Don't snoop!

That was Nadia's advice to Dean. Being that she was his newly acquired voice of reason, he decided to take her advice to heart. He'd let it rest—for now, at least—and focus on the case.

Well, that was the plan.

But that was before he found himself alone in their hotel room the following afternoon, the thick silence pressing in around him. Sam was out questioning another potential siren victim: Lenny Bristol. And, in his usual absent-minded fashion, Sam had left his phone behind.

The device was sitting atop an open book, a bright, blinking screen practically beckoning him. It was right there. On the edge of the bed, in the quiet space that should have felt like a reprieve from the madness of hunting. But now, it felt like a trap.

Dean stared at it for a long moment.

Dean sat at the table quietly, listening to Nadia and the devil on his shoulder go back and forth. He didn't have the right to look through his brother's phone, but couldn't help it. 

He needed to know. 

Picking it up, he scrolled through Sam's recent calls until he found an unknown number.

The phone rang twice.

"Hey, Sam," he recognized Ruby's voice instantly. 

Sam lied to him. He was running around with Ruby again which also meant that he was probably using his powers too. The thought twisted inside Dean's gut like a knife.

Sam entered the room, looking disheveled in his loosened suit and tie. "Lenny Bristol was definitely another siren vic." 

Dean took a deep breath, quickly adjusting his demeanor to mask his unease. "You get in to see him?"

"Yep." Sam tossed his jacket onto the couch and sat down, almost casually. "He brought home a stripper named Belle. Couple of hours later, he offed his mother. Belle, of course, went MIA."

"Wait, he killed his mom?" Dean's voice cracked slightly, caught off guard by the casualness of Sam's words.

Sam shrugged, clearly not as shocked as his brother. "The woman he was closest to."

Dean's mind was still racing, trying to make sense of it. But the ringing phone sitting on the table caught his attention. His eyes flicked to it, then back to Sam. "Yeah, you, uh, forgot your cell phone." He reached for it, the feeling of holding Sam's phone almost too much.

Sam froze, a sharp breath catching in his chest. Dean could see it on his face—the panic that Sam was trying to hide. But it wasn't just the phone. It was the weight of the lie that hung between them now, the space that had grown between them ever since Dean found out about Ruby. 

Dean tossed the phone to him and went to the table to pour himself some coffee. He kept his eyes on the mug as Sam took his seat and answered.

"Hey, Bobby." Sam's voice sounded strained, as though he was hoping the phone call would distract from everything else.

"Sam. You find her yet?" Bobby's voice crackled on the other end, the sound of old books flipping mixed with the faint hum of a cluttered office.

"Ahhh, no." Sam's shoulders slumped as he sat down. "And, uh, it doesn't seem like she's slowing down any. You got anything?"

"Well, I've got some lore from a dusty Greek poem. Shockingly, it's a little vague." Bobby's tone held a touch of dry humor.

Sam sighed. "Hold on a sec, I'll put you on speaker." He set the phone down, and Dean leaned in, joining Sam at the table, his mug in hand but forgotten now. His mind was elsewhere—still looping over Ruby. 

Bobby's voice came through clearly. "It says you need 'a bronze dagger, covered in the blood of a sailor, under the spell of the song.'"

Dean frowned. "What the hell does that mean?"

"You got me," Bobby chuckled dryly. "We're dealing with three thousand years of the telephone game here."

"Best guess?" Sam asked, his voice tight.

"Well," Bobby continued, "the siren's spell ain't got nothing to do with any song. It's most likely some kind of toxin or venom. Something she gets in the vic's blood."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "And makes them go all Manchurian Candidate? Uh, what, do you think she infects the men during sex?"

"Maybe."

"Supernatural STD," Dean muttered, almost to himself. The thought made his stomach churn.

"Well, however it happens," Bobby's voice came through, a little more serious now, "once it's done, the siren's gotta watch her back. She gets a dose of her own medicine..."

"It kills her," Sam finished quietly, a knowing look in his eyes.

"Like a snake getting iced by its own venom," Bobby added.

"So we just gotta find a way to juice one of the OJs in jail?" Dean asked.

"Not that easy," Bobby countered. "None of those guys are under the spell anymore. Haven't got a clue where you're going to get the blood you need."

Sam went quiet for a moment, then his expression shifted to one of thought. "I think I might have an idea." He looked up at Dean, then away, as if avoiding eye contact.

Dean wasn't looking at Sam anymore. He was staring at the phone, but his thoughts were far away. Too far away. The weight of the conversation with Ruby, the lies, the secrets—it was all eating at him from the inside. And Sam, as always, was pretending everything was fine.

"Be careful," Bobby warned, his voice low but clear through the speaker. "These things are tricky bitches. Wrap you up in knots before you know what hit ya."

"Alright, thanks, Bobby," Sam muttered as he hung up the phone, but his voice was far from the usual sharpness. He stood up slowly, stretching his arms. "We can get the blood samples from Dr. Roberts. Get dressed."

Dean didn't move. He stayed seated, his mind still spinning, the nagging feeling crawling up his spine.

Sam glanced over his shoulder at him. "You alright?"

Dean blinked, then let out a short, tight laugh. "Yeah." He set his coffee down, his hands trembling slightly. He couldn't bring himself to meet Sam's gaze. "I'm just gonna call Nadia real quick. Told her I'd check in."

Sam nodded, none the wiser, and Dean bolted for the door.

The door clicked shut behind him, and Dean's face twisted into something that might have been frustration—or maybe fear—as he stepped into the hallway. His phone was already in his hand before the door had even fully closed, Nadia's number already typed in. He wasn't sure what he was going to say, but he needed to hear her voice.

He needed to hear someone who wasn't tangled up in lies.

Back in Nebraska, Nadia was practicing her gunmanship with Irene. Jo and Helen were supposed to come, but they were too hungover to get out of bed. Let alone leave the house.

The small, indoor shooting range smelled of gunpowder and stale air, a familiar and oddly comforting scent for Nadia. She fired a bullet out of a Beretta 87, hitting the target dead center between the eyes. The sound of the shot echoed in the empty space, and she exhaled slowly, her shoulders slumping.

"What's that look for?" Irene peeked into her booth, leaning on the partition. "As far as I can see, you still got it. Not that you ever lost it."

Nadia lowered the gun, the metal cold in her hands, and took one earmuff off. "Nothing, it's just..." she trailed off, shaking her head. "If I wanted to, I'd never have to use a gun again. In a way, I'm just humoring myself." She glanced at the target, now riddled with holes, her mind far from the gun in her hands.

Irene pushed herself upright, stepping closer. "Well, Grace or not, you don't have to use your magic." She said it lightly, but her tone was firm, as though to remind Nadia she had options, even when she felt like she didn't.

"Yeah, but there may be times where a bullet won't cut it," Nadia admitted, her voice softer now. "And I might have to... Angel up. I'm not completely confident in my abilities. When I use them, I just do what feels right, natural even."

Irene folded her arms, watching Nadia with a critical eye. "Then you should practice using them. Just look at me." She gestured to herself, as if she were some example of how far someone could come with enough practice.

Nadia replaced her earmuff, the familiar click of it snapping back in place making her feel grounded again. She followed Irene into her booth, trying to shake the nagging doubt that had settled in her chest.

Irene aimed her gun, taking careful aim at the battered target on the wall. She fired twice, the shots ringing through the air, hitting the target in the chest, followed by another one straight to the head. "It's hard to believe I used to be anti-gun," she said, a touch of amusement in her voice. "That's what practice does for you."

Nadia watched her friend with a small, appreciative smile. In the past, Irene had wanted nothing to do with guns, a sentiment that had been shared by a lot of people who had seen the horrors they could cause. But then, Rufus had needed to know she could protect herself and the kids while he was away, so she'd made sure to learn how. She'd never had to use a gun in a real-life situation, but over time, she'd grown to appreciate the skill and confidence it gave her.

"You know, even if you don't want to use your abilities," Irene said, her eyes now trained on the target, "you still need to know how to use them."

"You're right," Nadia agreed, her gaze drifting back to the target. A feeling of frustration washed over her, but she shoved it down. "I guess I just wish I had some help... guidance, I mean. Not sure who I can trust, angel-wise." Her voice was quiet, the weight of her uncertainty hanging in the air.

Irene looked at her, her expression softening. "Why don't you reach out to Anna?"

"Anna?" Nadia laughed, but there was no real humor in it. "She's on the run, remember?" She paused, her fingers gripping the gun tighter than necessary.

"Yes, but wouldn't the safest place for her to be with an archangel?" Irene pointed out, her voice calm but insistent.

"Half-archangel," Nadia corrected automatically, but the thought lingered in her mind.

Irene didn't miss the hesitation. "But still an archangel nonetheless," she said, nodding like she knew something Nadia didn't. "Listen, you can't do this alone. Your mother trusted her to protect you for as long as she did and, in a way, she owes you one."

"Yeah..." Nadia muttered, her voice trailing off as she thought deeply. She hadn't even considered reaching out to Anna, especially with everything that had gone down. Anna had her own mess to deal with, and yet, maybe Irene was right. She couldn't figure this whole angel thing out on her own. Vanessa had trusted Anna. That had to mean something, didn't it?

Before Nadia could respond, her phone rang, breaking the quiet.

It was Dean.

"I'll be back." She gave Irene a small nod, before stepping outside into the cold, crisp air. She answered the phone, her voice soft. "Hey, you."

"He lied to me, Robin. Right to my face." Dean's voice crackled with anger, a vein of frustration running deep in his words.

"Dean..." Nadia gripped the bridge of her nose, a tired sigh slipping from her lips. "Tell me you didn't snoop."

"I couldn't help it, okay? His phone was right there. And I just... I called the number and it was freakin' Ruby, Robin! Freakin' Ruby!" Dean's words tumbled out in a rush, each one sharp with betrayal.

"Dean—"

"How could he lie to me? Again?!" Dean's voice cracked, thick with emotion, raw and unrestrained. "I—I thought... he-he said he was done with it."

"You're right. He did." Nadia's voice softened, though it was still firm. She couldn't deny that Sam had promised to be done with Ruby.

"What the hell is he thinkin'?!" Dean's tone was angry again, though it was also tinged with hurt.

"I don't know, Dean. Maybe... maybe he thinks he's doing the right thing?" Nadia's words were carefully measured, but she was starting to feel the pressure building. "As a matter of fact, why don't you just ask him?"

"The right thing? Are you kidding, Robin?! And just ask him? What, so he can lie to my face? No, no, Sam—"

"Dean? Are you there?" Nadia's voice turned frantic, but she could already feel the gulf widening between them.

"You already know, don't you?" Dean's voice went low, his suspicion cutting through the call.

"What?" Nadia's heart sank. She hadn't expected him to catch on so quickly.

"That's why you're not surprised and telling me to talk to him. You're even defending him."

"I am not defending Sam," Nadia protested, though she wasn't sure who she was trying to convince. "I'm just saying—"

"But you did know?" Dean's voice had an edge now, the anger simmering beneath the surface.

Nadia squeezed her eyes shut, a heavy weight settling in her chest. "Yeah... yeah, Dean, I know."

"So, he told you?" Dean's voice cracked, as if the weight of the truth had finally hit him.

"No, he doesn't know that I know."

"And you didn't think to tell me?" Dean's words were sharp, almost accusatory.

"That's not my place, Dean." Her voice wavered, but she stood firm.

"How long have you known?"

"What does it matter? I'm not snitching on your brother. This is between you and Sam."

The silence on the other end was deafening. Neither of them spoke for a long while.

"Dean?"

"You're right. I'll talk to you later."

"You're upset with me now," Nadia said quietly, her heart aching at the distance in his voice.

Dean didn't respond immediately. "We got a siren to find and like you said, this is between me and Sam. I'll talk to you later, Robin."

"Bye," Nadia muttered, her voice small as the call dropped. The silence that followed felt too loud, too suffocating. She closed her eyes, her head falling back as she cursed the sky above. "Damn it."

When the boys arrived at Dr. Roberts' office, they ran into the person they were there for.

"Dr. Roberts," Sam greeted with a smile, his tone a little warmer than usual.

"Agent Stiles." Dr. Roberts, the brunette doctor, returned the smile, though there was a playful glint in her eyes as she clutched a manila folder to her chest. "Can't stay away, huh?"

Dean rolled his eyes, the sarcasm already forming at the edges of his lips. He'd been in a bad mood since the start of the day, and the last thing he needed right now was to be a third wheel.

"Actually," Sam straightened his tie, forcing a more professional demeanor. "Uh, we're here on business. About the blood samples. The ones with the high... you know... oxytocin?"

"You still have them?" Dean asked bluntly, his gaze steady, though a bit impatient.

Dr. Roberts' attention had been fixated on Sam the entire time they entered. She briefly shifted her eyes to Dean before nodding. "Mm-hmm."

"Good, we need them," Dean pressed, eager to move on.

Dr. Roberts seemed to hesitate for a moment, but before she could answer, a voice interrupted them.

"Excuse me, Dr. Roberts?"

A man in a suit approached, his tone dismissive as he eyed the two agents.

Dean's expression immediately soured. He pulled out his FBI badge, with Sam quickly following his lead. "Excuse me, uh, we're a little busy here, buddy."

The man wasn't fazed. Instead, he flipped open his own badge with a slight smirk. "Yeah, so am I, pal."

Dean's face fell in surprise, caught off guard. This guy was not backing down.

Sam shot a look at Dean, trying to rein in his partner's temper. "Doc, can you give us a sec, please?" he asked politely, his voice smooth and controlled.

Dr. Roberts glanced between the three men, clearly confused, but nodded slowly. "Sure."

"Thanks," Sam added, his tone soft but firm, ensuring the doctor would leave without further questioning.

The moment she walked off, Dean wasted no time. "What's your name?" He kept his voice low, but his tone carried a subtle edge.

"Nick Munroe," the man replied, a grin tugging at his lips.

Dean couldn't help but notice that the guy was tall—easily six feet, with dark brown hair that was a little too perfectly styled, a round face that looked more cherubic than serious, and plump lips that pulled into a smirk that seemed both charming and infuriating. His blue eyes were the kind that immediately drew attention, and he even had a dimple that deepened when he smiled.

Sam, always the professional, ignored the physical details and focused on the task at hand. "What office are you from?" he asked as he held up his badge again.

"Omaha, Violent Crimes Unit." Nick was sizing them both up now, a small smirk still playing on his lips. "My SAC sent me down here to see about the murders."

"Hmm," Dean murmured, his interest piqued but not giving anything away.

"You?" Nick asked, crossing his arms.

"D.C. Our Assistant Director assigned us," Sam answered smoothly, slipping into the lie without hesitation.

"Oh, which AD?" Nick didn't miss a beat, clearly sensing something was off and trying to catch them in it. His eyes flicked between them.

"Mike Kaiser," both Sam and Dean said at the same time, giving their matching story with practiced ease.

Nick wasn't convinced, though. He took a step closer, his gaze narrowing. "What are your badge numbers?"

Dean raised an eyebrow, his patience growing thin. "You're kidding, right?"

Nick's expression remained serious. "I'm just following protocol."

Sam sighed, pulling out a business card from his jacket pocket and offering it with a small smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Look, man, whatever. Just call our AD, he'll sort things out."

Nick looked down at the card but didn't take it immediately. Instead, he took a step back, still eyeing the two agents carefully. Without another word, he pulled out his phone and began dialing.

Sam and Dean exchanged a brief glance, both knowing exactly who Nick was calling. Bobby.

"D.C. Bureau." The Singer answered, grilling a hamburger on the stove while wearing a 'kiss the cook' apron.

"Yeah, Assistant Director Kaiser, please."

"Well, that would be me. What can I do for you?"

Bobby hung up the phone, the sound of the receiver clicking back into place hanging in the air. Nick stood there, staring at the floor, feeling utterly stupid. Taking a deep breath, Nick walked back over to Sam and handed the business card back to him, his posture slumping slightly. "I'm sorry, guys."

Dean flashed a quick grin. "Just don't let it happen again."

Nick glanced at Dean, then Sam, his brow furrowing as he tried to shift gears. "Where are you at with this?" he asked, his voice more resigned than he intended.

"Where are you at with this?" Sam tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly.

Nick scratched his jaw, trying to regain some of his earlier bravado. "Well, I was just about to run the, uh, perps' bloodwork. See if I can find a connection."

"I already checked," Sam responded quickly, his voice flat. "Dead end."

Nick's eyes widened in surprise. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah," Sam repeated, not offering any further explanation. The silence between them felt heavy for a moment, but Nick wasn't about to back down.

He licked his lips, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked around the room. "But get this," he said, leaning in a little closer as though the next piece of information was some big reveal. "I think I found something that connects all the murderers."

Dean raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. "Really?"

Nick nodded slowly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. "They were all banging strippers... from the same club."

Dean feigned cluelessness, arching an exaggerated eyebrow. "You don't say."

Nick's eyes brightened, eager to keep the momentum going. "Yeah, man. All of 'em. Same club. Same type of girls. It's gotta be more than a coincidence, right?"

Dean gave a slow, thoughtful nod, but he wasn't buying it completely. "What do you say we, uh, go down there and check it out?"

Sam glanced at Dean for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, as if a switch flipped, he turned back to Nick with an almost casual air. "Well, here's the thing, Nick. See, we're kinda lone wolves around here..."

Nick frowned, clearly not getting the hint. "Yeah, well—"

"You know what?" Sam cut him off suddenly, a spark of determination in his eyes. "That sounds like an excellent idea. Just..." He paused, looking over at Dean, then back to Nick. "Just give me a second with my partner, and we'll—uh, one sec. Come here."

He grabbed Dean's arm, pulling him aside quickly. Dean raised an eyebrow but followed without protest. As soon as they were a few steps away, Sam lowered his voice, his tone serious. "Dude, you gotta stay with him."

Dean blinked, clearly confused. "What? Stay with him? Why me?"

"Keep him out of the way." Sam's words were clipped, his mind already racing through the logistics.

Dean frowned deeply. "What the hell am I supposed to do with him? He's like a walking disaster waiting to happen."

Sam sighed, rubbing his temples for a second. "Just... take him to the strip club."

Dean's eyes widened, then narrowed in suspicion. "Wait, what?"

"Keep an eye out for the siren," Sam added, trying to sound casual, though there was a tension in his voice that he couldn't quite shake.

Dean scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. "I'm a taken man, Sam. Not a blind one. You wanna send me back in there?"

Sam's lips twitched in the briefest of smiles. "It's for the case, Dean. I'm sure Nadia will understand. You'll be fine, alright?"

"Yeah, alright, fine." Dean sighed, visibly annoyed, as he shot a glance at Nick. "Let's roll."

They headed out together, the steady hum of the hospital hallways fading as they made their way to the parking lot. The Impala was parked on the curb, the classic black car gleaming under the sun.

"All right, we're taking my ride, no complaining about the tunes," Dean said as he swung open the door, already knowing Nick was going to protest.

"No way," Nick's eyes widened, clearly impressed. "You drive an Impala?"

Dean shot him a sly smirk. "Yeah."

Nick walked around the car, practically circling it as if it was a rare artifact. "It's a '67, right? It's a 327 four-barrel."

Dean paused mid-step, a flicker of admiration flashing in his eyes. "Yeah, actually."

Nick let out a low whistle, grinning. "It's a thing of beauty."

Dean smirked, a mixture of pride and amusement on his face. "Thanks."

"You've got some taste." Nick slid into the passenger seat, still in awe of the vehicle. He was quiet for a beat before he shot Dean a curious glance. "How the hell did you talk the Bureau into letting you drive your own wheels?"

Back inside, Sam stood in Dr. Roberts' office, trying to keep his composure as he asked for the blood samples. The faint scent of antiseptic and the vibrant purple flowers on the windowsill added an odd sense of calm to the otherwise sterile room.

"You want this blood because..." Dr. Roberts trailed off, her voice light as she flipped through some patient files on her cluttered desk.

"Uh, we'd like to run some tests," Sam replied, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his slacks, though his posture was slightly stiff.

She pulled a manila folder from the stack and glanced back at him with a chuckle. "You know, I've run every test there is. It's... my job. Notice the lab coat?" She motioned to the crisp white coat, a playful glint in her eye.

Sam smiled, though there was a hint of unease behind it. "We know a specialist who'd like to try out a theory."

"If you say so." Dr. Roberts shrugged, not entirely convinced but still willing to humor him. She made her way over to a small glass fridge tucked into the corner of the room. The soft hum of the refrigerator filled the silence as she opened the door, reaching inside for the samples.

Her fingers froze, hovering over the empty shelves. Her eyes narrowed in confusion, and she pulled back.

"What the hell?" she muttered, a mix of disbelief and irritation edging her voice.

Sam's heart skipped a beat, the air suddenly feeling much thicker. "What?" His voice was low, urgent.

Dr. Roberts turned to face him, her expression now one of stunned frustration. "The blood's gone."

Nadia dialed Dean's number again, the familiar, aggravating ring of the phone echoing in her ear as she paced back and forth outside the bar. Her boots clicked sharply against the pavement, but the noise did little to distract her from the heavy feeling in her chest. She was supposed to be enjoying a night out with the girls, but all she could focus on was Dean—his silence, his frustration, the fact that for the first time, he wasn't answering her calls.

The phone went straight to voicemail. Again.

Nadia cursed under her breath, the urge to throw the phone against the pavement almost overwhelming. She stopped pacing, staring at the device in her hand as if it might somehow provide an explanation for why things had escalated so quickly.

A group of tipsy patrons staggered out of the bar, laughing and chatting, with Irene trailing behind them. When she saw Nadia standing alone, her face tight with frustration, she raised an eyebrow.

"He still hasn't answered, huh?" Irene asked, her tone soft but knowing.

"Straight to voicemail," Nadia muttered, her voice dripping with frustration. She flung her arms out in exasperation. "He's ignoring me. I don't get it."

She didn't give Irene the specifics, only that she was being caught in between the boys' mess. 

Irene gave her a sympathetic look, but it was clear she had already put the pieces together. "First argument?" she guessed, the empathy in her voice evident.

"No." Nadia shook her head slowly, her gaze dropping to the ground. "No, it's just... the first time he's ever been mad enough at me to not even answer the phone."

Irene let the silence hang in the air for a beat before speaking again. "Ah. Well, you know, maybe you should just give him some time. He's probably upset, but it seems like this is more about him and Sam than it is about you."

Nadia nodded thoughtfully, her mind racing. Irene was right. This wasn't about her. It never really had been. But the pain of knowing Dean was angry with her, combined with the knot of uncertainty in her stomach, made it hard to let go. 

"Give him some space, Nadia," Irene advised. "Let him come to you when he's ready." She patted Nadia's shoulder. "Now, you promised, next round's on you."

Nadia tried to force a smile but it fell flat. "I'll be in there in a minute."

Irene turned and headed back inside, leaving Nadia standing alone. Taking one last deep breath, Nadia dialed Dean's number again. Her finger hovered over the screen, watching as the call went through.

"Come on, Dean," she whispered to herself.

This time, when the voicemail picked up, Nadia's throat tightened. She didn't want to seem desperate, but her words came out raw, vulnerable.

"Hey, it's me," she started, her voice soft but steady. "I know I'm probably driving you crazy right now, but... I'm not the type to keep calling like this. I just want to talk. Please. The least you can do is let me explain. I know you're in the middle of a case, but... if you could, just call me when you can. Please."

She swallowed hard, her emotions threatening to crack. "I miss you."

Nadia hung up the phone and stared at it for a long moment. With a sigh, she slipped her phone back into her purse, hoping that after a few drinks, she could at least push him from her mind long enough to enjoy the night. As she turned and walked back toward the bar, she found herself wishing for a sign—anything to tell her everything would be okay.