The mustang woke like she'd been waiting for us. The engine turned over rough at first-dusty, offended- then smoothed into a low, familiar growl that settled straight into my chest. I eased her out of the drive, headlights cutting through the dark as Bobby's house disappeared behind us.

South Dakota stretched ahead-long highways, wide-open nothing, the kind of road that let your thoughts get loud if you weren't careful.

We didn't talk much at first. The road hummed under the tires, a steady thrum that matched my pulse better than my thoughts did. Eve sat with her boots up on the dash, map folding and unfolding again in her hands like she was trying to read the future out of creases and highway lines. The radio whispered static and half-remembered songs-nothing worth keeping.

After a while, the silence got heavier.

"So," Eve muttered finally, her eyes still on the windshield. "You thinking about them or Hell?"

"Yes," I answered.

She snorted, "That's fair."

Miles slipped by, gas stations, and dark fields. The sky stretched too wide overhead, stars sharp and indifferent. Every so often, I caught myself gripping the wheel too tightly and forced my hands to loosen. Muscle memory didn't forget- but neither did the lessons learned.

By the time Monument crept into view, the air had changed.

It pressed down instead of opening up-thick, metallic, wrong. The kind of wrong you felt in your teeth before you ever saw the damage. The town changed the farther we got into it, with less and less people being out and about on the streets.

The town lights came next-too dim, too sparse. Storefronts were dark, and a lone streetlamp flickered like it was reconsidering its life choices. Whatever had happened here, had scared people indoors.

I slowed the Mustang without thinking.

"There," Eve said quietly.

The parking lot for the police station flickered, flames casting shadows across the building. I pulled onto the shoulder a clock out and cut the engine. The sudden quiet rang in my ears.

The smell hit first as soon as we opened the doors.

Smoke, sharp and bitter. Sulfur underneath it-faint, but unmistakable. I stayed seated for a beat longer than necessary, hands still on the wheel, listening to the metal tick as the engine cooled.

"That's not a house fire," Eve murmured.

"No," I said softly. "We've been gone for less than a day, and Hell's getting sloppy."

We moved on instinct, jackets on, blades checked. We didn't rush-rushing was how you missed important things. We slipped down the sidewalk instead of straight through the lot, keeping to shadow and wreckage. Up close, the sheriff's office looked worse.

Gathered at each of the doors leading into the office, was a crowd of people, just standing. Staring at the building.

"Bri," Eve breathed. "Look at them."

I did, and my stomach dropped. They weren't civilians desperate for answers. Too many of them moved in sync. None of them blinked.

"That can't be good..." I murmured.

We paused, a commotion at the building drawing our focus. The doors had been flung open, allowing access into the building. The crowd surged all at once, bodies pressing forward in a way that wasn't panic so much as permission.

Eve groaned, "This just screams 'Dean's plan'."

"That just means our idiots are still inside," I muttered, already moving faster towards the station. "Come on."

We broke into a run, crossing the parking lot just as two people dropped bags of salt from the roof and lowered themselves down. I didn't spare them a glance, they were harmless.

Gunfire cracked through the open doors-sharp, controlled burts, not panic shooting. Winchester shooting.

We slowed to a walk after crossing the doors, noting the devils traps and salt that was there.

"I don't like the looks of this," Eve murmured, pressing her back against the wall as we eased farther into the station. The gunfire had stopped, and I had a bad feeling in my gut.

"Hendricksen, now!" Sam called out, his voice rough.

The Latin rolled through the station, calm and collected.

The first demon to reach the door hit the invisible barrier or salt and recoiled with a snarl that wasn't human. Smoke began to curl from his mouth before he even realized what was happening.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis-" the recording continued, steady and unrelenting.

The reaction was almost immediate. Bodies slammed against windows, fingernails clawing against the doors. A woman near the front door began shrieking-not in fear, but in fury-before black smoke tore from her mouth in a violent plume and shot upward, colliding uselessly against the ceiling.

Eve stepped back just enough to avoid the thrashing body that collapsed at her boots. "Well," she muttered, watching another demon get dragged out of its host like a thread being ripped from fabric. "That's efficient."

Across the room, three demons tried to rush the rear exit at once. They hit the salt line and convulsed, smoke pouring from their mouths as the Latin intensified.

"Omnis incursio-" The sound changed, from screams into an almost sucking sound. Like the air was being ripped backward through a vacuum.

One by one, the smoke plumes spiraled upward and jointed together into a swirling purple cloud as the hosts dropped where they stood.

Silence didn't fall all at once. It crept in between gasps, between the last echos of Latin crackling through the speakers as the demons were banished back to hell.

Bodies lay scattered across the station floor. Some groaning, some unconscious. All human. I lowered my blade slowly, scanning the hallway for any demons who managed to stick around. The metallic pressure in the air eased, like something enormous had exhaled.

Eve tilted her head slightly, listening. "You feel that?"

"They're gone," I swallowed, flexing my fingers around the hilt as boots echoed against the tile.

Dean came around the corner first, gun raised, sweepting the hall on instinct. Sam was right behind him, jaw tight, eyes alert and searching for anything that didn't look right.

They both stopped when they saw us.

Dean's gaze flicked from my face to the knife in my hand, to Eve standing at my shoulder. His mouth parted like he was about to say something smart.

Nothing came out.

Sam looked like someone had punched the air from his lungs.

Behind them, another man came into view, older than the boys, dressed in a suit that was rumpled and dirty, gun raised but grip tense.

His eyes went straight to us.

"Everybody stay where you are!" he barked.

I tossed my blade slightly, reversing my grip as Eve shifted subtly at my side, not quite defensive-just prepared.

Dean moved quickly, stepping between us and the raised pistol, his eyes only leaving us—Eve—long enough to glare. "Whoa, whoa- it's fine."

"Fine?" the stranger snapped as his weapon tracked our movement. "Who are they? How did they get in here?"

I shifted slightly so that I wasn't quite squared up like a threat, but not backing down either. "Relax," I said evenly. "If we were the problem, you'd know."

His jaw tightened. "That's not an answer."

Sam finally stepped forward just enough to shift the dynamic. "They're with us."

The man looked between the two of them, clearly not liking that explanation. "They're with you. You didn't mention you had backup."

Dean rubbed a hand over his face, tucking his ivory pistol back into his jeans. "Yeah, well, you didn't exactly let us explain anything."

Eve and I exchanged a glance before she spoke. "Friend of yours?"

The stranger heard that, and his eyes narrowed. "You don't know who I am?"

"Nope," Eve retorted lightly, sheathing her blade with a deliberate calm. "Should we?"

I fought a smile as I inhaled slowly as I watched a flicker of something like disbelief across his face.

Dean stepped in before it escalated.

"This is Agent Hendricksen," he said quickly, gesturing vaguely. "FBI."

"FBI..." Eve chuckled, her eyes flicking to me in amusement.

"And I thought we had friends in low places," I huffed quietly.

Dean shot us both a look that clearly said please don't make this worse.

Hendricksen, however, did not look amused. "Is this funny to you?" he asked flatly.

"Little bit," Eve admitted, easy as ever.

I shifted my weight, finally sliding my own blade away. "You're the guy chasing them across state lines, right?"

His jaw ticked. "That depends," he said carefully. "Who's asking?"

Dean dragged a hand down his face again. "Nobody's asking. Can we just-not do this right now?"

Sam stepped forward slightly, like he was trying to recalibrate the room before it went sideways. "They're hunters," he said quietly. "They're with us."

His words settled into the wreckage like a stone dropped into still water. They're with us.

Hendricksen's gaze dragged over the two of us again, slower this time. Taking in the clades, the salt scuffed on our boots. The fact that we weren't shaking.

"With you," he repeated, like the phrase personally offended him. "So what, there's a whole club?"

Dean let out a humorless breath. "Something like that."

Across the station, one of the deputies groaned and rolled onto his side. Another started sobbing quietly, hands pressed to his face. The aftermath was human again — messy, confused, alive.

Hendricksen glanced at them, then back at us.

"You break into my building," he said, voice tight but controlled, "you interfere in an active federal situation, and I'm supposed to just accept that you're... what? Backup?"

Eve tilted her head slightly. "If it helps, we weren't here for you."

His eyes narrowed.

"Then what were you here for?"

"Technically?" Eve gestured lazily toward Sam and Dean. "These two. Someone forgot the deal they made."

The air shifted, Dean went still, and Sam's shoulders tightened almost imperceptibly.

Hendricksen's gaze snapped between all four of us. "What deal?"

"Not your concern," Dean answered too quickly.

"Everything happening in my building is my concern," he shot back.

The deputies behind him were starting to sit up now, groggy and shaken. One of them was praying under his breath. Another just stared at his hands like they didn't belong to him.

The station smelled like burned sulfur and gunpowder.

I crossed my arms loosely, letting the silence stretch just a second too long.

"It's over," I said finally. "It has nothing to do with this attack."

Hendricksen studied me like he was trying to decide whether that was reassurance or deflection. "And I'm just supposed to take your word for that?"

"Yes," Eve answered easily as Dean shot her a look.

"I don't know who you are," Hendricksen said flatly, "but you don't get to walk into my operation, drop cryptic comments, and then tell me it's none of my business."

I held his gaze without blinking. "You wanted the people in this building alive?"

His jaw tightened. "Obviously."

"They're alive. That's the part that concerns you," I continued. "Whatever we're talking about doesn't involve your men. It doesn't involve this town."

Sam shifted slightly beside me, like he was bracing for impact.

Hendricksen caught that too.

"So it involves them," he said, pointing subtly at Sam and Dean. "Which means it involves me."

Dean let out a humorless breath. "Agent, trust me. You do not want in on this."

"I don't want in," Hendricksen snapped. "I want clarity."

"Wrong universe for that," Eve muttered.

Hendricksen's eyes flicked to her. "You find this amusing?"

"Not particularly," she replied. "Just predictable."

Across the room, one of the deputies tried to stand and nearly fell again. Hendricksen's attention fractured for a second, instinctively moving toward him before stopping halfway — torn between duty and answers.

Dean seized it.

"Look," he said, lowering his voice into something almost reasonable. "This attack? That was targeted. It was about us."

Hendricksen's eyes hardened. "You think?"

"What she's saying," Dean continued, gesturing vaguely toward me without looking, "is that whatever issue you've got going on with us? It didn't cause this."

Hendricksen studied him like a lie detector. "And that... arrangement... has nothing to do with demons overrunning my station?"

"No," I answered before either brother could.

"The attack was orchestrated," I added. "Strategic. Coordinated. That's not personal fallout — that's escalation."

That shifted something in Hendricksen's expression.

"Escalation to what?"

Sam and Dean exchanged a look.

Eve's jaw tightened just slightly.

"You don't want that answer," Dean said.

Hendricksen held his stare for a long moment.

Then one of the deputies behind him whispered hoarsely, "Sir..."

Duty won.

Hendricksen straightened, slipping fully back into command mode like it was armor.

"This isn't finished," he told us. Not a threat — a fact. "You four aren't going anywhere."

Dean nodded once. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Hendricksen lingered half a second longer, like he wanted to say something else — like he almost believed we weren't the villains he'd built in his head.

Then he turned away to help his men.

The second he was out of earshot, the temperature dropped.

Dean rounded on us quietly. "You couldn't just leave it alone?"

Eve raised a brow. "He asked."

"That wasn't the point."

I met Dean's stare evenly. "He deserved to know it wasn't because of him."

Dean's jaw flexed.

Sam was watching me again — not arguing. Just... watching.

"You didn't have to jump in," he said softly.

"I know," I replied.

Another stretch of silence.

Not hostile.

Just charged.

Across the room, the human sounds were growing louder — paramedics arriving, radios crackling, someone crying in relief.

The crisis was over.

The fallout wasn't.

Eve shifted beside me. "We should go," she murmured. "Before he starts asking better questions."

Dean exhaled slowly. "Motel," he agreed.

Sam hesitated.

Then, quieter than before —

"Thirty minutes?"

I held his gaze.

"Thirty minutes," I confirmed.

___________________________________________________________

The motel room smelled like cheap cleaner and old cigarette smoke that no amount of 'non-smoking' signs could erase.

Sam hovered near the small round table, hands braced against the edge like he needed something solid. Dean paced once, twice, then dragged a hand through his hair. "Okay," he said. "Before this turns into something it doesn't need to be-"

Eve raised a brow. "That's optimistic."

Dean shot her a look. "We followed Bela."

"Bela?" I repeated flatly.

"She's a thief," Sam muttered. "High-end, sells anything she can get her hands on to the worst kind of buyers."

"We tracked her to her room in Monument," Dean continued. "But by the time we got there, she'd already cleared out."

"And?" Eve prompted dryly.

"And she tipped off the FBI," Dean said flatly. "Called in a little anonymous heads-up about two wanted fugitives passing through town."

I leaned back slightly. "She sold you out... why?"

"She stole the Colt from us."

Eve snorted. "So while we were gone, in Hell, you met a thief, and lost the Colt."

The room went very still as Dean's jaw tightened. "We didn't just lose it."

"That's comforting," Eve replied.

Sam stepped in quickly. "She set us up. It wasn't some random grab. She knew what it was. She planned it."

"She knew what it was," I repeated slowly. "Which means you told her."

Dean's eyes flicked to Sam.

Sam looked away first.

"We were trying to get it back," he said.

"After she stole it," Eve clarified.

"Yeah."

I exhaled slowly, tipping my head back to stare at the stained ceiling.

The Colt.

The one thing that leveled the playing field.

The one thing that made demons hesitate.

Gone.

Dean leaned forward, forearms braced on his knees. "We were handling it."

"Clearly," Eve murmured.

Dean's head snapped toward her. "You think we don't know how bad that is?"

"I think," she said evenly, "that maybe while we were being flayed for sport, you couldn't keep track of the one weapon that kills almost anything."

Sam flinched.

Dean's nostrils flared.

"That's not fair," Sam said quietly.

"No?" I asked.

He looked at me then — really looked at me.

"We didn't know where you were," he said. "We didn't know how to get you back."

"You knew where Hell was," Eve said softly.

"That's not the same and you know it."

The words hung there.

Dean stood abruptly, pacing once like he needed to burn off the pressure.

"What's not fair is having to spend 110 years in Hell, not knowing whether you're coming for us or not..." Eve shot back, rising to meet Dean head-on. "What's not fair is wondering if you meant that little, that you're left to rot."

The room went dead quiet. Dean didn't have a comeback for that. Sam looked like he'd been hit.

And then-

A slow clap echoed from the doorway. "Wow," a woman's voice drawled. "This feels intimate."

Every muscle in my body locked as Dean spun and Sam froze.

I turned toward the voice slowly, the low, familiar tingle of demon crawling up my spine.

She was leaning in the doorway like she'd been invited. Blonde hair. Sharp eyes. Casual posture. There was a dangerous stillness that lingered beneath her skin as she lingered there, far too comfortable.

"Door was unlocked," she said lightly.

Eve didn't move.

"Sam," the stranger added, nodding once, her eyes locked onto him.

I looked at Sam, irritation steadily rising. "Who the fuck is this bitch?"

Sam winced, "Bri-"

"Don't-" I closed my eyes briefly and shook my head. "Who is she?"

"She's with us," he said quietly.

I snapped my eyes open, looking back at him. "With you."

The demons eyes slid back to me. Assessing. Calculating. And something flickered there.

Recognition. Subtle- but there.

"Well," she said slowly, pushing off the doorframe and letting the door shut behind her. "This is new."

Eve's posture shifted almost imperceptibly- not defensive, not aggressive. Just ready.

"You're staring," Eve said mildly.

"Am I?" The demon's lips curved slightly as her gaze flicked between myself and Eve. Lingering- like she was checking details against memory. "Interesting."

Dean cut in sharply. "What do you want, Ruby?"

Ruby. The name grated against my nerves as I glared back at her. "You didn't answer me," I said to Sam. "Who is she."

Sam swallowed, rising off the bed. "She's... helping."

Eve barked out a single incredulous laugh. "Helping."

Ruby's eyes flicked back to her as she took another slow step into the room. The air shifted-not sulfur, not overtly demonic-but still wrong.

"You survived," she said quietly. "That's impressive."

Sam's head snapped toward her. "What does that mean?"

Ruby didn't look away. "Hell's not exactly know for high survival rates."

My stomach dropped a fraction as Eve stepped slightly into my peripheral vision. "Cut the shit, demon. Why are you here."

Ruby ignored the question, stepping past all of us like she owned the square footage. She reached for the TV remote without asking and flicked it on.

Static.

Then the news.

The screen filled with flashing red and blue lights-sirens painting the night in frantic color.

The Monument Sheriff's Station was burning.

Flames crawled up the brick facade, windows blown out, smoke pouring into the sky in thick, black columns.

For a second, no one spoke as the reporter listed off the names of the deceased.

"..Secretary Nancy Fitzgerald. As well as three FBI agents, identified as Steven Groves, Calvin Reidy, and Victor Henriksen."

The room felt smaller once Ruby turned the TV off again.

Sam exchanged a glance with Dean as he sat on the other bed. "Must have happened right after we left."

"Considering the size of the blast, smart money's on Lilith." Ruby tossed two small hex bags at the boys.

"What's in these?" Dean asked curiously.

"Something that will protect you, throw Lilith off your trail." Ruby replied. "For the time being, at least."

I stepped closer to the boys, taking the hex bag from Sam with two fingers.

"And what's the catch?"

Ruby met my eyes directly.

"There isn't one."

I smiled faintly.

"That's funny."

She smiled back — slow.

"You don't trust me."

"No," Eve and I said at the same time.

Ruby's smile widened — not offended.

Amused.

"Honesty," she said lightly. "How refreshing."

I rolled the small hex bag between my fingers, feeling the herbs shift inside. Something metallic sewn into the lining. Something sharp beneath the scent of rosemary and grave dirt.

"You expect them to just strap this on and hope for the best?" I asked.

Ruby shrugged one shoulder. "Hope's optional. It works."

Dean looked between us, impatience simmering. "We don't have a lot of plays here."

"That's convenient," Eve replied coolly. "The demon says we're out of options."

Ruby's gaze flicked to her again. Measured. Interested.

"You don't like me," she observed.

Eve didn't blink. "I don't like demons."

"Semantics."

"Not really."

Sam stepped forward slightly, voice low. "It's not like that."

I looked at him.

"It looks exactly like that."

His jaw tightened. "She's trying to stop Lilith."

"She is a demon," Eve said softly. "You don't 'stop' anything without an angle."

Ruby's eyes sharpened slightly at that.

"You two spent a long time downstairs," she said carefully. "You should know not all of us are aligned."

That landed heavier than she intended.

I tilted my head. "Aligned with what."

Ruby held my gaze.

"With her."

The room felt smaller again.

Dean ran a hand down his face. "Okay. Great. Internal demon politics. Love that for us."

Sam's voice dropped. "Ruby's not working for Lilith."

"That's a strong word," Eve murmured.

"Is it?" Sam shot back.

Ruby watched him — not possessive, not protective — but aware. Measuring how far he'd go.

I stepped closer to Sam, lowering my voice just enough that it cut.

"You trust her."

It wasn't a question.

He hesitated.

And that hesitation cracked something darker open in the room. Ruby's lips curved - slow and sharp.

"Oh please," she said lightly, folding her arms. "As if you two didn't cozy up to a couple demons while you were downstairs."

Dean stiffened. "Ruby—"

She ignored him, locking eyes with Eve. "Tell me," she continued, voice smooth as glass, "How's Kaelen?"

Eve stiffened slightly, but didn't move, even as her breathing changed for a split second.

Ruby's gaze slid to me next.

"Or ... what did you call him... 'Lucy?'"