, unsure how to respond. His words weren't harsh, but there was an edge of authority to them, the kind that came from years of experience.

Bobby pushed off the car, and opened the driver's side door, reaching inside to grab a battered leather notebook. "If you're gonna run with these two," he said, nodding toward Sam, "You'll need more than just guts. You know your lore?"

"Barely," I admitted. "Sam gave me a quick rundown, so I should know enough to stay alive."

"Good start." He handed me the notebook, its edges worn and pages stuffed with scraps of paper. "Study this. It'll teach you a thing or two about what's out there. But it's no substitute for instinct. When you're in the field, trust your gut."

"Thanks," I replied, taking the notebook carefully, as if it might fall apart in my hands. The leather was cracked and smelled faintly of old paper and ink- a hunter's journal, by the looks of it.

Bobby tilted his head, his expression unreadable. "We'll see how you do," he said simply. Then, with a slight grin, he added, "And for the record, you and Eve better be worth draggin' my ass out here this early. I don't do mornings."

"Fair." I shrugged, following behind Bobby as he moved to the trunk of the Chevelle. Grabbing two bags, I grimaced at the weight, "What the hell's in here, bricks?"

"Somethin' like that," He replied with a smirk.

As we carried the bags back to the room, I glanced at Sam. "Does he always make people feel like they're being tested?"

"Pretty much," Sam said, his tone light. "You'll get used to it."

When we reached the room, Dean held the door open for the three of us to enter, a paper cup full of coffee in his other hand. "Bobby," Dean greeted with a smirk. "Took you long enough."

"Nice to see you too, ya idjit," Bobby shot back, dropping his duffle bag inside the door. "You better have one for me."

Settling himself in the only available chair, Bobby looked between the four of us. "We need to talk about the wolf. The one Eve saw last night," he started, his gravelly voice cutting through the awkward silence that had settled over the group as Bobby had fixed his coffee.

"Right, the pureblood. Or- we think it's a pureblood." Eve spoke up from where she was sitting next to me on our bed. She looked over at Bobby with a steady gaze, but there was something behind her eyes- a flicker of uncertainty, or maybe just weariness. "You've dealt with one of these before?"

Bobby looked at her for a long moment, then over at Dean. Barely here five minutes and already seeming to pick up on the tension. "I've had my fair share of run-ins with purebloods. They're different. Not like the ones the boys are used to hunting. Purebloods aren't driven by instinct, they're smart and calculated."

"That's what Dean had said.. That they're classy and calculated," Eve replied, "and that they don't hunt by instinct."

Bobby's eyes narrowed slightly at Eve's word, his expression unreadable as he processed her response. After a beat, he turned his attention back to Dean, who stood with his arms crossed, coffee long since forgotten.

"Yeah, classy," Bobby said, the word heavy with sarcasm. "That's one way to put it. What Dean probably didn't mention is that their idea of 'class' comes with a side of manipulation and bloodshed. They don't just hunt to feed- they hunt or sport, for control. And if they've got their sights on you, they'll play the long game before you even know you're on the board."

Eve shifted slightly, folding her arms against the weight of Bobby's scrutinizing gaze. "I get that. I know what we're up against, I'm not helpless. I want to help!"

"Oh you want to help, do you? What is the only effective thing to use against werewolves then?" His tone was sharp, but not unkind, more testing than outright dismissive. "Good to know you're not helpless! The last thing we need is someone draggin' their feet when we're knee-deep in trouble!"

"Bobby-" I started, going to Eve's defense before she cut me off.

"Silver's the only thing that can kill them- Head and heart shots are the best way to do it, but silver toxicity works wonders when you can't make those shots!" Eve shot back, her temper rising with Bobby's challenge. "Shooting a syringe full of silver into their veins would also do the trick if you wanted to get fancy."

"Ease up, Bobby. She knows what she's doing." Dean straightened, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face.

"Well excuse me for not rolling out the welcome mat. I've seen too many people get in over their heads. I ain't lookin' to bury anyone else." He stared at Dean, "I ain't lookin' to bury your dumbass."

Dean glared at Bobby, "I'm not- she's- Look, she's not a hunter Bobby! This isn't about anything else, besides them getting caught in the wrong place!"

Bobby raised an eyebrow, his expression dripping with skepticism. "Oh, really? That right? 'Cause you've got all the subtlety of a wreckin' ball, Dean. And I ain't blind."

Dean's jaw tightened, his face flushing slightly as he stood straighter, clearly trying to prove to Bobby there was nothing going on. "You're imagining things. She just happened to be at the Grande. That's it. End of story."

"Uh-huh," Bobby drawled, crossing his arms and leading back slightly, clearly unconvinced. "And I'm the Queen of England."

Eve shot up from the bed next to me, "Okay, can we stop pretending like I'm not standing right here?" She interjected, her tone sharp enough to slice through the tension. "Because I'm right. Fucking. Here."

"He's out of line-" Dean turned toward her, flustered.

"Dean, Stop." She held up a hand, cutting him off. "You don't need to defend me like some damsel in distress. As you clearly stated- There's nothing going on."

When nobody spoke, Eve stepped for the door. "I need some air."

I watched as Eve stormed towards the door, her frustration palpable in every step. The moment the door clicked shut, the room felt heavier, like she had taken the lightness with her. I could see Dean's jaw clenching, his eyes flickering from the door to Bobby, unwill to give in.

I sighed, dragging a hand through my hair as I stood up from the bed. It was suffocating, and I wasn't going to sit here while Eve was outside, alone.

"Let it go, guys." I said, a little sharper than I had intended. "We didn't ask to be here, but here we are. This isn't the way we need to handle this entire situation. Figure your shit out before we come back. I'm going after Eve."

When I stepped outside, the temperature hadn't changed much, as if reflecting the current mood. Eve was already at the edge of the parking lot, pacing the length of both our car, and the boys Impala. The rapid pace of her steps clued me in that she was trying to process the rapid-fire exchange of words and the accusations that had been thrown.

"You know, if you wanted to kill him, I'm sure we can stuff his body in the trunk." I said, pausing just outside of her pacing area. "You aren't alone in this." My voice was steady, but even a deaf man could hear the concern in it. This wasn't just about the argument in the room, it was about her. Always had been. She hadn't gotten a moment to process the bullshit we had been pulled into, just one thing after another kept happening.

Eve didn't immediately turn, but her posture relaxed just enough to let me know that she had heard me. "You saw that, huh?" Her voice was tight, but calm. Calm enough to be deadly.

"I did. I think we all did. Unfortunately, Dean isn't stupid enough to come out here right now, otherwise we really would be seeing if a body fits in the trunk." I took a few steps closer, stopping between the mustang and the impala.

She stopped pacing for a moment, letting the silence settle. I could almost see the wheel turning in her head, the years of training and defense mechanisms working overtime to keep her emotions in check. "You and Sam seem real cozy for just meeting. What's going on there?"

I paused, caught off guard by her question. Her tone was sharp, but there was something beneath it- something like curiosity, more like concern. I knew she wasn't just talking about the situation between me and Sam; she was trying to figure out what was going on beneath the surface, and to be honest, I wasn't sure I had the answer.

"Cozy?" I repeated, not quite knowing how to respond. "Eve, seriously, it's not like that. We've known each other for like... 24 hours, total. I'm not going to jump into anything, especially with... Everything else going on."

I tried to brush it off, but the truth was, Sam was smoking hot. And while I hadn't exactly been blind to it, I knew better than to get wrapped up in something... or someone... right now.

Eve raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Oh? Because last I checked, you two were looking pretty comfortable together, especially considering what had just happened. If it's nothing, then why do I get the feeling somethings bubbling under the surface?"

I shifted, trying to play it off. "I'm not saying there's anything going on, okay? Sam's... Yeah, he's easy to talk to, he's great. But I've got enough on my plate without dealing with that right now." I didn't mention it out loud, but I had to admit to myself, Sam was a distraction. A welcome one, but a distraction nonetheless. It wasn't the time, not when we were knee-deep in this mess, trying to survive and solve this problem. I could feel the pull- I knew exactly what it was.

The side-eye she gave me had me throwing my hands up in mock defeat. "Look, I'm not getting involved with him."

Eve smirked at that, but before she could say anything else, my phone vibrated. Pulling it out of my pocket, I grimaced as I glanced at the screen.

13 missed calls.

20 text messages.

I pulled down the notification bar just enough to swipe them away, but was still able to see the contents of some of the texts.

I miss you.

Come back.

We can fix this.

I can change. I promise.

Eve noticed the change in my expression, and her voice softened. "Him again?"

I didn't answer immediately. I didn't have to- Eve knew. She had seen the effect my ex had on me more than once. The guilt, the way he had chipped away at my confidence, my trust. I'd been so blinded by what I thought was love back then, I didn't realize how toxic and controlling it was.

"Yeah." I replied, all traces of earlier humor gone from my voice. "He won't stop messaging me."

"You want me to take care of it?" Eve offered her palm for my phone. "Cause I will, I'll make the Son of a Bitch cry."

"At this rate? Go for it. Maybe he'll get the hint to leave me the fuck alone." I handed over my phone, unlocked and on his messages. I didn't want to read them. I didn't care what they said, or how it would manipulate everything that happened to make him the victim.