"So, if we're done being cryptic, I can—" Crowley lifted his hand, fingers poised to snap us somewhere else, anywhere else—

And something in my chest cracked.

"Wait."

It came out sharper than I meant. I stepped forward, palm raised.

Every head turned. Crowley's brow arched first.

"Wait?" he echoed, amused. "For what, Vixen? I've got places to be, souls to fleece."

"I—" My voice snagged, throat tight in a way I hated. I glanced at Urzin (blank as ever) then at Bri. "I want to say goodbye."

Bri's reaction was instant: a scoff, a full-body spike of annoyance I felt like heat off asphalt.

"Are you fucking serious?" she growled, crossing her arms so hard the leather strained. "Kaelen doesn't mean shit to you—don't tell me you need a farewell tour with—"

"Yes." The word snapped out before I could smooth it.

Sharp. Honest. Ugly.

Our eyes locked. That old, buried tension flared like a match between us—too much left unsaid, too much we hadn't forgiven in each other. For a breath, we were right back in that corridor: raw, feral, unarmored.

Bri exhaled through her teeth and looked away, jaw clenching as she stared at the cavern wall like it had personally offended her.

Crowley's gaze flicked between us, then slid to Urzin—who looked like a statue built out of disapproval.

"Give me an hour," I said quietly.

Then, steadier: "Please."

I stepped closer and caught Crowley's wrist, lowering his snapping fingers gently. A small gesture, but it cracked the tension in the room.

He blinked, surprised—then his mouth curled.

"You're lucky I've got a soft spot for tragic women with good cheekbones," he smirked. "Fine. One hour."

Urzin didn't argue. Which somehow made it worse.

I nodded once, then turned toward the door. My hand hesitated on the handle. A small, traitorous part of me looked back at Bri.

She hadn't moved.

Rigid. Closed off.

Pretending she didn't care what door I was about to walk through.

The sigh that slipped out of me wasn't relief or regret. Just tired.

I slid out the door anyway, letting it creak shut behind me.

The Pit was silent—unsettlingly so.

No screams. No chains.

Just the slow, deliberate whisper of a whetstone dragging along steel.

A heartbeat made of metal and hunger.

Kaelen stood shirtless in the red glow, sweat slicking down the cut of his spine as he dragged a whetstone along the length of his blade. Slow, brutal strokes—the kind he only used when he was ready to start a fight or finish one. Sparks jumped with every pull, flaring against the old scars on his back and the newer ones I'd carved into him.

He didn't look up. He didn't have to. The sound alone was a warning: He was pissed.

The air clung to my lungs—hot, metallic, feral.

"Didn't think you'd crawl back down here just to break my spine again."

"I didn't come for you," I said, even though the heat in my voice betrayed me. "I came to finish something. You were just... unavoidable."

His eyes flicked up. "I notice everything you do, Firefly."

Heat slid beneath my skin—unwanted, familiar. Being near him always felt like standing too close to a forge: blistering, dangerous, impossible to ignore.

"We got the necklace," I said. "Urzin and Crowley's letting us go topside."

The whetstone stopped mid-swipe.

"You're leaving."

Not a question. A verdict.

"Wasn't that the deal?"

He finally turned. His eyes caught the red light—molten copper and violence. "Deals change, Firefly."

"Not this one."

He stepped toward me. The blade hit the table with a low metallic ring that echoed like a warning.

"So that's it?" His voice deepened, darkening the air around us. "You run back to your little hunter? Pretend this never happened?"

My spine stiffened. "Don't make this ugly."

He laughed—a low, bitter sound. "Everything down here is ugly. You were the only thing that made it look good."

"I didn't make it anything," I shot back. "We both knew the rules."

His stare cut into me. "Yeah," he said quietly. "And I broke every damn one of them."

He closed the distance before I could breathe. His heat spilled over me like lava. "You think he's waiting for you? That Winchester?" His fingers brushed the edge of my collarbone—slow, claiming. "You think he hasn't already found someone softer? Easier?"

"Stop."

He didn't.

"He'll never understand what you are now. What Hell made you. But I do." His thumb swept up my throat, under my chin. "I fucking do, Firefly. That's the difference."

My pulse betrayed me.

He felt it.

He leaned in, lowering his forehead to mine. "He gets your ghost. I get the real thing."

I should have shoved him away.

I didn't.

His breath grazed my lips. "You belong in the fire. With me."

"Kaelen—" I started, but the word cracked apart when he kissed me.

It wasn't soft. It wasn't gentle. It was punishment.

Hunger.

Goodbye.

His hand slid to the back of my neck, gripping hard enough to anchor me in place. I melted before I could stop myself, fingers finding the familiar scar on his collarbone like muscle memory.

The world narrowed to heat and breath and teeth. His mouth was smoke and sin and the taste of damnation.

And God help me—I answered it.

When he finally tore his mouth from mine, our breaths collided in the charged space between us.

"Stay," he rasped.

I swallowed hard, a small sad smile tugging at my mouth. "You know I can't."

He exhaled like it cost him blood. Then—slowly—he reached for a blade behind him. Obsidian, runed in red. Beautiful. Deadly.

"Take it."

"Kaelen—"

"Don't argue." He pressed the hilt into my palm, closing his hand over mine. "It's the first one I forged after I met you." His thumb slid along my fingers. "It knows your name better than I do."

The runes flared against my skin—like a heartbeat recognizing mine.

"I don't need your blade."

"You will." His eyes softened to something almost human. "It's the only part of me you'll allow to follow you there."

Something twisted deep in my chest.

"You really think I'm coming back?" I whispered.

A smirk ghosted across his mouth—wrong, aching, dangerous. "Hell doesn't lose what it brands, Firefly."

I stepped back. The blade felt heavier than steel—like it remembered every moment with him.

"Goodbye, Kaelen."

His jaw ticked. "Say it again."

"Goodbye, Kaelen."

Quieter this time. Sharper.

I turned.

I got three steps.

Then his hand clamped around my wrist and yanked me back with inhuman force.

My back slammed into the wall and he was on me—heat and muscle and fury. His mouth crushed mine, all teeth and hunger. His hands pinned mine above my head, wrists grinding into the stone as his body pressed flush to mine.

A low growl vibrated through his chest into mine. His tongue slid against mine—rough, devastating—and a humiliating, traitorous sound slipped from my throat.

I kissed him back anyway. Like he was the last inhale in Hell.

For one burning second, I almost let myself fall.

But I'm not his.

Not anymore. Not ever.

I tore my mouth from his, breath shaking. One strong push sent him stumbling a single step back.

If I looked at him again, I'd stay.

So I didn't.

I turned and walked—fast, blade in hand, pulse roaring. Every step away from him felt like ripping a vein out of my chest.

Metal screamed behind me—one of his knives thrown into stone hard enough to shake dust from the ceiling.

He never missed.
He just wanted me to hear it.

The blade in my hand thrummed—warm, dangerous, alive—as if it remembered him.

I kept walking.

Hell doesn't easily let go.

And neither did he.

I stopped outside the office door and let out a slow breath that felt too big for my chest. My eyes slipped shut as the ghost of Kaelen's mouth pressed against mine again—heat, pressure, the drag of memory I didn't want.

When I opened them, the blade he'd given me shimmered in the low red light, runes still pulsing faintly like they were remembering his hands.

My chest tightened. I slid the knife into my belt.

Footsteps echoed.

I froze—instinct, not fear—and my gaze snapped up just as Bri rounded the corner. Her jacket was half-adjusted, her cheeks flushed, eyes unfocused in that way that only came from Lucifer-level conversations... or whatever version of goodbye she'd had.

Her gaze met mine.

"Not. A. Word." she growled, eyes flicking to the blade at my hip.

I lifted both hands in mock surrender. "Wasn't planning on it."

She muttered something under her breath that sounded like a threat wrapped in exhaustion.

I pushed the door open and tilted my head toward the office. A silent "after you."

Bri shot me one last narrowed look—blade, eyes, blade—before stepping inside.

Urzin sat perched on the edge of the desk like a disappointed headmaster. Crowley turned toward us with his hands clasped behind his back, smiling like we were dignitaries arriving at a gala rather than two women dragging the ghosts of Hell behind us.

"Are we ready, now?" Crowley purred, gaze sliding from Bri to me like he already knew the answer and was bored of waiting for it.

Bri grunted something unintelligible and crossed her arms. I exhaled once, steadying the weight of Kaelen's blade at my hip.

Crowley's eyes flicked downward, catching the movement. His expression softened—just a fraction, just enough that only someone who knew him well would catch it.

"Well," he said lightly, "I suppose this is the part where you two vanish in a puff of sentimentality and bad decisions."

Bri snorted and looked away.

But his eyes never left mine.

I stepped closer before I could overthink it. "Thanks," I said quietly. Too small a word for all of it. "For... everything."

Crowley blinked, as if the word startled him more than any demon could.

"Oh, darling," he murmured, voice dropping to a register he never used unless he meant it, "you make it sound like this is the end."

"It feels like it," I admitted.

"Only because you're walking away." His lips twitched into a familiar smirk—one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "But Hell's a closed circuit. We all come back around eventually."

"Not me," I said, but it came out softer than intended.

He hummed, unconvinced. "You'd be surprised what threads tangle again when you least expect it."

I swallowed. Heat crawled up the back of my neck. I hated goodbyes. Hated anything that made me feel like I was peeling off layers of armor.

Crowley must've seen it in my face, because he sighed—dramatic, but real.

"Come here, Vixen."

Before I could protest, he tugged me into a brief hug—his arms careful in a way demons usually aren't, like he wasn't sure if I'd break or burst into flames. I froze for half a heartbeat, then let my forehead rest lightly against his shoulder.

"Try not to die topside," he murmured. "I've grown fond of you. It would be terribly inconvenient to replace you."

A quiet laugh escaped me. "You're impossible."

"Infuriatingly so." He stepped back, fixing my jacket like I was heading to a job interview instead of the world above. "Now, off you go. I can't have Urzin brooding and scaring off the ambiance."

I stepped back until my shoulder brushed Bri's—solid, grounding, familiar.

Crowley's voice dropped, quiet and meant only for me. "And Eve? You'll see me again."

I froze, my eyes flicking up to his.

No smirk. No wink. Just fact.

"Whether you want to or not."

Something twisted beneath my ribs—fondness, dread, hellfire nostalgia. I couldn't name it, so I didn't try. "Goodbye, Crowley."

He raised two fingers in a lazy salute, grin softening. "Until next time, darling."

Bri pretended she wasn't watching the whole thing, which of course meant she absolutely was.

Urzin cleared his throat the way a disappointed father does when his children are testing patience he allegedly still has.

"If we're done with the... theatrics," he said, gaze sweeping over us like he wanted to scrub us off his shoes, "there are rules to your departure I expect you to—"

"Yeah, yeah," Bri muttered. "No blood oaths, no time rifts, no blowing up national landmarks. We know."

Urzin blinked, momentarily thrown. "That is... not at all what I was going to say."

"Oh," I said, crossing my arms. "Then what?"

He inhaled a long, suffering breath.

The Hell-Dad sigh.

"I was going to advise you to hydrate, rest, avoid strenuous activity for at least twenty-four hours—your bodies are not built for prolonged temporal strain—"

Bri snorted. Loud.

Urzin's eye twitched. "And—if possible—engage in something... grounding. A quiet meal. Familiar surroundings. Perhaps companionship you trust."

Bri's snort turned into a wheeze.
I coughed to hide a laugh.

Urzin pressed his lips together. "You two are impossible."

Crowley quietly clapped once, delighted.

"Adorable, isn't it?" he murmured to no one in particular. "He's really grown into the whole paternal thing. Warms the heart. Or whatever's left of mine."

Urzin shot him a flat, murderous stare. "Crowley. Send them. Before I reconsider this arrangement entirely."

Crowley arched a brow. "Well, ladies? Destination?"

Bri didn't even glance at me.

I didn't look at her.

We answered in perfect unison:

"Sioux Falls, South Dakota."

Crowley's grin sharpened. "Oh, how precious. Homeward bound."

He snapped his fingers.

The world lunged—no warning, no grace, just a violent yank that ripped air from my lungs and twisted my stomach inside out.

Gravity returned with a vengeance.

We hit gravel hard.

The breath slammed out of me as my knees and palms scraped rock. Dust burst up around us in a cloud.

Bri landed beside me with a thud and a very colorful curse.

"Son of a—CROWLEY!" she barked at the empty air.

The crossroads demon was, of course, nowhere to be seen.

But Bobby Singer's driveway? Real as hell.

Gravel bit into my palms as I pushed myself upright, air burning in my chest.

"Okay," I groaned, scanning the bright sky overhead. Birds. Sunshine. Trees that didn't drip blood. "Clearly it's summer."

"No shit," Bri muttered, trying—and failing—to stand. She swayed, boots sliding on the loose stone. "When I see Crowley again, I'll—"

"Bri," I snapped, grabbing her arm before she faceplanted into the driveway. "Hey. Easy."

"What the fuck...?" she breathed, letting me haul her upright. Her eyes were glassy, unfocused, like the sunlight wasn't quite translating. "I was fine on our time trip..."

"Yeah, but that wasn't this," I said gently. "This is present-time. This is... real. You're human. And you just spent—"

"A hell of a long time in Hell," she finished, voice thin. "Right."

"Your soul's exhausted," I added, adjusting her weight against me. "It's not natural—"

"What about you?" she snapped, trying to shrug me off, failing spectacularly.

"I'm a vampire," I deadpanned. "I'm practically dead already. Remember?"

She glared. Then sighed. Then very reluctantly slung an arm over my shoulders.

We moved down the driveway together, slow and awkward and trying not to look like two escapees who'd been slammed through time and space.

"No Impala," I muttered.

Bri's eyes flicked up at me, then scanned the gravel and empty lane. "No shock there..."

"Nope."

The porch door banged open. Bobby Singer stepped out with a shotgun already aimed between our eyes.

"Oh good," Bri whispered. "I'm hallucinating."

"You ain't hallucinating shit," Bobby barked. "Hands where I can see 'em."

"For fuck's sake," I groaned.

"Identity test!" Bobby snapped, pacing a circle around us like a deranged mall cop. "What's your name?"

"Eve," I muttered.

"Which one?"

"The only one you know."

"Prove it!"

"How the fuck do I—"

"Favorite thing to steal from my kitchen?"

"...your coffee grounds."

Bri snorted. "Mine's the bourbon."

"That tracks," Bobby muttered—but didn't lower the gun. "Next test."

He pulled out holy water and splashed Bri.

She hissed.

He panicked.

"Oh my god, Bobby, seriously?" I groaned. "She's HUMAN. It's cold."

Bri wiped her face, shivering. "If I wasn't dying inside, I'd kill him."

"Demonic language quiz!" Bobby barked. "What's the translation of 'Zuh-kah ol Reth'?"

"'Go fuck yourself,'" Bri and I said at the same time.

He blinked. "Correct."

He didn't relax.

So he pulled out salt.

And made us eat it.

I gagged.

Bri nearly collapsed laughing.

"Are we done?" I choked.

Bobby eyed us one more time... then slowly lowered the gun. "Yeah. Yeah, I reckon."

He stepped forward—and very awkwardly wrapped us both in a rough, fast, dad-hug before pretending it never happened.

"Get inside," he grumbled. "You both look like dogshit."

"Flattering." Bri and I deadpanned as we started up the stairs.

Five minutes later, Bri was slumped at Bobby's kitchen table like a puppet whose strings were cut. I eased her into the chair before she faceplanted into the table.

Bobby slammed down a bowl of stew in front of her.

"For the human," he grunted.

Bri didn't bother with dignity—she shoveled it in like she hadn't eaten in a century, which... wasn't exactly inaccurate.

Then Bobby reached into his fridge.

Pulled out a sealed hospital blood bag.

Dropped it on the counter in front of me.

I blinked. "I... you had this on hand?"

He shrugged. "Boys made friends with a nurse on a hunt. Got her to bag up some animal blood for you. Kept it sealed in case you—"

His voice dipped. "—ever came back."

Something twisted low in my gut.

"Oh," I whispered.

"Yeah." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Thought it was stupid at the time. Guess it wasn't."

Bri slowed mid-bite, her spoon trembling.

Bobby's gaze sharpened. "Now. Start talking. Where the hell have you two been?"

Silence.

Bri swallowed. I exhaled.

Then we told him.

Not everything—but enough.

His face went beet-red halfway through.

"HELL?" he exploded. "You were in HELL—and those idjits told me you left?!"

"Bobby—" I tried.

"No! No, don't you sugarcoat this!" he snapped. "They lied! Told me you two stormed off! Meanwhile your damn car is sittin' in my garage collectin' dust—'cause you'd never leave that thing behind unless someone dragged you!"

Bri winced, knuckles white around her spoon.

Bobby caught it immediately.

His voice softened a hair. "Bri. You alright?"

She tried to shrug. Failed. "Tired."

"Tired?" he repeated, eyebrows shooting up. "Kid, you look two steps from keelin' over."

She gave a weak glare. "I just need... a minute. Or a nap. Or a decade. Hard to tell."

She tried to stand.

Her knees buckled.

I stepped forward—

And she glared at me.

"No," she whispered.

It was a punch to the stomach I'd earned.

Bobby moved to her side, reluctantly but firmly looping an arm around her.

"Alright," he muttered, steadying her. "C'mon. I got you."

They started toward the stairs.

Bri didn't look back.

The kitchen felt bigger when they disappeared upstairs.

I stood alone, fingers tight around the blood bag, the silence ringing in the places Hell had carved empty.

Bobby came back a few minutes later, slower this time.

He shut the kitchen door behind him.

His eyes were soft. His voice wasn't.

"Now you and I," he said, voice low and heavy, "are gonna talk."

I let out a long, tired breath and pulled Kaelen's blade from my belt. The runes pulsed faintly as I set it on the kitchen table. Bobby watched it the way a man watches a rattlesnake—resentful, wary, and one heartbeat from shooting it.

He grabbed his coffee from the counter and dropped into the chair across from me.

"What happened, Eve?" he asked, staring into the rising steam of his coffee like it might spell it out for him.

"Long story short?" I said, eyes locked on the blade. "A Knight of Hell showed up at your safehouse. He wanted the Ring. We refused." My fingers curled around the blood bag. "A deal was struck."

Bobby's brows shot up. "A deal?"

"A deal," I repeated, taking a long pull of blood. My stomach clung to the warmth like it needed it to hold me upright. "He'd let the Ring go... if he got Eve's necklace."

"What?" Bobby blinked, finally really looking at me.

"Dean and Sam agreed," I said, pushing myself upright, elbows hitting the table. "But for insurance, Urzin took us. Bri and me."

The air seemed to leave the room.

"We were down there for a hundred and ten years, Bobby."

His jaw clenched. "Almost a year up here."

"Yeah." My laugh was short, humorless. "We did what we had to. We got word the boys were in trouble, so we..." I exhaled hard, eyes dropping again to the blade. "...so we made our own deal with Urzin."

"Urzin?" Bobby repeated, brow knitting tight. "That's the Knight that took you two?"

My silence was answer enough.

The house creaked—old wood settling, or something else shifting at the mention of his name.

"Anyway," I muttered, dropping the blood bag onto the table. "We did the job. Got the necklace. Earned our way back."

Bobby blinked slowly, once.

Twice.

I sighed again. "You know Urzin?"

"I know of Urzin," Bobby said, leaning back in his chair like the name alone added ten years to his bones. His gaze drifted to Kaelen's blade—its runes still glowing a faint, angry red like they remembered exactly where I'd been.

"He's one of the last Knights of Hell left—"

"Trust me," I sighed, standing and hooking the blade back through my belt. "I'm more than aware."

Bobby's eyes tracked me as I moved toward the back door. "Where are you goin'?"

"Outside," I muttered, pausing with my hand on the screen door. "I just... need a minute."

He didn't stop me, but his voice did — low, tired, and impossible to ignore.

"You didn't ask me what the boys said," he muttered, staring down into his coffee like it had wronged him. "Didn't ask what lie they told me."

I froze, the door half-open, sunlight bleeding across my boots.

"I think..." I exhaled, glancing back over my shoulder. "...that's a question we'll ask them."

I pushed the screen door open fully and stepped outside, letting it slam behind me — leaving Bobby in the kitchen with the silence, the coffee, and every answer I wasn't ready to give.

The smell of wet wood and warm earth washed over me as I crossed into the backyard. Summer sunlight soaked into my skin—too bright, too soft, too clean after what I'd crawled out of. The world shouldn't look this peaceful. Not after Hell.

Not after everything.

I walked until the trees swallowed most of the sky and let my hands rest against the rough bark, like it could anchor me. It didn't. Nothing had since the Pit.

The boys lied to Bobby.

That part lodged somewhere low in my chest, sharp and ugly.

They knew what happened. They knew we were taken. They knew a Knight of Hell dragged us under because they made a deal they didn't finish.

And still... they told Bobby nothing.

No warning.
No explanation.
No goddamn truth.

Why?

I didn't know. And the not-knowing was its own kind of rot under my ribs.

And Urzin—

Urzin wasn't the type to shrug and walk away. Knights didn't forget deals. Didn't forgive broken ones. Hell held grudges like breath.

If the boys left that debt hanging—

I squeezed my eyes shut, shutting the thought down before it spiraled. Part of me wanted to scream, or tear through the yard, or break something. Another part just wanted to sit down and stop moving.

Instead, I gathered wood.

Something to do with my hands. Something to keep me upright.

After about an hour, the bonfire caught—crackling bright in the center of Bobby's yard, flames licking up into the blue summer sky. I settled next to it, letting the heat press against my face.

Beer bottle caps clinked behind me.

Bri limped across the yard, pale and unsteady, a second bottle dangling from her fingers. She dropped beside me with a grunt and held it out.

"Figured you'd started without me," she muttered.

"I waited," I said, twisting the cap and taking a drink. "Didn't feel right getting drunk alone."

A ghost of a smile tugged her mouth. "Surprised you didn't steal Bobby's whiskey for me."

"I thought about it."

The fire popped, trying to fill the ache between us.

"Boys lie often?" Bri asked, voice rough.

I snorted. "You heard that, huh?"

She nodded.

"The Winchesters? Constantly. Half the time it's for a case. Half the time it's for each other. But this..." I shook my head. "This one stings."

"Yeah," Bri whispered. "It does."

We drank in silence for a beat, both watching the fire spit sparks into the sky.

Bri's jaw clenched. "They didn't just lie to Bobby. They lied to us, too."

"Yep," I said softly.

"And they knew exactly what happened."

"Yep."

"And they didn't come looking."

I stared into the flames. "Nope."

She exhaled shakily. "Yeah. That's the part that's sitting wrong."

"Same."

The fire hissed, swallowing our anger, our exhaustion, the hundred and ten years we'd survived and the eleven months they'd spent... doing what? Hunting? Drinking? Pretending we weren't down there?

Finally, I lifted the bottle to my lips again and muttered, "We're gonna have words with them."

Bri's scoff wasn't humor—it was a promise.

We drank for another minute, the fire crackling and spitting sparks into the warm summer air. It felt wrong, sitting in Bobby Singer's backyard with a bonfire like this was any other night. Wrong and necessary at the same time.

After a while, the gravel behind us shifted. Bobby stepped into the firelight, hands shoved deep into his pockets.

"Girls," he said, clearing his throat. "Just got a call. Boys are an hour out."

Bri and I locked eyes—same exhaustion, same anger, same bone-deep ache we weren't ready to untangle yet.

"Send them straight to the backyard," Bri said.

"Yeah," I murmured.

Bobby studied us—really studied us—for a second. Then he just nodded and headed back inside. The screen door slapped shut, and for a moment we were alone again with the fire and our thoughts.

We kept drinking.

Not to forget.

Just to keep our hands busy while our hearts tried to rearrange themselves.

Bri broke the quiet first. "You ready for this?"

"No," I said honestly. "You?"

She shook her head. "Not even close."

We clinked bottles anyway.

About thirty minutes later, the familiar low-purring hum rolled through the scrapyard—deep, smooth, unmistakable.

The Impala.

My whole body went tight, like something inside me recognized the sound before my mind did.

Bri's head snapped up. Our eyes met.

"Here we go," she whispered.

The engine cut off.

Silence rushed in behind it, heavy and expectant.

Thanks to the still summer air, every sound carried perfectly from the front of the house:

— the front door opening
— Bobby's gravelly voice greeting them
— one of the boys exhaling like he'd been holding his breath for eleven months
— their muffled shuffling inside

Then the screen door creaked.

We both went still.

Bobby's voice floated through into the yard, clear as glass:

"Before you ask—yeah, you got company."

Sam—judging by the pitch—asked, "Company? Who?"

Bobby huffed. "I ain't ruinin' the surprise."

Dean grumbled something we couldn't make out.

Bobby added, "And don't mess up my damn ambience—took long enough to get that fire going."

Bri shot me a look. I almost snorted into my beer.

Inside, there was a beat of stunned silence... then frantic whispering.

Footsteps.

Movement toward the back of the house.

I set my bottle down in the dirt.

Bri wiped her palms on her jeans, pretending she wasn't shaking.

"Ready?" she whispered again—this time, her voice small.

"No," I repeated. "But let's get this done."

The backdoor creaked open.

And the world—Bobby's yard, the trees, the summer breeze, the wildfire glow of the bonfire—held its breath.

The back door creaked open behind us.

"Hello?" Dean called, his voice rough and uncertain in a way I had never heard from him. Footsteps followed—slow, heavy, cracking through gravel like they were afraid to disturb the air.

They stepped into the yard—first two silhouettes, then two familiar figures swallowed in shock as the firelight touched their faces.

They approached like men crossing a minefield.

Cautious.
Disbelieving.
Shaken to their bones.

Bri and I exchanged one look—one heartbeat of silent understanding—and rose together from the lawn chairs. Shoulders squared. Chins lifted. Arms crossed like armor forged in fire.

Two women who had survived Hell.
Two who'd clawed their way home.
Two ghosts made flesh again.

And the Winchesters saw it.

Sam stopped instantly.

Every drop of blood drained from his face. His lips parted soundlessly, eyes wide and shining like he'd just seen something holy—or something that should've been impossible.

Dean froze mid-step.

His brows shot up, tension ripping through his jaw so sharply I could feel it from across the yard. His chest hitched in a barely-there inhale he didn't mean to let slip.

Shock didn't just hit them—
it cracked the night open.

The yard collapsed down to nothing but firelight, breath, and the space between four people who thought they'd never stand here again.

No one moved.
No one spoke.
Not for a long, suspended heartbeat.

Then Bri's smile curled—slow, dangerous, victorious. She tipped her chin at them, firelight catching her eyes:

"Hello, boys."