Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

No light, no light in your bright blue eyes
I never knew daylight could be so violent

[...]

I just can't have tonight

Florence + The Machine

Chapter Text

She could smell the dark even before she could sense it. Its odor was often tied to her nightmares, with a bittersweet taste lingering on the tip of her tongue. Ever since Éber Grayson had become aware of the kind of monster she was, life itself had begun to taste sour. Often, she found herself thinking about what would have become of her if she were just normal — if her family were still alive, if her mother weren't a witch, if her father weren't absent. She would never know; that reality had long been erased by Saddler's hands.

She parked the Ford Bronco on the right side of the street, taking in the sounds and odors around her. Being blind had never been a problem for her; she had developed other ways to survive in a world far more dangerous than the one she found herself in that moment. The way Éber Grayson perceived the world was strange. She was always steeped in darkness. All she had were those ghostly outlines of shapes, revealing the world in rippling flashes of blue light born from echoes and vibrations. Every whisper, every heartbeat painted the air in shimmering lines of sound, making it possible for her to 'see'.

To the world, Éber was normal — a crazy girl with a sunglasses fixation, maybe. Only a few knew the truth. She was good at hiding it. Éber wore chimes on her wrists, each movement sending a tiny signal through the air, helping her navigate like a living radar. That's what made it possible for her to drive — to hunt too. The road was a ghostly shape made by every wave of sound around her. The chimes only intensified it, since her hearing was exceptional.

The phone rang not long after she texted him. She sighed before answering, gathering all the strength she could find because Éber would need it. Nothing was ever easy with John Winchester.

"You get there yet?"

He was never nice. His tone was usually rough and tight, as if it annoyed him just to be talking to her. She was just a means to an end, Éber knew it. Once he had everything he wanted, John would most likely kill her. "Yeah," she responded. "Small town, quiet. Smells... wrong, but not quite."

"'Wrong' isn't helpful. Be specific."

Éber closed her eyes. She wasn't good at describing what she sensed. She could barely read, let alone find the right words to make him understand. She had grown up on the battlefield, running from monsters even the most creative mind couldn't imagine. Reading wasn't her priority. Speaking properly wasn't either. Everything she knew, she learned from Luis. So how could John expect her to describe complex things like that when she didn't even have those words in her head? But there was no point in trying to reason with him. Bobby couldn't do it, nor could she. "Is the same kind of scent I smelled with the other kid — before all went to hell."

'Went to hell' was putting it lightly. John's obsession with the Yellow-Eyed Demon had led them into a trap; people died, demons escaped, and John blamed everything on her. As always, she thought, tightening her grip on the steering wheel.

"So, you're saying it's another psychic case. Great. Just what I needed." She could not see him, but she could hear the pitches in his voice. John was angry. She silently thanked the fact that they were miles away from each other.

"You say to tell you what I find. I do that."

"Don't get smart with me," he said aggressively. "Just do the job. Find out if the kid's a threat, and don't touch anyone." His order traveled through her body, sinking into her muscles, clinging to her heart, as if she were made of his desires.

He had tied her to him from the very beginning. Although she searched for an answer, she never discovered the origin of that spell. "There had to be something related to blood," Pamela Barnes had told her. Nothing could be as strong as this without blood. And now, she was his slave, bound to his will — to any order he gave. She was a monster, made for others' convenience.

"I know the rules, sir."

His laugh was dangerous; she needed to be careful not to push him too far. She wasn't in the mood to hurt herself just so he could feel better. "Yeah? Last time you knew the rules, three cops ended up screaming and you almost blew our cover. You want me to trust you? Earn it."

"... Right."

"Call when you've got something real. Don't make me chase you down again."

Chapter Text

Late in the afternoon, Éber approached the house, shadows already gathering beneath the eaves. The house was quiet, despite the cars parked in the driveway. The funeral had taken place that morning. Éber stood far away, watching them from a distance to see if she could detect anything unusual. The faint murmurs of the graveside service and the shuffle of feet painted a picture for her. She could not see faces, or expressions, which often made her miss details in conversations. But her hearing was sharp; she could catch heartbeats and whispers. Even the blood throbbed loud enough for her to decipher if she listened close enough.

Mostly, though, she relied on her nose.

Since she was nine, she could smell monsters. She had never understood whether it was something chemical or biological, or if she was simply broken. When Éber first realized that things — living, dead, infected, and monstrous — each carried their own distinct scent, the world unfolded before her in an utterly different way. It was a kind of superpower, an ability that had given her the means to survive, the very thing that made her who she was. To some, it might have seemed a miracle, a gift bestowed by some divine creature; to her, it was nothing more than a curse. The memory was vividly engraved in her brain, of the way she got that power.

It usually kept her up at night, scared, haunted, lonely.

Despite John telling her not to touch anyone, Éber took off one of her gloves before knocking on the door. The price of that choice would come later. The sound waves from the chimes on her wrist revealed a man standing in the doorway. He smelled of alcohol and desperation; she quietly raised her hand and touched his chin.

"You know me. I was late. Let me in."

Touching him made her entire body stiffen, and Éber felt the nauseating sensation of his soul. He was bad; not her kind of monster, but still one people should be afraid of.

"Hello, darling. It's so good to see you again," the man replied with a morbidly mechanical tone.

Éber nodded in agreement, entering the house. Footsteps and the clinking of cutlery created the sound waves around her. There was sobbing also, but the sound was distant, coming from another room. She navigated in silence, around the corners of their eyes, watching silently while people grieved. There was something funny about feelings, Éber pondered. The body displayed them in different and unique ways. She learned to translate those signs so she could understand what the others around her were feeling. From a young age, Éber had to find a way to 'see' those details to survive. She was very good at it now.

Often, sadness pulsed through the body like broken Morse code, each beat stuttering as if the heart were trying to stop, unable to carry the weight of the pain. It was always the same thing, like someone's body was fighting hard to stay awake — alive. That room, though, carried something different. It was relief, wrapped so lightly in sadness that it felt more like they had just been freed from suffering. Most of it, however, came from the living room, away from the chatting crowd. Éber couldn't see well who it was, but the person was sitting in the armchair in the back of the room. It had a strange scent of smoke, exactly like that other kid.

The web of shimmering lines revealed a sharp, deeply carved face, especially around the eyes, which in her vision were two vortexes of intense, painful energy. Most people's resonant lines were calm streams, but these were a crackling, chaotic web o blue-white fire. It wasn't sadness revolving inside that someone, but infuriating pain. Éber was used to that kind of pain, to the way it could incapacitate someone. She felt it every day since she was born.

She studied it for a moment, focusing on the shape of the resonant lines — thick and low, humming with a bass-note frequency she had learned to associate with man. Women's lines were usually lighter, faster, with a chaotic high-pitched movement underlying it. Each body had a sound, unified with its unique scent. That figure had a sharp, musky scent, probably testosterone-derived, as Ethan had taught her. Combined with the slow rush of his blood, her mind categorized the shape as male long before she heard his voice.

Although she longed to go directly to him and tell him the truth, she waited. He wouldn't take it very well; she could feel it in the frantic pounding of his heart. The last kid had been deathly scared of everyone. Because John had been so impatient, the boy died without ever letting Éber know how she could help him. Bobby had taught her to always look twice to a situation, because it was often not what it seemed. Ethan and she were proof of that.

"Good afternoon. I'm Father Simmons, this is Father Frehley. We're new junior priests over at St. Augustine's. May we come in?" The voice came from the front door.

Éber slightly moved her head, following the sounds. Two tall figures entered the room, walking weirdly slowly. Their shapes were intimidating, lines rushing up and down as if urgently warning her to run. The feeling that something was wrong intensified as she caught the stronger scent of smoke. They didn't have faces, but everything about them screamed problem.

"We're very sorry for your loss", said the tall one. A strange, mournful vibration hummed through his form, as if he were truly mourning.

"It's in difficult times like this when the Lord's guidance is most needed—"

"Look. You wanna pitch your whole 'Lord has a plan' thing? Fine. Don't pitch it to me. My brother's dead—"

"Roger, please." The woman's voice resembled the distant sobbing Éber had heard.

God's men were everywhere, she thought to herself, sighing. She never understood why people would willingly jump into any opportunity to pretend that the idle spectator above them cared enough to hear their prayers. Growing up, she lived too many things that proved the opposite — God hated them all. It didn't matter if she braided her hair, or if she covered her body, even if she accepted the punishments. Nothing had changed. God had never helped her.

She let those indistinct conversations fall in the back of her mind, focusing exclusively on that one figure, sitting alone and hurt at the back of the room. John had given her a brief explanation about the situation in the family. Max Miller was the son of Jim Miller, whose wife had died in the same tragic way as John's. Not seeing faces, again, made her job tougher than it should be. She relied on the scent of smoke to guide her. She moved ever so slowly, picking small hints in the air to understand how she could approach him. If he was one of Yellow-Eyes kids', it was better not to touch him. The taste of his soul would be tied to her senses for a long time before she could feel normal again.

"Max?" Éber's tone was casual, lighter. She knew he was looking at her, because the lines in his head moved. But he didn't answer; she heard his head nod, slightly, but Éber wasn't sure. A ghost of a smile played on her lips. "Sorry for your loss."

"Yeah," he responded, his voice a thin, reedy whistle in the air. Its resonant lines trembled like a plucked nerve, moving in fear around him, hesitant, fragile. "Thanks."

Éber hated interactions, even more when she was supposed to gather information without compromising her cover. She wanted to touch him, to read his soul, but she had already broken the command. If she kept doing it, the collateral damage would be absolutely hell. She could already feel the headache in the back of her neck. "I'm an old friend of the family," she said.

He let the silence hang for a moment. Those cracking lines of energy moved around him, tense, as if trying to contain themselves. "Don't think I've seen you before," he muttered, the resonant lines in his voice tightening with suspicion.

"I've been around. Just... bad at showing up." She layered her tone with a carefully crafted regret. Not that it was hard, she had a lot to regret in her life. "How you holding up?"

The question was supposed to invite him to open himself. Often, people loved to babble about their lives.

Just let me in, she pleaded silently. He shrugged, a sharp, jerky movement that made the energy lines spike. "How do you think?"

He was angry, she noticed. Anger usually worked as a lever on a person's energy, making the lines go up and down like they were jumping around. Sadness was more like a wall, more stable, combined with that broken throbbing of the blood.

"Yeah. Stupid question."

Éber leaned against the wall, pursing her lips. The scent of smoke around him was stronger, intensified as he spoke, as the anger in his lines became stronger. The same signature she had sensed in the other boy, the same coming from somewhere in that other room. There were two of them in that place. The silence lingered between the two of them, uncomfortable, strange.

"It's hard," she murmured.

Again, the lines around his head moved. She could feel the conflict in him, the war between his ingrained secrecy and his desperate, screaming need for someone — anyone. He was one of the demon's sons, and deeper inside him was lying something Éber couldn't quite figure.

"Yeah," Max said again, his voice cracking, no longer a whistle but a frayed wire. "Nobody gets it."

She tilted her head, offering a silent smile. That's the moment. "Maybe I get it more than you think."

Chapter Text

Éber's head was spinning when she left the Miller's house. She wobbled dangerously on her feet while trying to get to the car, all the time cursing under her breath. Once inside the Bronco, she rested her head against the car seat, closing her eyes. It would be a hell of a night — some sort of personal nightmare John created to punish her for simply being something beyond human. It wasn't like she had asked for it, she thought to herself. Who in their goddamn mind would choose to be born a monster, to be raised like one?

She broke his orders twice that day. She would suffer twice as hard the effects of going against her master.

Although Éber hesitated at first, the idea of touching Max was appealing to her. It would be easier, she told herself. It didn't matter the taste of ashes on the tip of her tongue or the nauseating sensation of his soul lingering into her as if it was asking for help. He was so full of anger, exactly as his lines had shown. Inside him, she found all the torments the guy had gone through, and she felt like him — desperate, alone, angry, dead. How could she blame him for killing his father after everything he went through? Hell knew she would do the same if she could.

Her hands curled into fists as the second wave hit her.

The bond was angry, turning into a violent crown of thorns made of pure pressure tightening around her head, forcing her toward submission. She was on the verge of crying, but no one could help her. Whatever John had used on her was her own burden to carry. At some point, her heart was beating so hard it was all she could hear. Éber thought she was dying, but remembered that John wouldn't be so merciful on her. It would be too easy.

The phone vibrated against her hip, a harsh, insistent buzz

She didn't take long to answer. "Yeah."

"Report." John's voice was a low growl, devoid of greeting. "Is the Miller boy one of them?"

The command he had etched into her soul — the truth, always the truth to me — twisted inside her, a hook in her mind trying to pull the words out. She closed her eyes, focusing on the chaotic, painful energy that radiated from Max when she touched him. He was one of them. His blood was a boiling sauce of demon blood and agonizing, cryptic thoughts.

"No," she lied. The word felt like ground glass in her throat. A sharp, hot pain spiked behind her eyes. "He's just a kid. Scared. His energy is all wrong for it."

The silence on the other end was heavier than any shout. She could hear his disappointment, his suspicion, like a physical pressure.

"Your senses have been wrong before," he said, his tone dripping with cold condescension. "Or did you forget St. Louis? Look closer. I need a confirmation, not a guess."

"I'm not guessing," Éber hissed, the pain making her voice tight. She could feel the lie fighting the command, a nauseating war inside her skull. "He smells like grief, sir. Not sulfur. Not power."

"Don't go soft on me now." The warning in his voice was as clear as a cocked gun. "This thing is hunting its own. If you're wrong, another family dies. Their blood is on your hands." He paused, and she could picture the harsh lines of his figure, jolting around looking like they were ready to hurt her. "The command is there for a reason. Stop fighting it, and it won't hurt. Now, tell me the truth. What do you really sense?"

The hook in her mind yanked hard, and a whimper escaped her lips before she could stop it. She was losing. The truth was a battering ram against her will.

"I... I told you..." she stammered, sweat beading on her upper lip.

"Éber." He said her name like a final, grim verdict. "Don't make me come down there."

The line went dead. The phone slid down her hands, clattering on the floor of the car, her body trembling as she fought to keep the truth, and the demon's son, safe from the hunter who thought he owned her.

Chapter Text

“The way I see it, you have two options, sis,” Ethan whispered through the phone, probably hiding from Bobby. “Either you tell that bastard the truth, or you find a way to make the kid run and don’t ever look back.”

Éber was moving fast — as fast as she could, considering the way her body was fighting her own commands. Her body responses were slower than the usual, so she would have to be even more careful with her actions. A sudden weight seemed to settle on her shoulders, her hands stilling amidst the scatter of her belongings. The purpose of her task suddenly slipping from her grasp as her body tried to stop her. She was in so much pain, her head was throbbing like someone was hammering inside her temples.

John was out of reach since their last call, making it a day and a half now. Éber had done her digging on the Miller family, right up until the uncle’s death the night before. She knew why Max killed him and she hadn’t lifted a finger to stop him. Max had every right to vengeance, and she wouldn’t be the one between him and his freedom. John, on the other hand, would be far less understanding. He would hurt the boy, more than he had ever been hurt before.

“I go there now,” she said, her voice cracking.

Ethan’s inquiring came with fear. “What if he finds out you lied?”

Éber stopped, looking at her hands — at the strange, distorted lines that formed the shape of her hands, moving like a ghost painted in her vision. “He already do, Ethan.”

“Fuck,” he muttered, concern spreading across the word. “Don’t let him get to you.”

“He will”, she answered with a sad tone, noticing her own voice sounding scared. There wasn’t much she could do to prevent their encounter. Once he called her, she was enslaved by the bond to go to him. “Meet Max at Harvelle’s Roadhouse. Ask Ash to make him documents, any—” She stopped, waiting for the wave of pain to stop. “Anything he needs. I’ll pay later.”

“I can come to you.” Ethan offered, but Éber shot it down immediately. John would hurt him too.

When Ethan hung up, Éber was already driving. The Miller’s was about six minutes by car, but she made it in four. She left the Bronco parked sloppily in the driveway and ran up to the door. Each step sent a wave of excruciating pain through her body, and she was shaking by the time she knocked on the door. Nobody answered, so she kicked the door open to find the living room empty, whit the hallway blocked by some piece of furniture. She stood there, focusing her ears in the noises around her.

The sirens of an ambulance, the chirping of beards, cars in the street… but she stopped at the panting coming from the hallway. She walked over that big thing, making as much noise as she could to help her see it through the darkness. She could her him inside the closet.

“Max!” The voice shouted.

She cursed, forcing her body to move the furniture. She felt like she was about to pass out, pain running across her body. She was born a normal witch, with some power on her veins. Saddler made her inhuman, a thing created specifically for his desires. So, she was stronger than the average human beings, stronger than most of the monster she hunted. Éber was the in-between: something not entirely monstrous, but far from human. Once the doors were free, she opened them, but the silhouette inside the closet was immersed in darkness, with smoke coiling around him.

“Who—?”

"Max?” she asked, impatiently.

The lines appeared, very subtle, very evocative, extremely dangerous, around him. “Upstairs. My brother—” She didn’t let him finish.

Éber sprinted up the stairs. There wasn’t much time, she could sense it. Her body was tired of fighting her stubbornness, so she would most likely pass out. She staggered in the smoke’s direction, just to find a room full of figures.

“Max, no.”

Éber scanned the room. Aside from Max, there was a woman and another guy — the one she had seen yesterday, the one with the lines that screamed trouble. He moved to put himself between Max and the woman. Éber stopped at the doorway, holding her hands in the air.

“Max,” she said. A chaotic, painful energy emanated from Max, making the air around him feel thick and hostile.

“Stay back.” He shifted just enough so his vortex eyes could meet her figure. “It’s not about you. Any of you,” he snarled, baring his teeth.

“You’re gonna kill her, you gotta go through me first,” the other guy barked.

Éber frowned, tasting the gunpowder in the air. He had a gun, and his intentions were to end everyone that participated in his beatings. If his dad and uncle were dead, the only person left was his stepmother. Éber thought for a moment of all the things she wanted to do with the ones that had hurt her, and she couldn’t help but feel empathy for the guy.

“Okay.”

Éber snapped out of her head. “No.” she said, and he jolted at her words, raising his hands to grab his head. “I can help. But this, what you doing…” She heard the gun fall on the floor. “It’s not good.” Slowly, she released the grip on his soul, the one she was holding so tight his head was hurting. “This is not gonna fix things.”

The silence inside him was alarming. She just needed him to let her in again. She could hold his soul, could bend it the way she wanted, could give him orders, but she wouldn’t have time to mold and shape it until he was calm. She needed to take him out of there.

Max nodded, kneeling on the floor. “You’re right.”

One second later, she heard the gunshot. His soul went silent, his lines disappearing as life left his body. Éber had seen death in so many ways that this was just another day. She told herself it didn’t hurt; that, perhaps, it was his destiny.

But she grieved, just for a moment.

Then, Éber lifted her head, looking at the shape of a woman standing in the back of the room, with all those straight lines that showed no emotions at all. She growled, crossing the room in a few strides, stepping forcefully on the bed until she reached Max's stepmother and violently grabbed her by the chin.

“Kill yourself.”

Chapter Text

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, Alice’s hand twitched, her eyes glazing over as her own finger rose towards her face. It took Dean less than a heartbeat to act.

“Oh, hell no.”

Dean lunged. He didn’t think, he just moved, tackling the woman and wrestling her frantic hands away from herself. She fought with him, showing strength she shouldn’t have. She was like a puppet on a string, doing that woman’s will. Pinning her arms, he rose her eyes to that thing standing there, eyes hidden behind sunglasses.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he snarled; his voice raw. He had seen a lot of screwed-up stuff, but not like this. This casual, mind-raping voodoo was very new to him. “You can’t just waltz in here and tell people to off themselves!”

She grinned. “Watch.”

Alice was still fighting as Dean watched, astonished, the woman left the room. Sam ran after her, leaving him holding the bag. Mumbling a sorry breath, Dean landed a clean blow to the back of Alice's head, dropping her unconscious to the floor. Max’s body was still on the floor, blood staining the carpet. He stood up and moved through the bodies, careful not to step on the dead.

He found Sam standing in the living room, staring blankly at the window. After a careful look around, Dean decided that everything looked normal — as normal as it could be, of course. Approaching Sam carefully, he called his name.

It took him a few seconds to look at him. The words that came out of his mouth were emotionless. “She had part in it too. Max being dead is also her fault.”

Then he frowned, his eyes confused for a moment. “How— I was outside.”

Dean scoffed. “She bewitched you, Sammy.”

Sam gave a slow blink, as if resetting his mind. “She just touched me,” he murmured. “She touched me, told me what to do and left.”

“Which way did she go?” Dean demanded.

Sam shook his head, frustration clear on his face. “I—I don’t know. She told me to forget it, and I… I did.”

A beat of silence hung between them. As eager as he was to chase her, he knew they had their share of problems to take care of before they could leave town. “Right. Well, we have other things to worry about. We’ll deal with it later.”

Sam agreed with a small nod but didn’t say a word when they dragged Alice downstairs. Dean noticed that every time he turned in his direction, Sam's eyes ended up on Max's body. Dean wasn’t a fan of monsters, nor did he feel any compassion for a guy so ready to kill people. But Sam was different — had always been different, Dean thought to himself. He watched closely as Sam’s expression darkened with each passing moment.

Once Alice was awake, and they made sure she wasn’t trying to kill herself anymore, the worst part of that shitshow started. Dean considered himself a top tier hunter, one of the best on the market. He was confident, pragmatic, and knew exactly how to do his job — all of that on account of the years his dad had spent getting him ready. But the crying was a nightmare. It usually stuck to his skin, crawling through his nerves and prodding his brain to remember the lives he had lost in the past.

They straightened their story before calling the police. It took them one hour between the cops’ arrival until they were finally walking to the car, silence filling the air. The warmth of summer was slowly giving way to the crisp breeze of autumn. They didn’t talk much on their way back to the motel, mostly because Dean was trying to put everything together in his mind. All those years of being haunted by the memory of the thing that killed their mother, just to find out that there were others around the world — probably.

He glanced at his brother for a moment. What if that thing with Max was a demon? What if she had come to take him, and seeing Sam made his brother her next target? Dean had the impression that she knew exactly what Max could do, and that she had felt sad when he died. Although her eyes were hidden, her face was contorted in an expression of pain, almost like sadness. If she was, in fact, related to the Thing that killed their mother, his job would be to keep his brother safe from her.

“Dean, I’ve been thinking.” Sam finally spoke when they were gathering their things, after two hours of complete silence and some mourning.

“That’s never a good thing,” he responded, turning to face his brother.

Shoving his clothes inside his bag, Sam ignored him and continued. “I’ve been thinking, why would this demon, or whatever it is…” Sam sighed, looking at him in concern. “Why would it kill mom and Jessica and Max’s mother, you know? What does it want?”

“No idea.” And Dean would really like to know. Maybe if he knew, his dad wouldn’t have left.

“Well, you think maybe it was after us? Like… after Max and me?”

Concern grew inside Dean again as he sat on the bed, watching Sam. “Why would you think that?”

“I mean, either telekinesis or premonitions, we both had abilities, you know?” He hesitated. “Maybe it was after us for some reason.” When Dean remained silent, he continued: “Maybe that woman—”

“You mean that thing?” Dean hissed. “Sam. If it wanted you, it would’ve just taken you. But it left you behind.”

Thinking about it now made his guts twist. He had been stuck on the thought of what if that thing had taken Sam with her, ever since he first thought that it could be connected to the Demon. The fact that Sam was there, safe, provoked a deep, unnerving relief in Dean's bones. “Okay? This is not your fault. It’s not about you.”

“Then what is it about?”

“It’s about that damn thing that did this to our family.” Dean answered impatiently, trying to put an end to that conversation. He didn’t want his brother thinking he was anything other than a normal guy. Sam was already suffering from Jessica’s death. “The thing that we’re gonna find and kill. That’s all.”

Judging by the look on his brother’s face, that conversation wasn’t over. “We can’t just ignore this, Dean. That… thing was there. It knew Max. It knew what he could do.”

“Yeah, and then it left. Problem solved.”

"It's not solved, it's out there! What if it finds someone else? We need to figure out what it wants."

Sam didn’t need to tell him that. Dean had already thought about all the ways that woman could cause trouble, none of them looking easy to deal with. “What it wants is to not be on my to-do list. We have enough problems without going on a wild goose chase for some crying lady of the lake.”

Sam rubbed his face anxiously. “"So that’s it? We just drop it?"

“I’m not dropping it; I’m filing it under ‘Not Our Problem’.”

“Then we should at least call Bobby. See if he’s heard anything. If anyone would know about something like this, it’s him.”

Dean thought about it. He wanted to scream at Sam that he had already done his fair share of worrying about that thing, but what good would it do them? If that woman led them to the Demon, they would both be dead.

“Oh, that’s a great idea. Let’s call Bobby and volunteer us for a brand-new suicide mission.” He mocked, leaving his bag at the door while running his hand through his hair. “We don’t need to go looking for another fight, Sam. We already have our own.”

“We’re not looking for it, Dean. It found us!” Sam had always been like this, always ready to jump at an opportunity to drag them through a whole new level of craziness. “Don’t you get it? It’s connected. It has to be. We have to do something.”

“No, we have to let it go.”

They stood there for a long moment, just staring into each other’s eyes. Dean could see that this subject would, eventually, come back, but for the few hours left that night, he just wanted to believe that their past wasn’t trying to catch up to them. “Just… let’s leave it like that for the moment. Let’s just find dad and… and then we’ll see, okay?”

Chapter Text

The Impala’s tires crunched over the gravel and dirt of the long driveway, kicking up a cloud of dust that settled on the endless rows of rusting car skeletons. Ahead, Singer’s Scrapyard rose from the South Dakota plains like a kingdom of decay. The familiar sight of dead cars was as close to welcome mat as Dean ever got. Although he was mad with Sam, he found himself feeling peace as he parked his car in front of the two-story house. Its paint was peeling and its porch was sagging under the weight of stacked engine parts and old newspapers. It was dwarfed by the metal fortress of thousands of cars, and hold the radio tower on its roof like a flag that connected Bobby to every hunter in that country.

A sense of grim relief settled in Dean's chest. The place was a dump, a glorified garbage heap. But it was a dump with a locked gate, warded windows, and more artillery under the floorboards than a military outpost. It was the one place the monsters couldn't follow. At least, so he thought.

“Took you idjits long enough. Was starting to think you’d driven into a ditch for good this time.” Bobby was the same as always, the old ragged baseball cap hiding his eyes.

Without hesitation, Dean pulled him into a quick hug, grinning. He was mad when Sam first told him they were going to see Bobby, but being there made his torments silence a bit. “What, and miss your sunny personality? Wouldn’t dream of it, Bobby.” His eyes scanned Bobby for a moment, noticing the bags under his eyes. He looked tired, but he'd looked that way since Dean was a boy. “You gonna offer us a beer, or do we have to stand out here and admire your landscaping?”

He gave a slow, deliberate shake of his head, his hand coming up to grip the bill of his cap as if to steady himself. “I see you two managed to drag your sorry hides back in one piece. More or less.”

His features softened as he looked at Sam. Dean figured he was trying to understand at what stage of grief his brother was. Dean would say he was in a pretty bad shape, but he remained silent.

“Hey Bobby,” said Sam, offering a small, genuine smile.

“Sam. You look like hell.”

“He’s the brains of the operations. It’s just a tax he has to pay.” Dean walked onto the porch, holding the doorknob. “So, are you let us in or do we have to recite a secret password?”

Before Bobby could answer, the door was open by a small redhead with a quick seductive smile. “Oh my, we do have guests.”

Dean’s body reacted instantly, his shoulders straightening while a charming smile spread across his face. “Hello there, didn’t know Bobby had company.”

She raised one eyebrow, pursing her lips as she studied him. Dean was used to that — women looking at him as if he was like candy displayed during a Christmas market. But she dismissed him too quickly.

“Dad, Tyler found something interesting about that case Ash asked about.”

Although he was kinda hurt, Dean turned around to exchange a glance with his brother.

“Dad?” he asked.

Bobby shrugged. “I was feeling alone.”

As Dean opened his mouth to make another question, a younger guy — probably too young to be a hunter — stood beside the redhead, holding a book in his hands. He was wearing shorts and no shirt, and his hair looked like he was having a hard time with that book.

“It’s Slavic — I guess.” He frowned. “Not sure though if it’s a god or a demigod.” The redhead nudged him with her elbow to get his attention. “Oh. Yeah. Sorry. Bobby said we would have visitors.”

Dean blinked. “Visitors?” he murmured as Bobby passed him.

“Get in here before I change the locks,” the old man grunted, and Dean could swear he was blushing.

He did, only to find the house more organized that he remembered. No books lying around, no beer bottles on the kitchen, but instead the scent of clean laundry and an activity board hanging on the kitchen wall. It had been a few years since he had seen Bobby’s house — they had hunted together, but John had had things for Dean to do since last time he visited.

“You gonna eat all that food, kid?”

The guy standing at the counter, with a bowl in his hands, lifted his eyes from the floor to grin at Singer. “It’s not like Éber’s gonna eat everything you bought, dad.”

Again, this guy didn’t look like Bobby. He was tall, even taller than Sam, with short blond hair that matched the shape of his face. He had sharp shoulders, built like a runner or someone thar knew how to use a knife. He moved with a quiet grace that suggested a skinny frame made of pure, lean muscle. His face, though, didn’t match his body. He had a deep-seated weariness in his eyes, like he was carrying a weight he couldn’t put down. Dean watched as his gaze instinctively found Bobby, a silent check-in that spoke volumes about loyalty.

“Uh, well… this is Ethan. Ethan, meet Sam and Dean.” Bobby gestured, turning to the fridge. “Ethan is adopted.”

“Yeah, we figured.” Dean snorted, pulling one of the table’s chairs to sit.

“Not the favorite, but the funny one. Nice to meet you.” Dean felt scrutinized by his gaze, as if he was trying to decide if he could trust them. “Hunters, right?”

Sam nodded. “Got the hang of it, I see.”

The younger one from before appeared in the doorway, this time with a shirt and a slightly pleased smile on his lips. “Okay, it’s south from the tomb. They have a mausoleum.”

Bobby glanced at him while pulling out four bottles of beer from the fridge. “You sure, boy?”

He proudly nodded. “Hundred percent. Did it exactly like she taught me. You can check if you want, Bobby.”

Dean searched Sam's face for the answers he needed, but his brother looked even more confused than him. It looked like Bobby was running a school for hunters under his roof, which seemed odd given the fact that he was always against kids entering that life. Dean still remembered those sunny afternoons where Bobby took him to play baseball instead of training his shooting aim. John wasn’t happy about it.

“Éber’s gonna beat you up if you’re wrong,” Ethan stated playfully.

Bobby growled, tossing him a beer. “No, she won’t.”

“Who’s Éber?” Sam voiced Dean’s question.

Ethan scoffed, looking at them with a grimace. “The favorite child. The one Bobby loves the most.” Bobby stared at him, utterly exasperated. “Calm down, old guy. It doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”

Dismissing him, Bobby tossed Dean one of the cold beers sitting on the counter. He couldn’t help noticing that Bobby didn’t explain who Éber was, or what was going on. He dodged those questions telling them a few pieces of news about the hunter world, ones Dean wasn’t interested in.

“There’s also Travis, that bastard,” he murmured as a last point, looking into his bottle. “He always fucks things up. Then you have to go there and fix it.”

Dean's instincts were telling him something was wrong, but he insisted in shoving those thoughts deep into his mind, deciding to enjoy time with Bobby until Sam started his questions. Bobby frowned, but something in his expression made Dean put his hunter brain in action. Something was off, and it had to do with that Éber girl.

“So… is this Travis thing where she is?”

The silence felt tighter, as if Dean had made the wrong question.

Bobby sighed, murmuring in a sad tone: “She had other things to do.”

Ethan patted his shoulder, intimately, which made Dean feel a bit jealously. His dad didn’t give him that kind of liberty. John Winchester didn't believe in raising children. He believed in training soldiers. Everything was drills, discipline, and don't-you-dare-step-out-of-line. The sight of parental love, then, made Dean’s heart flinch.

“She is coming home, dad. Any minute now.”

Dean had to admit he was curious. He never knew Bobby had children, let alone a daughter he cherished like that. Since Dean could remember, Bobby was always alone. Whenever he went to his place, there he was, sitting in his rocking chair on the porch, with a beer in his hands. It was strange to see how life was when they were not around.

“So,” he started. “I imagine you all hunt.”

Ethan gave him a faint smile. “No, not all. My other sisters don’t.”

After a beat of silence, Sam, as curious as Dean, shifted in his place. “Then, how many kids you have, Bobby?”

“We are in five”, Ethan responded. “Just an old, strange, and broke family from the South.”

His laugh died as the back door slammed open. The woman standing there was bleeding heavily, as Dean noticed from the blood pooling around her. She had one of her hands pressed against her stomach and the other braced against the doorframe to keep her steady as she looked at them. He immediately recognized her from the case with the Miller boy.

“Oh, hell, no.”

Chapter Text

“Éber! Goddammit, kid” Bobby blurted out, his face morphing into panic.

“I’m fine. It’s a scratch. Just need stitches.” She strolled through the kitchen, holding on to the counter as if her life depended on it. “I left her on the Bronco. Be careful.”

Dean had his eyes glued to her. Blood everywhere, with a hint of paleness. Black hair braided methodically and dark clothes that covered her entire body. The same girl, he was sure. The same mind-fucker that almost killed that woman was Bobby’s precious daughter.

“It’s you.” Sam eyes were wide with chock and dawning anger. “From Max’s house.”

She tilted her head, her gaze finding Sam’s from over the heavy, dark lenses of her sunglasses. She studied him, as if she was trying to understand what he was. It was odd, especially because she moved in a strange way. Her hands searching for things on the counter, making loud noises while scattering through the first aid kit. A cold smile touched her lips.

“The fucker that got him killed,” she muttered. “Life is not bad enough.”

“We are the fuckers?” Dean shot back. “As far as I remember, you told that poor woman to—” A screech silenced them, coming from outside, loud enough even the dead could hear it. “What the hell?”

The woman growled, leaving the scissors on the counter as she made her way outside. Letting out a curse, Ethan followed her. They followed along, just to find and old ’70 Bronco parked in the middle of the scrapyard, holding some kind of creature inside it. Sam, standing by his side, shouted to Ethan, but it was too late. That thing broke the glass and grabbed him by his head, yanking him forward. Before it could sink its teeth in his skin, that woman grabbed it by the shoulders, pulling it against her, backing away towards the piles of metal.

“Bobby!” She shouted, weaving her head in the direction of his storage shed. “Open the doors!”

They moved fast; Dean imagined this was a recurrent occurrence. The three of them worked like an extremely coordinated team. He felt useless as he watched that woman control that thing — a kid, he figured later, some poor kid turned into a vampire. Bobby’s daughter held the girl against her chest, murmuring something as the kid screamed and cursed, Ethan moving around her like a satellite, knowing what to do to, where to go. Once the girl was inside the cage, the woman remained there with her, sliding to the floor as the girl turned in anger and bit her neck.

He watched in shock. “She’s biting you,” Dean said.

The mind-fucker nodded. “And she will do until satisfied.” She let her head fall against the bars, staring at the ceiling. “Is all right,” she whispered. “You are alright.”

He finally took in the place, his eyes moving around the cells with bars going from floor to ceiling. There were five of them, all equipped with beds. Simple, but that simplicity spoke volumes as he understood what that meant. He turned at the sound of the door closing, looking at Bobby with something new inside him — fear. That guy wasn’t the Bobby Singer he knew; he was a different person. He heard Sam asking something, but his eyes accompanied Ethan as he walked up to cell where that woman was and crouched in front of her, looking at her pale face through the bars.

“How much blood have you lost?”

“No idea.” Her breath was short, but she didn’t move or flinch when the girl deepened the bite. She raised her hand, caressing her blond hair. “Is okay. You good now.”

“Éber.” Ethan spoke in a soft voice, the same way Dean used to speak with Sam when he was little. “I need you to be conscious, otherwise I’ll not be able to get you out of there. You’re going to die this way.”

Éber’s lips lifted, but it wasn’t a smile. “Would that be bad?”

Ethan sighed, standing up. He looked at Dean, as if ready to tell him something, but changed his mind and walked away. Dean stood there for a few more minutes, watching Éber lay sprawled on the floor with that thing glued to her neck. In the end, Dean left all of that behind, following Bobby as he left the shed. Sam was close enough, as furious as Dean.

“Start talking. Now. What the hell was that?”

Bobby had this weary look, glancing every time at the shed as if expecting the others to come out of it. Expecting her, Dean realized. He was actually worried the mind-fucker would die.

“It’s a long story,” Bobby murmured. “And you don’t have the patience for it.”

“Try us, Bobby.” Sam jumped in, his voice low and rough. “We just saw your ‘daughter’ get her neck chewed on by a vampire and call it therapy. We’ve got patience.”

“Who is she?” Dean didn’t like cornering Bobby like that, but he had a lot to explain. “And don't give me that ‘adopted’ crap. I mean, what is she? Because the thing we saw at Max’s house was a monster.”

Bobby snapped, holding Dean by his jacket and jerking him closer. “She is a person, Dean! A damaged, stubborn, self-sacrificing idiot who thinks her life is currency, but she is NOT a monster!”

Bobby had that explosive impulsiveness inside him, Dean had seen it before. Buit this time, it came along with the pain in his eyes, as if he felt much more than what he was showing to them. The good old Bobby Singer always had a soft spot for broken kids, but Dean would be damned if he let Bobby dig his own grave over that thing.

“Okay,” replied Sam, his voice lowering while trying to pull Bobby away. “Then explain the mind control thing to us. She compelled that woman, Bobby. We saw it.”

Bobby took a deep breath, nervously adjusting his cap. Dean observed while he searched for the right words, making up excuses Dean wasn’t used to seeing Bobby give. “She does what she need. It’s not always her best, but every action has a reason.”

Not good enough, Dean thought. But he let it slide, gesturing toward the shed. “And the monster daycare center back there? Since when do we rehabilitate monsters? Since when do you?”

His voice was heavy with exhaustion and conviction; Dean could help but notice that he was still staring at the shed with hope in his eyes. “Since I realized hunting ain't the only way. Some of them are just kids, Dean. Lost, turned, and scared. They can come back from it. She proves that.”

She proves that. Dean let his words sink in, slowly understanding that his “kids” were all inhuman. From Ethan to the redhead, probably all some kind of thing that Bobby Singer had gathered along the way. His blood boiled in anger — and hurt too, since he felt betrayed.

“This is fucking insane, Bobby!” Bobby didn’t look at him, nor at Sam. He kept his eyes on the shed. “You’re risking your life, keeping that… that ticking bomb under your roof!”

This time, his eyes met Dean’s, sad and frightened, evaluating him. There was a wall being built between them, and Dean didn’t like it. Bobby was like a father to him, the one person he could count when times were rough. He was his family and Dean did everything to protect his family.

“She is my daughter, Dean. And I’ll protect my family.”

Chapter Text

He was walking on eggshells around everyone on that house. Bobby’s house no longer seemed welcoming; instead, it had become threatening. He stood outside, walking nervously from side to side while Sam leaned against the car and listed all thing Bobby had done over the years for everyone. How come nobody noticed what was happening? A darker possibility occurred to him: maybe everyone knew, except them. But why would Bobby hide it from them, he asked himself, trying to find an explanation.

“Dean.” Sam called, but Dean was too lost in his thoughts to give a damn. “Dean,” his brother shouted, pulling Dean from the depths of his mind.

Sam jerked his head in Ethan’s direction, walking up to them slowly and relaxed. Dean didn’t know if Bobby was avoiding talking to them or if was some kind of scheme they had, but he was ready to fight when Ethan stopped in front of him and sighed.

“Well, things went bad too fast, right?” His silvery voice only made Dean angrier.

“No offense, freak, but it’s not you who I want to talk to.”

Ethan  nodded. “I know. And I understand the way you feel,” he said. “But you both are more than welcome to stay. The others and I, we’ll sleep in the shed if it’s more comfortable for you, guys.”

“Yeah, like that would solve all our problems here.” Dean mocked. He got a glimpse of the redhaired girl on the porch, but it was gone when he paid fully attention to it. “So, Ethan… how does this work? You suck Bobby’s blood in the morning, your sister does it in the night? You take turns?”

“Dean,” Sam groaned.

“No, Sam.” Dean’s eyes never left Ethan, becoming darker as that thing remained calm and composed. “How is it?”

Ethan tapped his chin, a mocking gesture of deep thought. “Let me think,” Ethan said, his tone tick with mock contemplation. “Oh, right. We draw straws. Tuesdays are my day to be the parasitic leech. It's in the 'Adopted Monster Handbook,' page forty-two."

And just like that, Dean’s patience was gone. He pulled out his gun and pointed at him, but the guy didn’t move. He just stood there, looking amused.

“That’s it. It ends now.” Dean hissed.

“No.” The mockery was gone, leaving behind a cold sincerity Dean wasn’t expecting. Ethan looked from him to Sam, pressing his lips together before continuing. “The only thing that ends in this… situation between us all. You don’t get to make the calls here, Dean. It’s Bobby’s law.” He shifted his gaze to Sam as Dean hesitated, breathing heavily with pure anger. “The only thing any of us want is for Bobby to be happy. If he asks us to leave, then we’ll go. But it’s his call.”

Sam stepped between them, seeing that Dean wasn’t being very reasonable. He spoke slowly, in a measured voice that showed he was trying to understand that reality. “Okay. Just… explain it to us, okay? How does this work? You live here, you… I mean, you hunt your kind? How does that even function?”

Ethan’s smile was sad, but his voice kept it lighter. “We hunt because we are not like those things out there. We remember how is it feels to be human, how… how life was supposed to be, y’know? Bobby provides us a safe space, and we do everything we can to keep him safe. No one has to get hurt.”

Dean’s laugh made Sam sigh in disappointment. “No one has to get hurt? What about that sister of yours? She compelled a woman to kill herself. You can’t spin that!”

Ethan shifted. It was subtle, like a cold breeze in a warm day, but it was there. Dean felt it in his guts when his voice came out, sharp and defensive. His expression remained the same — composed, as if he was wearing a mask. Dean couldn’t shake off the feeling that they were in a dangerous place now, and that the days where Singer’s Scrapyard was a safe haven were over.

“Éber has her reasons to everything she does. Reasons you couldn’t possibly understand. She carries burdens that would have broken you… or me. And every choice she makes, every hard, ugly, necessary choice… I’ll stand by it. She is my family. And we stick together. Something you’re supposedly an expert in, some would say.”

Chapter Text

“The guy was right.” Ethan murmured as he sat on the edge of the bed, watching her toss and turn in her sleep.

She moaned, not wanting to hear it again. But he stayed there for most of the night, until morning came and she could sit up straight again. She was still feeling dizzy from the great amount of blood she had lost between capturing the girl, killing the nest, and coming home. Ethan’s face was still holding a grim expression — the lines were straight, hard as a stick, like they were holding her gaze violently by its throat.

“Speak.”

He sighed. “He’s right about the compelling thing.”

“So… I should let the woman go after she be in those beatings?” she replied, angry with him. Although she loved Ethan, his morals always stressed her out.

“Look… I’ll always stand by you. Your choices are mine; I owe you my life. But…” He stood, wandering around the room before continuing. “I will also tell you when you’re wrong. So… It’s not up to you to decide how someone pays for their mistakes. You’re not God, nor should you want to be.”

Éber opened her mouth to respond, but Ethan continued. “Sometimes, I ask myself what would you have become if Bobby hadn’t helped you. If you… if you were left with only John instead.”

She remained silent, because she usually asked herself that same exact question. She knew that, deep inside, she was bad. Not just a bad person, but bad to the core, like something rotten growing inside her. She couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment it had started to grow, but she knew who had put it there. Closing her eyes, she didn’t want to feel the weight of Ethan’s lines because they were suffocating her. What if he was right, then? She shouldn’t let her own traumas interfere with her judgments, but again, what if she had? She wasn’t good, she never played the good person.

Wasn’t that the reason John’s obsession started? Because she was used to doing bad things?

“Don’t become something we’ll need to hunt, sis.”

She tightened her jaw. “Maybe I already am.”

She felt him closer. Ethan didn’t touch her, but he brushed his fingertips along her braid, as if it was their kind of hug. He crouched beside the bed and whispered to her: “Don’t do that to yourself. I don’t wanna bury you. And… whatever that sick bastard is doing to you, let me help. Please,” he begged. “Please, let me help you.”

Again, all Éber could give him was silence.

Past mid-day, she went downstairs to find Tyler sitting at the library desk, buried in books. He rambled on about some case he’d helped Ash with, thanking her for her tips. Éber’s head was spinning, but she tried her best to keep a smile on her face. He was only nineteen, just a kid turned into a monster, trying to leave behind his new life the best way he could. They found him in New Orleans, starving and scared, refusing any help. Any of his suicide attempts had failed, because werewolves don’t die that easily.

That moment was the closest from happiness he would ever get.

She refused the food he offered, but did it politely; her poor vocabulary always made her sound more aggressive that she intended to.

“No. Not hungry.”

A voice came from the doorway. “It’s ‘no, thank you, I’m not hungry’.” Éber turned to find Ruby. To Éber's sight, Ruby was a being defined by warm, affectionate lines that jolted excitedly, telling her she was happier than ever. She was different from the others, mostly because her soul was purely demonic, and it was clear as her lines were smoky, irregular ones. “Your vocabulary is about as warm and fuzzy as a brick. Even more when your head is a mess," she said softly, but it made Éber flinch.

She wasn’t weak, and she hated when people saw her that way. It was true that she had difficulties speaking the sentences in a right way, but why waste so much time when cutting half of the words worked the same way? Salazar always understood her; they were both uneducated kids running for their life. Luis was an exception, one she missed as much as she hated.

“I say what I mean”, Éber replied, leaning against the back of the chair and closing her eyes.

“And you mean to sound like you’re telling him to go screw himself,” Ruby countered, walking over to stand over her and inspect her expression. “Try ‘I appreciate the offer, but I’m not hungry, Tyler’. See? Same feeling, less likely to make the puppy-dog kid cry.”

Éber opened her eyes, meeting Tylers lines. He was sensitive inside, perhaps too much so, very delicate. His lines showed it; it was like someone susceptible to sensing everything in the room, and often she caught him suffering from it.

“I’m not gonna cry, Éber”, he said, in a solemnly tone.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

Ruby laughed softly. “Start using your words, okay? People will think you’re a bitch, and that’s my job.”

Bobby found them at the kitchen table. He was still shaken by all the things that had happened, especially by the silence left from Dean. He walked up to them, his expression hidden behind the darkness in Éber’s eyes. His silence said everything as Ruby and Tyler excused themselves and left the kitchen, which made Éber feel like a small kid about to be punished. She could bear any physical punishment, but she couldn’t deal with Bobby’s emotional distance. He was too important for her to not care.

“Did you compelled that woman?”, he suddenly asked, after the silence hung between them for so long Éber thought he was giving her silence treatment.

She nodded. What good would it do if she lied to him?

“There’s any reason to…?” His voice trailed off as he struggled to put those word out in the open.

“I did what I did,” Éber murmured. “It was bad. I’m not proud. But I not regret.”

She noticed the grammar errors, but Bobby didn’t correct her.

He simply sighed. “Kid.” He stopped; Éber tried to read his distorted figure in her vision. Bobby had round, charming lines, the kind that felt like a soft embrace during a nightmare. He was the first good person she met, the first with a soul that tasted like cotton candy.

“I love you. You’re my daughter, even if our blood is not the same.” Again, he hesitated. “But this… doing this will take you to a place where you can’t return from.”

She stood up. Walking to the sink, Éber opened the tap, letting the water run over her fingers, the coldness of it spreading across her hands,  a desperate anchor to the present. She didn’t want to have that conversation.

“I already there, Bobby.” She murmured, not turning to see how his figure would react. “I think I was born there. It’s never a choice for me,” she turned, seeing how Bobby’s face has changed, his eyes shaped in a strange way that made his soul twist. “I never can leave.”

The phone rang before Bobby could reject anything she was saying. Éber followed the sound waves, her heart dropping to her stomach even before she listened to his voice. As soon as he gave her the command, her body felt numb. She was enslaved, and she hated it.

John’s voice was toneless. “Meet me in Chicago tomorrow. Do not disobey me, Grayson.”

Chapter Text

John had a strange job for her.

He was paranoid, mumbling about that Demon that killed his wife. And so, the paranoia mixed with alcohol made him even more brutal. She followed his instructions, watching closely the woman he said was related to that thing. When she returned to her motel room, John was already inside, sitting in silence, a litter of empty beer bottles scattered on the floor around him. His eyes were fixed on something on the floor.

“Sir,” she whispered, standing there as a lifeless soldier.

He stood, placing ever so slowly the bottle in his hands on the table. “I gave you a purpose. A reason to exist.”

Éber searched for something on the lines that shaped him, but she couldn’t pick anything different from the usual. He was a hard, jagged shape of straight lines and sharp angles, a geometry of pure control. A constant, low hum emanated from his blood; a dissonant buzz that made it hard to think. And beneath the smell of alcohol was his true scent: the stale, coppery odor of dried blood on a cold stone floor.

“And yet,” he continued. “you insist on disobeying my orders, girl.”

His rigid form had a sudden, threatening shift. She knew what was coming, so Éber closed her eyes. She couldn’t move; he had told her that she shouldn’t move a muscle. When she was about to pass out from the lack of air, he laughed and told her that she could obviously breathe. She gasped for air like she had been underwater for a long time, her lungs aching with pain.

When his hands touched her, Éber was ready to accept death. But monsters don’t have easy deaths. So, she endured that night, escaping to that place inside her mind where she was happy, where Bobby and Ethan were playing cards with her while telling their old stories. She was just a kid, a very happy kid enjoying time with her family.

John let her bleed for a day and a half. Every time it stopped, he came back and put a new cut in her skin, deep enough so she could feel her muscles being cut.

She was sleep deprived — another of his orders. At one point, he pissed on her and stepped on her fingers, crouching before her just to whisper, “Cunts like you deserve to suffer”. Then, he left her alone for two days. Still, she couldn’t move. Éber was thirsty, and hunger crawl inside her as tears streamed down her face silently. John had tortured her enough for a lifetime of disobedience, tearing the truth out of her with so much violence that every time she closed her eyes, she saw him.

When he came back, something in his image was different. The lines that traced the outline of his figure ceased to be straight and taut, becoming loose and irregular threads, trembling each time he moved. He was afraid of something, and couldn’t fight that feeling.

“Get ready, I have another job for you.”

Her body moved on its own. She stood, naked and dirty, waiting for him. Éber wanted to bath, to rinse everything of him left in her skin, but she didn’t move.

“Sir,” she responded, mechanically.

"They're here," he snarled, his voice a low whip-crack. "My boys. In Chicago. They walked right into its path."

He stopped, and the full force of his terror-focused presence fell on her. The hum from his blood was a high-pitched whine.

“If I get near them, I lead it right to them.” He spoke as If he was thinking for himself.

“What can I do, Sir?” She remembered Ruby telling her to use her words and, with John, she often had to. He hated her mistakes.

He got closer, making Éber want to disappear. His stale, coppery scent filling her air. “But you can. This is the only purpose you have for now. You will watch them. You will not be seen unless strictly necessary. You will report everything to me. This is your chance to atone for every single disobedience.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied.

His hand shot out and gripped her chin., his finger feeling like nails digging into her skin. “Listen to me, girl. If the Demon so much as looks in their direction and you don't stop it... the pain you've felt so far will feel like a blessing. You will beg for the simplicity of bleeding on the floor.”

His words clanged within her, but he didn’t tell her to go immediately. She took some time to recompose herself, carving lines in her wrists until they were painful enough to keep her mind focused. She wouldn’t die, nor kill herself. John had said to her that she could never kill herself. But boy, she tried.

She washed herself, not really thinking of what she had gone through. Dressed in black cloths, combat boots and an old leather jacket stolen from Bobby, she drove around, picking every scent in the air. It was usual for him to not give her all the direction, as if she was responsible for finding them. She let the city’s chaos wash over her. Éber filtered out the stench of exhaust, rotting garbage, and a thousand perfumes. She was searching for a specific, familiar signature. The same iron-and-ozone base note that defined John, the scent of his bloodline, but without the corrosive taint of rage and old violence. She needed to find it fresher, purer.

For her, this was just some supernatural thing. For Bobby, on the other hand, it had a scientific explanation. He told her that it had something to do with the immune system. Everyone had a unique “smell print”, that’s what made dogs track a specific person. It worked along with the reaction of the compounds found in blood and other factors — diet, health, diseases, genetics.

A faint thread caught her attention, a ghost on the wind. Like a hound, she knew the foundational scent of the Winchester blood. It was a specific, metallic tang mixed with the unique pheromonal cocktail of their lineage. She found it, two softer variations on the same theme, one wild and smoky, the other sharp and cerebral. They were different instruments playing the same genetic song. She adjusted her course, a hunter locked on a trail only she could perceive.

Chapter Text

Éber kept her distance, even though she had recognized them.

John’s sons were the two stupid assholes that were at Max Miller’s house. Knowing that made her understand why John had gotten so angry when she finally told him the truth. She had crossed their paths; she had been too close to his precious kids. Of all the rules he had, this was one she never wanted to break. John wasn’t reasonable when it came to his kids. She could read affection in his shape, but it was too similar to control for her to really believe that there was love there. It was the complete opposite when he was passed out drunk mumbling about his wife.

A dark, treacherous part of her wished she could let them die. She was already in hell; how much worse could it get?

When they left the bar, each of them went in a different direction. Éber sighed, but she had to choose one to follow. She decided to pick the smoky one, with soft lines that showed too much empathy for a Winchester. His blood was also more inviting than the other one, and she couldn’t explain why. She stayed two cars behind him, not paying too much attention, listening to the song on the radio. She couldn’t sense any demon, or anything close to evil besides herself.

Once he parked in front of a pair of residential apartments, Éber felt it.

Creatures display their nature in different ways, each of them in a very specific form she had learned to identify. Ghosts taste like cotton, like you got caught in a spiderweb. Shapeshifters are difficult, but what give them away is the absence of stable, organic sent. They smell like nothing; not clean, but a void, like a blank space in their souls. Demons remind her of chewing charcoal, like something burned down and she was swallowing all its ashes.

It was definitely a demon — but she wasn’t sure if it was the one she’d been following since John called her or another of those hellspawn littering the world.

The silence of the neighborhood was a problem; her world shrank to the narrow, shimmering echo of the bells on her wrists. She cut the Bronco’s engine, not daring to draw any attention. She wasn’t supposed to be seen. However, without sounds, the world fell silent, and she had to rely on her other senses. She focused on her nose, trying to figure if the scent was approaching John’s son or if it was just waiting.

It was close to dawn when the guy gave up on his hunting and drove away. With a yawn, she followed. She let out a relieved breath as the lines of the world snapped back into focus around her; Chicago didn’t sleep and she was profoundly grateful for that. She parked in the motel lot, letting her head rest against the steering wheel as she listened to him walk toward one of the rooms. She kept focused on him while trying to remain awake. Three days without any sleep was one hell of an inconvenience. Her body was screaming for some comfort, her head begging to just switch off.

Drifting in and out in a light sleep, she heard his voice.

“God, could you imagine if we actually found that damn thing? That demon?”

The second voice was low, husky, stretching as if it was afraid. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“I know. I’m just saying… what if we did?” A gun clicked. She sat straight, paying real attention this time. Those two idiots were thinking about going after that thing. Great. “What if this whole thing was over tonight?”

Éber pondered. She would die. John would finally kill her. She let her mind dream about it, about being dead.

“Man, I’d sleep for a month.”

She pressed her lips, almost smiling. She would sleep, of course. And eat, proper meals, real ones. And experience things: go to the movies, step inside a library, try, maybe, to learn how to write or read. She was blind, but blind people did those things too, she imagined. And she would spend time with her brother, teach Tyler how to hunt properly, go to groceries with Bea. She could even go to those tea parties Sheriff Mills always invited her.

But then she remembered. She would be dead once this thing was over.

She was brought back by the pain in that voice, the kind that shook her inside out, because made her think about Salazar, about Luis, about her fucked up childhood. “Why do you think I drag you everywhere, huh?” It was loneliness wrapped in violent darkness. She rose her eyes, not seeing any of their shapes, but listening to their feelings. “Why do you think I came and got you at Stanford in the first place?”

“Because dad was in trouble. Cause you wanted to find the thing that killed mom.”

“Yes, that! But it’s more than that, man! You and me. And dad. I want us to be together again.”

Éber turned her head, leaving it in the back of her mind, because she didn’t want to see John Winchester anything other than a monster. He could be whatever he wanted to others, but for her, he was the nightmare in her fucking dreams. She registered they had a fight — a very emotional one — and then they were out of their room in a heartbeat, talking strategies. She had hoped they would leave it to the adults, but she was wrong. Shaking the tiredness in her body, she prepared to fight, because she knew she would have to interfere at some point.

She waited over an hour before getting into action.

They entered and they never came back which meant it was time for her to save their asses, otherwise John would made her pay. She crossed the street with only a gun tucked in her jeans and a great amount of exasperation. With a quick glance to the broken padlock, she moved like a shadow to the stairs. It seemed to her that the building was abandoned, so she wouldn’t have to care about victims. The scent of the demon grew stronger with every flight of stairs she climbed. There was something else, a sweet, deep, almost carnal scent, like a prayer lingering in the air.

It made her stop; a weird smell often meant new problems. She had no plan, only the absolute terror of what would happen if she let those two die.

“… and nice and slow and messy.” The voice was feminine, but the smell remained embraced in smoke.

“Well, I got knews for you,” said the one with the husky, sad voice. “It’s gonna take a lot more than some shadow to kill him.”

“Oh, the Daevas are in the room here. They’re invisible. Their shadows are just like the only part you can see.

Éber felt her feet go cold. She couldn’t see shadows, couldn’t fight something so subtle as a shadow. Her blindness made her weak in ways she couldn't overcome. She cocked her head, trying to pinpoint the exact place the demon was. Daevas were controlled, forces subjugated to one’s will. It meant that, once she got rid of the source, it would probably go after its last master. Before she could understand the room she was about to enter, though, something cold, a mist-like grip, held her in the air.

“Well, well. The Daevas whisper we have a guest.” The woman’s voice was amused, as if she was expecting this twist. “Hiding in the hallway, oh no. Come in. Join the party.”

Éber was shoved inside the room by invisible forces. She stumbled, her world a mess of the demon’s smoky stench and the chaotic lines of the tied-up Winchesters.

“You? What the hell are you doing here?” The one with the husky voice yelled with instant recognition and venom.

Éber focused on the demon's smoky scent. Her shape was messy, not just outside, but from the inside. This wasn’t any demon; it was something extremely well acquainted with that body. It reminded her of Ruby, but the evil here had a specific form, like it had already taken over everything inside her.

“Oh, this is better than I thought.” Éber sank into her knees, her eyes glued to that demon. “You know each other? And here I thought she was just one of John's strays. This is a family affair.”

It was like a hollow echo, that made Éber turn her head in his direction. “What’s your game now, freak?” Husky Voice asked her.

“Why did you call her John’s strays?” The question came from the man at her left.

The demon clapped, excitedly. Éber’s eyes hovered one final time over Husky Voice’s body before turning to the demon again. She needed to focus.

“Oh, because! She’s your father’s signature,” the demon said, her voice dripping with mockery. “The stink of his desperation. He couldn't come himself, so he sent a stray dog to do his job.”

She stepped closer, as Éber noted, but not too close. She was still afraid of what Éber could do. How she knew, though, wasn’t a mystery. The underworld whispered a lot about the blind girl with strange powers.

“How’s that feel, boys? Daddy’s so scared of me, he sends a blind girl to die in his place.”

Éber hated being called blind girl, often because it was a mockery. A blind girl can’t hunt, a blind girl can’t live alone. A girl like that needed guidance, needed a leash. Although she hated Luis for his betrayal, he had never been condescending to her. He made her feel powerful, even in her weakness.

Éber bared her teeth. “Watch your mouth.”

“Sure,” replied the demon. Éber noticed the abrupt change in those lines, writhing from bottom to top, bending at the ends as if preparing themselves. “Kill her. Let’s see if the rumors are true.”

Éber remained still, because she didn’t know what to search for. With a frantic tone, Husky Voice ordered her: “I don't know what your deal is, but don't just stand there! Help us, dammit!”

He shouted not as a plea, but as an angry, desperate command. The moment the words left his mouth, she felt the hook, buried deep inside her, yank taut. Everything in her mind was shoved aside by the force of his command. It wasn’t the same as John, the pain that accompanied it wasn’t there, but it was forceful.

Her voice was no longer her own; it was flat, robotic, and utterly devoid of any feelings.

“Yes, sir.”

Chapter Text

Éber was a strong being. When she was nine, Saddler forced something down her throat and she endured endless pain for about a week before noticing the transformation within her body. As the light in her eyes died, she started to experience the world in different, scary ways. Her nose tingled for the first time at the scent coming from Sadler — rotten, putrid flesh with sweat. Then, the sounds formed echoes in the darkness, drawing the world for her in eerie forms that she had to get used to. Salazar was only a little boy. The last time she saw his face was right before she was taken; he was crying and screaming as Luis pulled him to safety.

She remained in the labs during that time, confined in a small cage where she could be studied. Saddler visited her daily, whispering his religious nonsense about the world witnessing a new beginning. She was supposed to be its herald, but she ran. She escaped one prison only to find herself trapped into another, like a wild animal not entirely tamed, but leash within a wider radius to keep her quiet.

The walls had changed, but the shackles were the same; she was still the same trapped girl.

His command was clear, and so her body followed, chasing the demon. She moved blindly, interposing herself between the demon and the brothers, not entirely sure how she would fight shadows she couldn’t see. She grunted in pain as the shadow’s cold touch seared her arm, but she didn’t retreat.

“It’s not her! You can’t kill Meg! You have to break the connection!” one of the brothers shouted.

“Shut him up!” The demon shrieked.

The command was a jolt down her spine, a new trajectory burning through her nerves. She pivoted, her hands catching a wave of hostile pressure before it could get to the man to her left. The shadow lifted her up in the air, lurching her back to the ground with enough force to break a rib. The sickening crunch in her chest stole the air from her lungs, but her body didn’t stop.

“Well, what breaks the connection?!” Husky Voice asked in desperation.

“The table!” The shout came from the guy on her left. In instinct, Éber raised one hand and shook it. The bells made noise enough to show her part of that place. “You need to destroy the table!”

With a grunt, she crawled across the floor, the grimy concrete a shocking jolt against her palms. She navigated not by sight, but by the memory of the room’s shape and the overwhelming wrongness radiating from the table ahead. It was a beacon of corrupted energy, and she dragged herself toward it, one painful, determined inch at a time. She was a worm, a rat, anything that could move low and survive.

Her body hated the way she was moving, the injuries left by John aching in pain. But it helped her to focus on that moment.

“Don’t you dare, little girl!” hissed the demon.

But Éber was way too long used to pain. The Daevas dug their claws into her skin, and she barely felt it over the fire already burning in her muscles. Her hand shot out, gripping one of the table's legs. She poured all her strength into shaking it, until she felt the very darkness enveloping the room shudder and disappear. The screams that came with it were nothing to her. She just enjoyed for a moment the way that her brain was free after the mission was accomplished.

Freedom felt like that, like the emptiness she was feeling at that moment?

“So I guess the Daevas didn’t like being bossed around”, said the one with the smoky scent.

“I guess not,” Husky Voice murmured. Then, his tone shifted to one of impatient entitlement. “Well? Don’t just stand there enjoying the quiet. Get us out of these things.”

The hook again gave her a dull, obligatory tug. The emptiness was replaced with the order. She let out a long, deep breath. “Yes, sir.”

Without a word, she walked over to them and began to untying the rough ropes binding them, her moves efficient and impersonal.

“Who are you?” asked the one with the smoky scent on his soul. “I’m Sam, that’s Dean.”

“I guess she already knew it,” muttered the other, Dean.

She continued working on the knots, not even a word leaving her mouth.

This time, Sam’s tone was softer. “Can you tell us why our dad sent you?”

Silence. She moved over to Dean — the one with something strange in his lines. To her surprise, his lines felt familiar. They pulled at a memory she didn’t have; of a safety she’d never known. It was the heat of a welcoming, comforting fire that could easily become a burn. Not like John, not like any other person she had met in her life. She felt sick from the way her own fractured spirit ached in recognition. That couldn’t be good, Éber thought. His tone was suspicious and angry.

“What’s your problem? Can’t you talk? Or can’t you hear?” He leaned forward, his voice a low growl. His scent was like a prayer. “Hey. I’m talking to you. Are you blind?”

The words were like a key opening a lock in her mind. It wasn’t just a question; it sounded like a command. The bond didn’t know the difference between those things. She got even sadder to realize that the bond was, indeed, connected by blood. They were his blood; they were entitled to her too. Her hands stilled. Éber lifted her head, eyes hidden behind sunglasses, her voice flattened into the horrifying, robotic tone once more.

“Yes, sir.”

Both of them remained in silence, which made Éber frown. With Dean free, she stood up, putting some distance between them. She heard them whispering about her — who’s she, we cannot trust her, she is a monster. Éber kept her head turned to the big window, now broken by the Daevas, and sniffed the air. That demon was long gone by now, which meant John would be extremely disappointed on her. She pressed one hand to her stomach, fear crawling inside her as the thought he would want to use her again.

“Great,” Dean’s voice went through her thought. “Just great. Dad got himself a pet psychic. And we’re supposed to just be cool with it.”

Éber turned her head to see them, letting her senses drift over them. Their shapes were the same — dangerous. Now, though, they had names. Sam’s was softer on the edges, clearly stubborn by the way they bent away from each other. The empathy, though, was so unnerving. It didn’t match the ashes in his blood.

Dean’s, on the other hand, was a weathered silhouette, his edges worn smooth by a lifetime of grit. He hummed with a low, steady frequency, like a lullaby. His soul was curving around his brother, as if to shelter him.

She understood the recognition then. They were the same — two weapons pretending to be people. It wasn’t strange to find out that John wasn’t actually a good father. She felt it in him.

“Look,” Sam started, his head turning to watch her. His eyes were confusing, hard to shape. Éber gave up all that reading soul thing. She was tired. “Thank you for helping us, but can you tell us anything about our father?”

She simply stood there, no words coming out of her mouth. She looked like a puppet, waiting for new instructions. But deep down, she just wanted to go home.

Dean scoffed. “Yeah, good luck with that, Sammy. She’s not exactly a chatty Cathy.” He moved away. “Let’s just get the hell out of here.”

A phone buzzed. She felt it on her stomach, and sighed heavily before taking it out of her pocket. Pressing the button, John’s voice echoed between the three of them.

“All three of you. The Cardinal Hotel. Room 217. Now.”

He hung before any of them said something.

“What the hell?” Dean growled. “What is this, a fucking field trip? We don’t need a babysitter, and sure as hell don’t need a… a…” Éber noticed him gesturing, his lines moving in an angry path toward their center, where the heart was.

“It’s not like we have a choice.” Sam sighed in resignation.

Éber felt the same way, but said nothing. Dean turned his fury to Éber once more. “Fine. Whatever. Let’s go meet dad. But you…” he pointed at her. “… you stay where I can see you. And don’t touch the radio.”

“I have my own car,” she replied.

“Even better!” he shouted as he walked away from her, his brother on his heels.

Chapter Text

“Hey, boys.”

Dean didn’t think before crossing the room to hug his father. It had been months without seeing him, without a word, only one call. He couldn’t believe his eyes, but he was happy. He stepped back as Sam and John looked at each other for the first time since the fight. Dean didn’t know what to expect, but he was ready. They had to be reasonable at some point. The corner of his vision got a glimpse of that woman, standing by the door like a robot. She didn’t say a word since they left that crappy building.

“Hi, Sam.”

“Hey, dad.”

Dean ran his tongue over his lips, anxious when the silence between them began to feel uncomfortable.

“Dad, it was a trap. I didn’t know, I’m sorry.”

John nodded, a small smile on his lips. The way he was looking at Dean made him feel small, especially because, behind the light expression, there was a bit of disappointment in his eyes. “It’s all right. I thought it might have been.”

“You’ve been in town?”

“Yeah, I got here a few days ago. It was the bad guy, right?”

The three of them responded. “Yes, sir.”

Sam’s gaze found Dean’s while they observed his father look over his shoulder. The woman didn’t move. Dean actually believed she wasn’t even breathing.

“Well, it doesn’t surprise me.” John finally said, turning his eyes to meet Dean’s. “It tried to stop me before too.”

Sam tilted his head.

“The demon?”

John confirmed it. “It knows I’m close,” he said, raising the corner of his lips. He was mad, Dean could see it, but was a different kind of disappointment. “It knows I’m gonna kill it. Not just exorcise it or send it back to hell. Actually kill it.”

Dean stared at his father, confused. “How?” he asked.

“I’m working on it.”

It wasn’t a satisfying enough answer. After all that time without any news, he could give them more than that? Dean shoved down his feelings, not nearly as happy as he made it seem. But Sam was different, and in that moment, Dean was grateful for that.

“There’s something to do with her?” he pried.

John barely looked at her as he responded. “She serves a purpose. That’s all you boys need to know.”

“Like a bloodhound?” Sam inquired. His voice suggested he was mad, and Dean wanted to calm everyone down to not repeat the pre-Stanford situation. “Why did you send her? What is she?”

Dean watched as his dad sighed, his eyes fixed on that girl. Éber was her name, that’s all he knew. Éber, the mind-fucker. Nothing else, she was a mystery, obeying orders like a puppet with an invisible string. She was still using the black sunglasses, and he recalled her confirming she was blind. Meg herself told them that.

“I couldn’t go myself,” John murmured. “The demon would have sensed me. It doesn’t know her yet. She was… convenient. A tool to be used.”

Sam scoffed. “She is a person, dad.”

“She’s a pet. One that follows orders. Which is more than I can say for the two of you lately,” his eyes darkened, as if the disappointment was taking over him. Dean had a gut for it; he always knew when his father wasn’t pleased.

Gathering a moment of courage, he said. “You know, for a ‘pet’ she’s got some interesting friends. You knew Bobby’s been helping her? That he's basically raising a bunch of monsters that hunt?”

The air seemed to freeze as John went very still. He walked slowly to Éber, clenching his jaw as he pulled his hands out of his pockets. The woman, as Dean noticed, was like a statue. Sam and he exchanged a look, feeling like all that silence was some kind of threat. He was raised a soldier — a good one, and he was proud of it — but that girl was more like a brainwashed-zombie hunter.

“I know,” John growled.

“And… you’re okay with that?” Dean inquired in confusion.

John’s face changed; a cold, cruel smile on his lips, eyes locked on the woman.

“It won’t last long.”

Éber flinched. It was small, almost imperceptible, but Dean was used to picking up slight changes in moods. The raw, terrified emotion on her face for a split second was a crack in her façade, displayed for everyone in the room to see. Her head lifted a fraction, and she clenched her hands into white-knuckled fists.

False patience was dripping from John’s voice when he asked her. “Do you have a problem, girl?”

Éber said nothing, her head bowed. Dean saw that the mask had slammed back into place. But it was too late. John took another step closer, standing directly in front of her. Dean felt his brother move, so he just shook his head.

“I asked you a question. When I ask you a question, you answer.”

Her voice was nothing more than a robotic whisper. “No, sir.”

“No, sir,” his dad repeated mockingly. “You will learn your place.”

His hand moved faster than Dean could process. It wasn’t a punch, but something worse — it was an open-handed, brutal backhand across her face. The sound was sickeningly loud, and even Dean flinched at her head snapping to the side. Her sunglasses flew off her face, clattering to the floor at her feet. He saw her entire face this time, as pale as a ghost, bruises marring her skin. For the first time, Dean saw her eyes. They were startling green, trapped behind a veil of white, like light filtering through a dirty bottle, the color fighting the opaque haze that had fallen over them.

She didn’t make a sound, but her entire body went rigid.

“Dad—” Dean started, his voice strangled.

John ignored him, leaning in until his face was inches from hers, his voice a venomous whisper. “You think you have a family out there?” He laughed. “… A life? Everything you are is because I allow it. Look at me!” he shouted the order.

Even trembling, she raised her head to look at his face. She never really focused, as Dean noticed, but she knew where to look. Her unseeing eyes were wide, but there was no sign of tears. She was empty, and it made him felt devastatingly sad.

Horrified, Sam took a step forward. “Dad, that’s enough!”

John hissed at his son, violently grabbing her chin. Dean could see his fingers digging in her face, but still, she didn’t do anything other than obey. “This is what it takes!” John shouted. “This is the reality you refuse to see! You think monsters are just things with fangs and claws?” He yanked her forward, as if displaying her for them. “She is a weapon. And a weapon that doesn’t obey is a weapon that gets people killed. Our people.”

John let her go, pushing her toward the door with a disgusted look on his face. “Get out. Wait in the car. Don’t make a sound.”

That room was suspended in time for a brief moment, where Dean scanned her exhausted expression before she started moving. The way she bent down, fumbled for her sunglasses, and walked out the door, closing it softly behind her, was robotic. She left behind the heavy silence between the Winchesters. Sam was breathing heavily; Dean’s stomach was churning. They both looked pale, sick.

When Dean spoke, his voice was tight. “She’s a monster, Dad. We get it… but what the hell was that?”

“That was a reminder,” John replied, turning to his sons to smile.

Dean didn’t know how Sam felt to that smile, but he was kind of frightened. He just watched his dad beat someone — something. He was raised in a way that taught him to never look twice at a thing. Shoot first, maybe ask questions later, if it is still alive. He never questioned that, always backed his dad up. The memory of Bobby’s face, angry and afraid, flashed before his eyes during that experience, and he couldn’t help but wonder what if his father wasn’t right about everything? The doubts made him feel guilty, and he lowered his eyes to his feet, ashamed.

“For now, you gotta trust me, boys.”

Chapter Text

Both Sam and Dean tried to fall into their routine again, but they kept being haunted by that night. John didn’t contact them again. He had disappeared in thin air like he was never there, taking the woman with him. The few calls they had with Bobby, there wasn’t any news about her, like she had never existed. Dean told himself this was for the best; his dad was an experienced hunter, and he does what it takes to keep everyone around him safe. If it meant he had to chain that woman, Dean would choose to trust him.

Deep down, however, he couldn’t forget it.

They hunted in Richardson, moved on to Fitchburg — and Dean knew it was his dad telling him he had to deal with his past mistakes —, to end up in Sam’s flirting situationship in New Paltz. The girl was pretty and Sam needed to get laid, but refused to admit it.

“Dean,” Sam sighed, his puppy eyes very annoyed. “I can get my own dates.”

“Yeah, you can, but you don’t,” Dean mumbled, taking a sip of his beer.

Sam stopped flipping through their dad’s journal to stare at Dean with that look of his, the one that said he was starting to get pissed. Dean was quietly grateful for it. It was about time they both showed some emotion after all they’ve seen.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

A heartbeat passed before Dean answered. “Nothing. Tell me what you got.”

Dean fell back into silence, listening to Sam explain the case. A couple was found dead, no print, no murder weapons, nothing that could help the police to find the culprits. Like the murderer was a ghost; their kind of job. He wasn’t fully in it, the whole thing didn’t seem particularly supernatural to him, but the way Sam described it made him feel vaguely interested. His brother had his full attention until he spotted her in the crowd. Was impossible to not notice the dark sunglasses inside a bar at night. She wasn’t alone though, that Ethan guy and the redhead were with her.

The first feeling crawling inside him was shame. But it turned very quickly into loathing. He loathed the smugness on her face, the way she moved. A blind monster full of power walking among humans like she belonged there. Dean gestured to them. “Look, freak-show time.”

Sam shifted in his chair, frowning while his eyes changed. “She looks… fine.”

“Don’t tell me you’re feeling sorry for her,” mocked Dean. He too noticed she looked fine, not a bruise on sight. But he would die before admitting it.

Sam was on his feet in an instant, walking over to their table. Dean cursed, growling as he followed his brother. Ethan was the first to notice them and his smile faltered before he could put it back in place. His forced light tone made Dean lean his head back, looking at the ceiling in annoyance.

“Sam. Dean. Didn’t expect to see you. We’re just, uh… having a bite.”

“Yeah. Looks like a real party,” Dean replied, his gaze shifting to Sam.

He was stuck on Éber’s face, which made him look to her too. Nothing was different, but his eyes lingered on her before moving on to the redhead. It was obvious the red wasn't her color, because there was black hair under all that vivid red. His hunter senses screamed at him. She was something, like the other two, hiding in Bobby’s basement.

“We are not here for trouble,” Sam started. “We, uh, saw you.”

The redhead pursed her lips. She was small and delicate-looking, but the hate on her face was something powerful. Dean didn’t like her. “And what do you, Winchesters, want?”

Mocking her, Dean smirked. “Thought we’d say hello.”

The table went silent. Sam didn’t move, his eyes locked on Éber. Dean didn’t quite understand what was going on in his head, but it wasn’t his usual expression. His face was strange, it had more feelings than the normal Sam. He was fighting something inside him, which made Dean feel strangely nervous.

“Well… hello.” Ethan broke the silence, gesturing to the free chairs. “Sit with us, if you want.”

The redhead snorted. “Please, don’t.”

“This is Ruby, one of our other sisters.” Ethan explained when Dean stared too long at that woman. “She is just here for the fun. She is not a hunter.”

“And what is she?” Dean questioned as Ruby narrowed her eyes.

She smiled, sipping her beer. “I’m the one to tell you to back off.”

He was ready to respond when Ethan stood up, pulling a chair between them and sitting, as if he was a wall between Dean and that awful woman. “Let’s just… take it easy, everyone.”

Easier said than done. Tension built up as Éber lifted her head, eyes hidden behind sunglasses. They were different this time, a larger aviator model with dark lenses that still made it impossible to see her green glassy eyes. Her face was inexpressive, and she was sitting still as if she waited for a command. He swallowed hard as his mind brought back the image of her being hit by his father — the helpless look, the emptiness in her expression, the way she accepted that.

“What are you freaks doing in town?” he asked.

Ethan’s smile was pure resignation. “Bobby sent us on a family trip to do good things for the helpless. There is a murderer in town, but I guess you already knew it.” He leaned to grab his beer as he spoke. “We think that it can be a ghost, given the circumstances. No living thing can leave a crime scene without leaving evidence behind.”

Dean took a deep breath. “Oh, great. So now we’re on the same side?”

Leaning forward, Ruby snarled, baring her teeth. “There are no sides, handsome. There’s just this thing that we need to stop. But by all means, let your daddy issues get in the way.”

“My daddy issues? Coming from the thing that probably eats daddies for breakfast—”

Ethan grunted. “Guys, come on—”

“Dean, stop—” Sam begged.

“Enough.” Éber’s voice cut through the bickering, low and strained, like speaking caused her physical pain. Everyone fell silent, heads turning to her.

She aimed her words at Sam’s general direction. Nothing in her face gave away what she was feeling, except for the raw, low tone of her voice. Dean shivered as he wondered why her voice would be like that.

“You are sorry. I understand, because I smell it. But understand don’t mean—” She stopped, her finger gripping hard the bottle. The way she spoke was a bit odd, like she didn’t know well the words and used the first ones that came to her head. “Don’t change things. It’s better if we never meet again.”

With a scrape of her chair, she stood. She didn’t fumble or hesitate; she just turned and walked away, leaving a void of silence between them. The remaining four were stunned, and Dean wasn’t sure why his eyes followed her until she disappeared. Not long after she left, Ethan rose to his feet, pulling his wallet to leave some money at the table. Ruby was right by his side, ready to follow him.

He attempted a weak smile before he spoke. “Well. You heard her. Try not to get caught by any killer while on the case. Blood is a nightmare to get out of leather.”

They remained in silence while Ethan and Ruby took Éber’s path and left the bar. The unspoken words between them were louder than the silence.

Chapter Text

The next two months of Dean’s life changed things in ways he would never expect.

There was a gun that could kill anything, including the fucking demon that killed his mother. That was the happy part — the last shred of happiness he found before life turned upside down. The hunt was almost fun, all the family together, except for her. Éber did everything, from storming into a nest of vampires single-handedly to delivering the gun to John. Dean felt… replaceable. Even the look on his dad’s face told him he needed to be a better hunter if he wanted to get back into his father's good graces.

But his expectations for the future ended not long after that night, leaving him in a hollow place. He stood, looking at Baby completely destroyed. There wasn’t a sign of hope left inside him. Why would his dad trade his soul for someone like him when he had that girl? She was the perfect hunter, something Dean would never be. She was flawless, strong and relentless. His father gave an order and she got the job done. He couldn’t take it, that feeling of owing someone something.

Dean closed his eyes, his body heavy with the weight on his shoulders.

He could still hear his dad whispering to him “you must protect Sam, but if you can’t, you’ll have to kill him”. Then, with a smug smile, he told him “she’s yours now”. Inside him, fear crawled when his dad walked out of that room, but he shook it off as something normal for a hunter. In the end, he was left with all that responsibility, and nobody to help him.

He chose, then, to dive into a project, one he knew well.

Dean found comfort in fixing things. To assess, to think it through, to find a solution with the tools in a messy toolbox could sound like torture for other people. For Dean, however, it was the only way he knew to shut his mind off for a few hours. It was cathartic — a healthy method among his many addictions — allowing him to reassemble the broken pieces of himself.

Sam found him under the car. Dean hadn’t spoken a word since the funeral, the silence was easier than talking about it.

“How’s the car coming along?”

“Slow,” he responded.

Sam stood there with his hands in his pockets, looking lost. “Need any help?”

“I’ll pass.”

“Need anything else, then?” Sam tried again, not sure what to do.

Dean grunted, leaving his brother without a response. Grief was all he had at that moment. He missed his dad, he was angry that he was alive, and he would have to deal with Éber at some point. He hated it. But it came to him earlier than he expected. Sitting at the kitchen table that night, grieving his loss, he watched as she stumbled into the kitchen. For a moment, they just stared at each other, not a word spoken.

“You’re alright there, Grayson?”

“Yes,” she replied sharply. Then she frowned. “No.”

He watched as she walked over to the sink, opened the tap and put her head under the water.

“I’m going to get Bobby,” Dean hissed.

“No.” Éber snarled, looking at him with anger. “Please,” she added, trying to sound less aggressive.

Dean watched her in silence, letting the details speak for themselves. Éber Grayson was pale; even her lips had lost their color. Sweat covered her forehead, and strands of hair stuck to her marble-like skin, showing through her long-sleeved black t-shirt. Dark circles surrounded her glassy eyes, and she was visibly trembling.

He was a proud man, but he knew when an enemy deserved empathy. Opening one of the cabinets above the sink, he reached for one of the shot glasses Bobby hid behind the dishes. Placing it on the counter, he leaned down to get the bottle of vodka from behind the trash can. Maybe it wasn't her usual style, he thought as he filled the glass, but the burn would surely change her focus.

"Here," he hissed, handing her the glass. "Drink."

Éber opened her eyes, staring as Dean put the glass on her hand. There was no drunkenness in the world that could save her from her own mind. Still, she accepted the shot, drinking it in one gulp, feeling the vodka burn like liquid fire.

"Want to talk about it, or do you prefer I pretend I didn't see?" Dean asked, hovering near her.

Éber shrugged, her fingers drumming around the glass. There was nothing to talk about, there never would be. Osmund Saddler was a dark shadow in her past who had taken from her the little family she had.

"It was a nightmare," she mumbled.

Dean nodded.

"When you hunt—"

"Hunting is the least of my problems," she hissed.

Fuck this then. He returned to his place at the table, extremely distressed by her presence. She was a reminder of what happened, what he inherited. When she spoke, it got on his nerves.

“So… what you intend to do?”

“With what?”

She stood. “With me. You will kill me?”

Dean raised his eyes to meet her face. She was looking in his direction but not exactly at him. He wondered how that even worked. A blind hunter was something so inconceivable, he found it hard to believe until he saw it with his own eyes.

“Is that what you want?”

She nodded. She was eager to die, he could see it. He rose once more, walking to her with slow steps. “Why would I give it to you when you deserve to suffer?”

It didn’t seem new to her, because she let out a sigh before murmuring “Like father, like son.”

“Proudly,” Dean replied, leaning forward and watching carefully as she moved with him, stepping back. “But he gave you to me. I don’t want you. If there’s one thing I’d like from you, it’s your body in a ditch. But I don’t want to hurt Bobby, since he seems to love you that much.” Dean’s hand locked around Éber’s arm, pinning her with ease. She could keep her face a blank slate, but her eyes — wide and green — gave her away. There was fear in them. “You don’t get to have an opinion. Remember? You’re the weapon my dad left behind. So do what you’re made for and stay out of my way.”

Chapter Text

“Stop asking if I’m okay. I’m okay.” It was the fifth time Sam asked that in one day.

He was standing there along with Ethan, who was leaning against the Bronco with a smirk on his face, acting like his new pal. Dean couldn't take the way Sam blended so easily with those creatures. “Really, I promise.”

It was a beautiful sunny day after a very—very—long night. That conversation with Éber was still in his head, as well as the way Bobby was looking at him, as if Dean would walk over to her any minute and tell her to kill herself. But she wanted to, Dean saw the cuts on her wrists and they didn’t seem like something coming from a fight. They were self-inflicted.

“All right. Dean, it’s just—” Sam stopped mid-sentence, looking over his shoulder at the commotion at the gate. “We’ve been at Bobby’s for over a week now and you haven’t brought up dad once.”

He had, just not to Sammy. Bobby and he sat on the porch at dawn, and the old man tried to convince him that he needed to move on. His father did what he did because he loved him. He could mourn, he could feel sad, he could hate the world, but he shouldn’t doubt his father’s love. Then Singer offered him a beer and told him to clean the basement. Simple as that, as if Bobby could silence the aching pain in his mind.

“You know what? You’re right.” Wiping his hands on a dirty rag, he turned to see his brother’s face. There they were, the puppy eyes. “Come here. I wanna lay my head gently on your shoulder,” he mocked. “Maybe we can cry, hug. Maybe even slow dance.”

Ethan’s smirks widenen. “Don’t threaten the guy with a good time,” Ethan said, pulling out his phone and waggling it. “But I’m filming. It goes straight to YouTube. We’ll call it ‘Grief and Grudges, the musical’, right?”

“Shut up,” Dean hissed.

Sam sighed, waving off the humor with anger. “Don’t patronize me, Dean. Dad is dead. The Colt is gone, and it seems pretty damn likely that the demon is behind all this, and you’re acting like nothing happened.

“What do you want me to say?”

“Say something, all right?” Sam yelled and Ethan stepped back, leaving the two of them to have their DTR. “Hell, say anything! Aren’t you angry? Don’t you want revenge?” Dean didn’t respond. “All you do is sit out here all day long, buried underneath this car!”

“The car is worthy,” Ethan mumbled.

“Revenge, huh?” Dean wanted a lot of things, most of them out of reach. The way he looked at Sam should’ve been enough to show how he was feeling inside, but Sam didn’t notice. “Sounds good. Got any leads on the demon, Sammy?” He watched as Sam took a deep breath. “You making heads or tails of dad’s research? I sure ain’t.”

He kept going, while Sam stared at him like he was stupid. “But when we do finally find it— no wait. Like you said, the Colt’s gone. But I’m sure you’ve figured out a way to kill it.”

Avoiding the way Ethan was looking at him, Dean turned to throw the spark plug back into the box. “We got nothing, Sam. Nothing, okay? So, the only thing I can do is work on the car.”

“Well, we got something, alright? That’s what I came to tell you. It’s one of dad’s old phones. It took me a while, but I cracked one of his voicemails. The woman calling is Ellen. Don’t know who she is—”

Ethan cleared his throat. “I know.”

Both brothers shifted to look at the guy. Dean noticed that he was always the funny one, with a smile on his face and words of encouragement. Ruby was insufferable, Tyler was a teenager full of hormones and there was another one, Bea something, but she was working closer to the border from Canada. She would be home only for Christmas. Then, of course, there was Éber, but she was hiding from him now.

“Who’s she?” Dean demanded.

“An old, stubborn, difficult friend.” He shrugged. “She will be very nice to you if you take Éber with you to see her.”

Dean shook his head. “No chance.”

“Dean,” Sam begged.

He groaned loudly, which made Ruby look in his direction in disapproval. “I don’t want to.”

“We might need her,” said Sam.

Ethan shrugged, but his face had changed when he spoke again. Happiness was replaced with resignation. “It pains me to admit it, but yeah, maybe you will.” Dean’s gaze went from Sam to Ethan. “Ellen will trust you more if Éber looks healthy and untouched.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean barked out.

Again, he shrugged and left. Dean had had enough of those cryptic, secretive suggestions that Éber was loved by everyone but their dad. She was a monster, something unnaturally born into that world and it was their job to hunt her and kill her. His dad used her for the sole purpose of leveling their forces. She was nothing more than a tool, nothing more than that. Then why was everyone around him so eager to set her free?

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “Ask Bobby if we can use one of his cars.” Dean said before walking over to the shed.

She didn’t have a lot of places to hide, so he figured she would be in there. Éber had been out of his sight since their fight, which was a blessing to him. She was a reminder of everything his family was going through. Why couldn’t her sacrifice herself instead of letting his father sell his soul for him? He wouldn’t feel that way, Dean was sure of that. At least, that’s what he kept saying to himself. Deep down, he knew he didn’t deserve sacrifice from anyone, even the mind-fucker.

The metal door was open, and he understood why there was noise coming from the gate. They have brought in a new freak to study, he mocked to himself. Tyler was standing outside the cage, watching silently as Éber held the thing’s hand, kneeling before it. Dean noticed that she was rigid, her lips pressed in a way as if she was feeling pain. It lasted just a few seconds, and she rose, sighed mournfully.

“He is bad. This is not gonna work.”

The young boy reached for the bars, leaning against them as he analyzed the creature.

“Do you think that if we had gotten to him earlier, maybe… y’know?”

Éber kept facing that thing, passed out in the bed. “Hard to tell. Some of them just… are bad.” She lifted her head, a ghost of smile hovering over her lips as she looked at Tyler. “Thank you, Tyler,” she spoke slowly, speaking each word separately.

Tyler’s smile was big, almost taking all of his face. “Nah, it was nothing.” But he sounded proud.

“You are good,” her voice was soft and warm, like she was really speaking to her younger brother. “Go rest. I’ll clean here.”

Dean stepped aside when Tyler passed him, shooting him a dirty look. It didn’t bother him, though, since he couldn’t care less about what those freaks thought. Ethan seemed to be the only person that could control his temper. The rest of them were a bunch of animals. She stood there, face down, probably looking to that thing.

“What do you want?” she murmured not long after Tyler had left the shed.

“We’re leaving. We’re going to see one of dad’s old friends,” Dean bit out, the command leaving no room for argument. He was already turning away, a clear dismissal. When Éber didn’t immediately move, he shot her a glare. “Now. Don’t make me say it again.”

“Yes, sir,” he heard her saying before closing the door behind him.

Chapter Text

“This is humiliating,” Dean shot from the back seat.

They were all in silence, except when that man broke it by saying something hurtful or stupid. Éber hadn’t decided yet if he was dumb or just evil. Sam had taken the passenger seat, and he was shifting nervously in it since they left Bobby. They had at least an hour before getting to the Roadhouse.

“You always drive?” Sam had a soft voice. But even through his gentle tone, she could perceive how uncomfortable he was with her presence.

Éber shrugged. Dean growled again. “For fuck’s sake, just answer the guy.”

“Yes, always.” She was blind, but not fucking useless, she wanted to add. But it could sound disrespectful and she knew very well what her mouth could or couldn’t say. “I hunt alone.”

Sam gestured vaguely, his lines fading in her peripheral vision. “Right, but… how?” He wouldn’t be the first to ask her that. She gripped the steering wheel tighter. “I mean, the road… the other cars…”

From the back seat, Dean shot a low warning. “Sam.”

Words came out of her in an unpolished way.

“I see it. Just… not with my eyes.”

Sam insisted. “Yeah, but how?”

She tapped her nose, then her ears. “Everything works.” She took the right exit, amazing Sam as she drove past cars gracefully. “I hear it… or feel it.”

“And who taught you that?”

She almost smiled, sadness stretching across her chest as she reminded how Luis used to talk slowly and soft with her when she was awake late at night. He showed her the stars, even though she couldn’t see them. Told her to always listen to everything around her, to be patient. He didn’t teach her how to drive, but he taught her how to use her own powers to master her abilities.

But she said nothing, exactly how John had ordered her.

Sam waited a moment longer, hoping for an answer that wouldn't come, before sinking back into his seat with a quiet sigh. She smelled Harvelle’s Roadhouse before the guys could see it. Beer, sweat and gunpowder, with a note of vanilla that she never understood why. It was early, so Ellen would probably be closed. She drove the Bronco over the gravel, parking not far from the entrance. She listened as those two exited the car, but she didn’t move. Sam’s smoky scent wafted in when he leaned over the open window.

“Don’t you want to come with us?”

She shrugged. A moment later, her door was open and that carnal scent she’d been picking up the last few days violated her senses.

“Out. Now,” ordered Dean.

She obeyed. And waited; waited while they wandered around, calling for someone, while they picked the lock on the front door, while they walked in right into their trap. She just stood on the porch, her hands in the pocket of her leather jacket, her eyes glued to the road. She thought about leaving them there, running away to the most remote place she could find. But it would probably mean never seeing her family again — living away from Bobby. After she lost Salazar, after being betrayed by Luis, all she had was that little piece of life Bobby gave her.

A few moments later, the bar door cracked open and Ellen stepped out. Éber knew it was her, her lines were like Bobby’s, but less warm. She had been through a lot, so she had gone cold; the buzz of her blood said it every time she looked at Éber, the way she was sad about Éber’s situation, but absolutely happy to see her alive. The sheer, undeserved care in that thought hurt Éber, because she didn’t know if she deserved that. Without a word, she crossed the porch, gently taking Éber by her jacket, and pulled her inside.

“Let me look at you,” Ellen mumbled, her voice thick with emotion as she guided Éber to the light. She raised her hands to cup Éber’s face but at her flinch Ellen stopped. “In one piece. Healthy. It's a damn miracle.”

“Must be nice. Getting a personal welcome from the owner,” Jo’s voice came from the right side of the bar, where the pool tables were. She was a mess of lines, and Éber was tired enough to not try to dissect the jealously in her voice.

“Not now, Joanna.” Ellen was a blur of frantic, overlapping lines in her mind. She let her hands fall down, but her head was still fixed on Éber. “When we heard about John... I was worried they'd... I'm glad you're here."

“I’m okay.”

It wasn’t very Ellen-like to display all those feelings, but her body was desperately fighting the urge to hug Éber. Almost everyone in that room knew what would happen if they touched, but Éber took a deep breath in and took her hands out of her pockets. Ellen leaned in and crushed her in a hug, like a mother that had just found her lost child, her nails digging into Éber’s back.

Jo gasped, saying something Éber didn’t registered.

Ellen was sad, and worried about the bar. She had had a few bad encounters with hunters, one of them looking at Jo in a way that made Éber stiffen. She backed away, staring at Ellen. “What his name?”

Ellen shook her head, lines frightened. “Don’t worry about it now.”

“I will find him anyway,” Éber murmured.

The silence that followed was more telling than any protest. Ellen wouldn’t stop her, because she would have done it if she could.

Dean gave a rough, guttural cough. “You called our dad, said you could help. Help with what?”

“Well,” Ellen started, turning to them. “with the demon, of course. I heard he was closing in on it.”

“Was there an article in Demon Hunters Quarterly that I missed?” Dean scoffed, sounding very upset. “I mean… who are you? How do you know this?”

Ellen raised her hands, stepping closer to Jo while responding him. “Hey, I just run a saloon. But… hunters have been known to pass through now and again.” Éber couldn’t see their faces, and reading their lines was an exhausting job. She let them talk while she walked over to the bar and took a seat. “Including your dad, a long time ago. John was like family once.”

Éber pressed her lips, tasting the shift in her tone, a subtle resentment in Ellen’s soul only she could perceive.

“Oh, yeah? How come he’s never mentioned you before?” Dean retorted.

Éber lifted her head, just enough so she could see Ellen on the other side of the bar. She was standing still, her body in and out of Éber’s sight in a mess of tangled lines. She wasn’t just worried about everything that involved the bar; she was fighting a battle against despair itself. Before she could give him an answer, Ash’s shrill voice echoed in the room.

“Well, hot damn! If it ain’t the living X-ray machine! Still seein’ all our guts and secrets, darlin’?”

A feeling of exposure prickled over her skin. Being seen was never good.

“Hey, Ash,” she muttered, clasping her hands together on the counter, embarrassed.

Sam seized on the strange comment. “X-ray machine? What does that mean?”

Ellen let out a sharp, humorless scoff. She saw the way hers and Jo’s soul leaned further, almost touching, as if they were sharing some secret. “You didn’t bother to learn how the girl your own father left you works?”

Dean, defensive and bristling, threw his hands up. “Well, ain’t like she’s big on sharing her feelings. She barely says a damn word.”

The room went cold. Ellen became a straighter, coordinated shape, as if she was preparing for a fight. Around her, her scent deepened, vanilla mixing with gun oil, dancing around the room like she was pointing to everyone that she was the boss there. Éber pressed one finger to her temple, feeling the headache coming.

“She doesn’t speak much because John ordered her not to.” Her voice was low and dangerous, humming alongside her lines in notes that chanted a war song. “She does what a Winchester orders. She can’t really share her opinions. It’s the spell he used on her. She’s your father’s little wedding present to you. A supernatural bloodhound who can’t talk back.”

The weight of it crashed down on the room. Éber bowed her head, not bothering to understand what was going on around her. She didn’t need to look, honestly. She could feel, taste the shame, the disgust, the contradiction lingering in the air. The carnal scent deepened; in such a way it was suffocating. She wanted to lean on it, because it felt inviting. The horrifying picture that had been drawn to them in the last week had finally gathered its last piece; it was screaming what a horrible guy John Winchester was.

She felt him turn to her. He emanated a hot wave of shame and contradiction, but that was all. Éber couldn’t sense much more, as if he was behind a door and she didn’t have the key to open it. But he was flooding with something, and it made her feel uneasy. When he spoke, his voice was rough but unyielding, cutting through the heavy silence. It wasn’t a request; it was permission.

“You can speak. Freely.”

Éber felt it immediately. It was like a hand clapped over her mouth being removed. Suddenly, it vanished, that magical restraint that she had been feeling over a year. She took a sharp, quiet breath, the simple act of choosing to form words feeling alien and powerful. She straightened her shoulders, not entirely free, but something in between.

“Why didn’t you ever tell us?” Dean demanded, his voice a mix of confusion and accusation.

Éber turned her head toward him. She lifted her lips, not a smile, not happy, just relieved; it was devoid of any warmth, just full of devastating truth.

“You never bothered to ask.”

Chapter Text

“You gotta be kidding. He’s no genius. He’s a Lynyrd Skynyrd roadie,” Dean was complaining about Ash while Jo was trying to convince him that Ash was, indeed, a genius.

Éber said nothing, still sitting in the same place.

Ash scoffed. “I like you.”

“Thanks,” replied Dean with mockery, walking around the counter.

“Just give him a chance,” Jo added, turning to put a beer in front of Éber. Their fingers brushed as Éber picked up the bottle and Jo hissed. “Don’t touch me.”

“All right,” Dean’s figure took a seat across the bar, facing Éber. “This stuff’s about years’ worth of our dad’s work.” He tossed something on the table, the noise expanding the sound waves created by the bottles touching the counter. “So, uh… let’s see what you make of it.”

She heard him shuffle thorough pages — the sound of paper was very specific for her to not recognize. She turned in her seat, taking the beer with her while she looked around, seeing some shadowy lines painted the bar for her. She wanted music; it had been too long since the last time she heard some music on her own. Being trapped in John’s orders made her forget the small things Bobby and Ethan had taught her. Ash’s voice helped her to picture a few more things, even if it barely formed lines beyond the bar.

“These are nonparametric statistical overviews. Cross-spectrum correlations. I mean… damn,” he let out, impressed. “The pattern is… it’s almost mathematical. This thing’s movements are freakishly precise.”

She stood in the middle of the room, staring at the jukebox appearing and disappearing in her eyes.

“It’s not math,” she said. “It’s a song.”

She felt their eyes on her and shifted, seeing how Ash leaned forward. He was always strange, and his lines were so confusing. Around his head was a tangle of fine, thorny lines; she connected it with his mind. When it was working to fast, the spikes were projected inwards.

“Go on, darlin’,” he insisted.

“You said… correlations. When things move together.” She gestured vaguely toward the papers, though she couldn’t see them. “They all hum on the same… way. It’s low. It started here…” She reached out her hand, her finger tracing an invisible line in the air, as if they were shaping something. “Then they jump here.” Her hand snapped down, moving in a pattern. “It followed a path. It doesn’t hide, it leads.”

She shook her head. The words were dancing around her, but she couldn’t pick one that was right. She felt stupid, as if she was made of mistakes. Not being able to express herself in the right way, not knowing how communication works was her worst flaw.

“It’s like people that do music. The demon is building something.”

They were all speechless. Even Jo was standing there, her shape shaking violently because she was impressed and angry about being impressed.

Sam, on the other hand, was as amazed as he was when she was driving them to the bar. “How… how could you possibly know that?”

Éber gave a small, one-shouldered shrug.

“Ash taught me patterns have shape. I can’t see, but I can feel the shapes. All of them have rhythm, you just have to pay attention.”

Ash let out a low whistle. “She’s right. Son of a bitch, she’s right. I was so busy lookin’ at the trees, I didn't see the forest was dancin’.”

Feeling dislocated, Éber wandered the room until she touched the jukebox. Her hands traced its patterns, the way plastic meet metal, how the details were carved in it. She could say out loud if she wanted that the texture was strange. She smiled, jiggling the chimes in her wrists to see the buttons. It needed quarters, so she searched her pockets.

She felt one of the shackles John had put on her finally break.

The clink of a coin entering a slot sounded next to her. She didn't need to turn; the carnal, stormy scent announced him before his voice did. “Just pick one,” Dean said, his voice low, stripped of its earlier anger. It was just tired.

Éber nodded, her finger gliding over the selection buttons. She couldn’t read the labels, but she could feel the unique mechanical whir and click that echoed as she hovered her finger over each track. She stopped at one, recognizing the specific, stuttering rhythm. She pressed the button. The rebellious chords of "Baby Turns Blue" by Virgin Prunes filled the bar — Luis favorite song.

Dean leaned against the jukebox, entering her full vision this time. “We’re staying here. Gonna follow whatever Ash founds. You… you should go back to Bobby’s.” She watched as his lines fell into an undefined shape around his head. She couldn’t read his emotions; they were hidden behind something.

“Sure,” she responded. “Don’t want to stay with you either.”

“It’s not…” he started, then sighed, shifting his position. “I just don’t want to be his jailer. So… it’s better if we go our separate ways. I’m gonna find a way to break this fucking spell.”

“Your old man gives you a binding object? A ring, a lock of hair, somethin’ physical to tie it all together?” Ash’s voice came from across the room, concerned maybe, which made Éber look in his direction.

Dean paused for a moment. “No,” he said, hesitant.

A cold dread, sharp and sudden, prickled up Éber’s spine. Her mind flashed back to Pamela as she felt a new shackle around her neck. The air went still. The music suddenly felt too loud.

As’s voice lost its casual drawl, turning grim. “Will, man… It probably means Daddy didn’t just tie himself. He tied her to the whole Winchester name. It's a primal kind of magic. There ain’t no witchy reversal for it.”

Dean’s head turned back to Éber, who had gone very still, keeping her head bowed.

“Then… then how do we get rid of it?”

“There’s only two ways out to a bond like that,” Ash said, his voice dropping. “Either all the Winchesters are dead... or she is.”

The final chord of the song seemed to hang in the silence, a brutal period at the end of Ash's sentence. The path ahead suddenly narrowed into two horrifying, impossible choices.

Chapter Text

The nightmare was always the same, even if the events leading to the climax changed. She was in that cage, imprisoned like an animal, but this time she had managed to escape. The escape route always led her to the dead plantation behind the church bluff, hidden between the village and the track that led to the opulent mansion atop the hill. No matter which direction she took, Éber always found herself in the same dried-out field, the hard ground pressing into her bruised knees. In the center of her vision, Salazar, a frail and frightened child, was burning alive amidst the fire, screaming for Éber. Though she ran, she never reached him. She watched him be reduced to a heap of ashes and cries of pain, which kept echoing through the black and cloudy sky above her. No matter how desperately she screamed for him, Salazar always died. And that was how she would wake up, gulping for air, struggling to breathe, with a heavy knot lodged deep in her throat.

Her hands searched frantically for the knife under her pillow.

She slid to the floor, plunging the knife into the sensitive skin of her wrist. As she felt the blood gush out, her breath became steady again. Pain flared across her arm and she let out a loud groan, leaning against the bed, staring at the ceiling. She couldn’t kill herself, that rule was still valid. But the pain felt real, gluing her to the present and helping Éber avoid all the memories. Footsteps outside her door made her shift her gaze to the waves coming from it. Nobody entered, though.

She made a new cut, feeling her head grow lighter. It was the closest she would come to death that night.

Éber waited until her body was shaking to stitch herself up — the wound itched when she covered it with her sleeve, burning at the touch of the fabric. She had just lain on the bed again when her phone buzzed. She turned to the side, reaching out to grab the phone on the nightstand, pressing the button and hearing Dean’s voice fill her room.

“We need to talk. Now.”

His orders’ claws sunk into her soul. “Okay,” she replied.

It took him a few seconds to speak, and Éber wondered why he called her if he was so reluctant in having her in their lives. He could just forget she existed, continue his miserable life while she struggled with hers.

“My dad,” his voice was low, like a whisper. “when he had you. Did he know something about the demon’s kids he didn’t tell us? Something you’re not telling us?”

“Why?”

“Because we just found another one. So I’m asking again. What did he know about them?”

John would ramble on about that demon and its intentions for hours. When he tortured her, she didn’t have much to do besides endure the pain and listen to his paranoic whispers. Searching her mind, she murmured to him. “He had a list. Not only names, but what they could do.”

“What they could do?” he inquired.

“All of them would come with power. It was…” Biting her lip, Éber tapped a frantic, staccato rhythm against her temple with her closed fist. “It was the blood. He said that blood made it. When they were babies, the demon gave blood to them. The power is the blood.”

Dean was still on the line for a moment. The silence stretched, awkward and heavy, leaving Éber confused if he was still there.

“You’re saying that thing put demon blood inside my brother?” His voice was shaking.

Pushing herself up with her elbows, Éber sat up straight, holding the phone between her hands. “He once said that the blood was some kind of key.”

“A key to a what? A door?”

“Yes,” she replied. “He said the kids will open it.”

The line went silent again. Éber waited for a few seconds before hanging up.

The next two weeks went without any sign of them. She spent her time doing her usual tasks — teaching Tyler, listening to Ruby whine and hunting with Ethan. The nights she came home late, she and Bobby shared a beer under the stars. She couldn’t see them, but Bobby would tell her about the ones that were visible in the sky. She had told him about Luis, and he made his own personal goal to keep the tradition to talk under the stars when her mind was spiraling into darkness. She would feel the way those moments made his shape glow, his scent deepening as his soul lingered to her as if he wanted to hold her close in his arms and cradle her.

The nightmares became more frequent; the cuts on her wrists too.

Ethan got a glimpse of them one morning, and she felt how his lines became more prominent at the top. He was mad, and wanted so much to talk about it that he brought it up all the time, in not-so-subtle ways. In an attempt to escape from his wise words, she took the Bronco and drove up to the city center, figuring she could check in on Sheriff Mills.

The Sioux Falls Police Department had a specific smell, one Éber was used to since she was first brought in by Jody Mills: stale coffee, industrial cleaner, and the faint, metallic tang of anxiety. She stood on the sidewalk for a minute longer than she should have, but it was strange how this place could clear her mind. Even from outside, she could feel the particular warm, steady hum of Sherrif Mills’s presence.

“Well, well… if it isn’t our favorite ghost whisperer.”

The voice was slick and condescending, cutting through her thoughts and bringing her eyes to meet Robert Levi. He was formed by grating, spiky lines that were always turned to poke people around him. It was impossible not to recognize him. She shoved her hands into her pockets, curling them into fists. He stood on the steps of the front stairs, gesturing the door.

“Mills is in her office,” he said, his tone implying she was too stupid to figure it out by herself. “Came to sense the vibes?” he mocked.

She didn’t respond. Biting back the words, she felt the familiar heat of humiliation spreading over her cheeks.

“Cat got your tongue? Oh wait,” he sneered, following her inside, down the hall. “That’s just the usual, isn’t it?”

She stopped, and before she could even form a retort — nearly impossible when his venom was clogging her thoughts — he stepped closer, dropping his voice to a mocking murmur. “You know, they have places for people like you. Schools. They could teach you to read Braille. Might be more useful than whatever it is you think you’re doing here.”

Éber pressed her lips together. She could hurt him with just one touch — and she thought profoundly about the bads things she wanted to put him through. But Jody’s soul stopped her; the door to her left swung open before she could take off her gloves and do something she would have to explain later.

“Levi.” Jody’s voice snapped like a whip. “Don’t you have reports to file? Or a donut to go antagonize?”

Levi straightened up, the spikes in his shape retreating, not in fear, but in disappointment, before settling back into smugness. “Just making conversation, Sherrif.”

Éber watched as he walked away. The things she would made him do were sick, but would definitely fulfill her desire for vengeance. Jody was at her side in an instant, her scent mixing gun oil and perfume.

“Hey, sweetie. Ignore him. He’s a world-class jackass,” he murmured, pulling Éber’s jacket gently. “Come on, is quieter in my office.”

Jody’s office was, in fact, quieter than the rest of the station. The clean, floral scent anchoring her against the smell of fear made Éber close her eyes for a second, enjoying the way everything fell in place in that room. Jody was methodical, but still understanding of other’s feelings.

She gestured to the chair in front of her desk while heading for her own. “Sit, sit… it’s been weeks since I last saw you, sweetie. I was worried.”

If Éber looked closely, she would feel the way Jody was expecting her to explain her absence. But she couldn’t; Jody already knew too much about her world. “I’m okay. Just working too much.”

“You be careful,” Jody said, and the command was laced with a mother’s fear. The lines of her soul reached out, not with pity, but with a fierce, protective warmth. “And I don’t just mean with the monsters. How are you, honey? Really?”

Éber shifted in her seat. Exposing her fucked up life wasn’t something she would do willingly. Éber would die before letting anyone know the horrors she went through. She just shrugged then. “All good. Keeping people safe take time,” she explained. Wetting her lips, she continued before Jody could ask her more questions. “Anything strange happening?”

Jody’s shape got even more softer, a whisper against her senses. “Alright,” although her voice softened, Éber sensed the fear behind her tone. “We’ve got three separate accounts of… things in the industrial park. All night-shift workers. Sounds like your kind of party.”

Éber nodded. “I check tonight.”

Before Jody could say another word, a jarring vibration of her cellphone cut through the room. She hoped it wasn’t Dean or Ethan; both options would mean dealing with feelings she didn’t want to face yet.

“Yeah?”

On the other side of the line, a chocked sob followed by a ragged breath came through. “Éber? God… Éber, it’s Jo.”

Chapter Text

Éber didn’t take long to prime the truth out of Ash. He was drunk enough to tell her over the phone that Jo went on an “adventure”, which meant she was out hunting alone again. The last time she did her own trip through monster land, she ended up in the hospital. Although Jo could defend herself, she wasn’t exceptional in the field.

Éber drove over twenty hours without sleeping or eating, just to get to Philadelphia as fast as she could. Jo liked those ghost stories; she had that childish desire to become the heroine of her own, and Éber knew that histories like that often ended with the heroine dead. Jo was young — maybe they had the same age, Éber would never know — and she could do so much more than become a hunter. Éber didn’t understand why she kept choosing that life instead college or whatever young girls usually did.

Maybe one day, Jo would see that it wasn’t worth it.

Ash called her not long before she told him she had arrived at Philadelphia. Joanna Beth was staying at a set of apartment buildings where girls had been disappearing over the past 80 years. A ghost that old would probably eat naïve girls like Jo for breakfast, Éber thought. She felt nervous, her head spinning with dark possibilities that she prayed silently not to happen.

Letting the city wash over her, she followed her instincts. Jo didn’t have a very remarkable scent, but it was similar to Ellen’s in one thing. She focused on that, driving south slowly, following that hint of vanilla. That was the only thing that two shared, and Éber clung to it.

The trail led her to a rough area in the South Philadelphia. A tingling in her nose made Éber feel slightly on edge. Something about the place felt off, improbable even. Leaving the car in front of what she believed to be a shared area between the buildings, she walked quickly.

She stopped abruptly when she felt the vanilla mix with moss and decomposition. Joanna had found the ghost.

She ran. Not sure where, she ran toward the scent. Her nose was itching, her lungs compressed by the awful scent, but Éber didn’t stop. She climbed a flight of stairs right before entering a hall. Cleaning products were emanating from the wet floor, and she closed her eyes, focusing. Every part of her body heard Jo calling Dean’s name.

Once she had the sound, she took the stairs again, following the trail left by the scent. Éber didn’t think much of anything, besides using all her strength to punch through the wall with her fists and wrap her arms around the waist of a screaming, hysterical Jo. Violently, she pulled Jo back, tearing a giant hole in the wall. The noise revealed a faint figure, which disappeared before Éber could act.

“Jo!” the Winchester was screaming. “JO!”

“Get off me!” Jo yelled, shaking off from Éber’s grip. “I had it under control!”

Éber let out a bitter, sharp laugh. “Control? You screaming for Dean.” She had so many things she wanted to say, but they all got stuck on her chest. Why were words so difficult? “You are not made for this!”

Her words penetrated Jo’s figure in a way that the lines went all up. Éber had seen that already, in people about to succumb to violence. “Oh, I’m not? And you are?” She pushed herself up to stand in front of Éber. “John Winchester’s perfect little weapon! Everyone pities the poor, blind girl. Bet you liked being his pet!”

Éber felt like the floor was swept from under her. A few steps away, Dean Winchester’s silhouette stiffened, and he stopped, hands hanging low in the air as if he had listened to some devastating news.

“I liked you more on John’s leash. You was quiet. You was obedient.”

It triggered her. In a flash, Éber fisted her hand in Jo’s hair and jerked her forward, turning to force her face down toward the tear on the wall, where the scent of moss and decay was strongest — the ectoplasmic residue left behind by the ghost.

“You want to hunt his way? Fine!”

She grinded Jo’s face closer to the spectral filth, despite her protests. “Smell this! The ones killed! The ones you gonna get killed. This is being a hunter. Not a story, not funny!”

Dean took a half-step forward. “Éber,” he warned. She ignored him. If he wanted to hurt her, at least she would have put some senses into Jo’s head first.

“You are stupid, and will kill you and your mother!” She pulled Jo back, leaving her standing there. She could hear her holding back a crying moan. “You want his way? You are the worst hunter I have seen. Arrogant, sloppy. You are not a hero, you are a liability,” she barked, remembering his words exactly. “And in John Winchester's world, liabilities get people killed. They get left behind.”

She stood there, waiting for a response that never came. Jo simply turned and followed the hallway, her crying getting louder each step she took. Éber wasn’t proud of it; she knew how words could hurt. But Joanna Beth would not follow her father’s path.

“She didn’t deserve it,” Dean said, but his voice was shaking.

Éber sighed loudly, turning her head to him. Still, it was like he was hidden; she couldn’t read him well, just kept catching glimpses of what he might be feeling. His lines were more prominent now; the carnal scent grew stronger as she stepped closer. Even with all her skills, Dean Winchester was a mystery.

“You can punish me,” she replied. “Do whatever you want, I don’t care. But Jo stays out of it. She is not a hunter; she deserves life. A normal life.”

His low murmur made her heart skip a beat — it was sad, in ways she knew very well. “I know.”

They both stood there for a moment, two opponents evaluating each other. For the first time, she felt they actually recognized each other as opposite ends of the same rope. Nothing more was said on the matter, but Dean sided with her when Jo announced she would help them hunt the ghost.

“I know what I’m doing.”

“I think the jury’s still out on that one,” Dean replied, taking a seat on the table. “Can you put the knife down?”

Éber stood near the door. Jo remained silent, her shape coiling inward not with shame, but with a private, humiliated grief. Lowering her eyes, Éber continued in her own head. After the show in the hallway, it was for the best.

“Okay, uh, so, it’s something else, then.” Sam cut through that awful silence, turning to Éber. “What do you think? Maybe some kind of cursed object…” he suggested.

The other two remained locked in their private standoff, so she shrugged. “You scan the whole building to find something,” she spoke slowly. “We do not have time. I can hear the cops.”

Sam’s voice twitched. “What?”

Éber was so locked in on Jo that she lost control of the world around her. She never thought she would be afraid of losing someone who harbored so much hatred for her that she would forget to check the rest. So, when she spoke, there was visible shame on her voice. “Another girl is gone. I— sorry… I forgot to pay attention.”

Chapter Text

“Theresa Ellis. Apartment 2-F,” Dean announced as soon as he opened the door. Sam and Jo were leaning over a bunch of papers while Éber stood against the wall, hands in her pockets, her words from earlier haunting him. She sounded just like his father. “Her boyfriend reported missing around dawn.”

“And her apartment?” asked Sam.

“Cracks all over the plaster, walls, ceiling. There was ectoplasm too — like in the hallway.” He glanced over his shoulder, but Éber didn’t move. Again, it felt to him that she wasn’t even breathing. When he left, she was still apologizing for forgetting to check the space — whatever it meant.

Sam sighed. “Between that and that hair, I’d say this sucker’s coming from the walls.”

“Yeah, but who is it?” Dean wondered. “Building’s history is totally clean.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Éber spoke in a low voice, approaching them. She stood a few steps away from him, staring at the map on the table. “I can find him, with the ectoplasm. It will lead me to him.”

“It’s easy like that, huh?” he drawled.

She pressed her lips together. “Sometimes.” Her head snapped to the side, as if she had heard something. “Joanna stays here. You will take care of her.”

The protest on Jo’s face rose and fell without any words coming out of her mouth. All three of them agreed that Joanna Beth would stay out of that hunt. As far as they had understood, she matched the victim’s profile. Dean’s eyes went back to Éber. “You’re sure you can handle this alone?”

“Yes, sir,” she replied.

Sam sighed. “You don’t have to talk like that, you know.”

She said nothing. Éber just walked to the door and left, leaving behind the faint smell of roses. None of them spoke for a moment, each one thinking about something different. Jo was the first one to break the complete silence by saying “She’s always bossy. I hate it.”

Dean’s eyebrows lifted in a silent sigh. “Well, better her than us, right?”

“How long have you actually known her?” Sam’s inquiring made Dean snap her head to stare at him, curious.

His brother had an indecipherable expression. Puppy eyes in place mixed with interest. Sometimes, Dean feared the fact that his brother had so much interest in the things leaving with Bobby. The piece of information Éber gave about his brother — about his blood mixed with the demon blood — only intensified that fear.

Jo shrugged, not lifting her eyes from that knife she had in her hands. “Why do you care?”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, Sammy. Why do you care?”

“I’m just trying to understand,” he explained. “She’s an… enigma.”

Jo let out a loud, exasperated grunt before she finally gave in. “I don’t know. Two years, maybe? She would only come for specific jobs. She’d show up, do the thing, and leave. It was like watching a robot. In, out, job’s done. Like… it’s creepy.”

Sam nodded, twirling the pen between his fingers. “And the way she talks? … it’s, uh…”

“Uneducated?” she finished, a hint of jealously dripping of her words. Dean couldn’t possibly understand why Joanna Beth would be jealous of a monster. “That’s because she, what mom said, grew up in the dark. No school, nothing. Bobby taught her most of what she knows. She can’t read. Has no manners. She’s basically an animal.”

She was blind, so Dean wouldn’t expect her to read anything. But she was definitely not raised in a normal environment. It wasn’t just the speaking part, but how she moved. It looked like she was always ready to run, as if something inside her was in a permanent state of alert. Crossing his arms over his chest, Dean made his one-million-dollar question.

“Did you see her with our dad?” he started. “What they, uh, looked like together?”

Since they’ve met, Jo never seemed to be the kind of girl who would back away from something. She always had something to say. However, this time Dean noticed the way her shoulders became tense; she was fidgeting on her seat. She had a few strides of blonde hair scaping the loose ponytail she was using. Her jaw was tight and she was all sharp angles and defiant energy. But her clear, blue eyes gave her away. They were kid’s eyes, wide and hurt, trying to mask anger with some attitude that only proved she was too damn young for that.

“It was… strange,” she pursed her lips. “He was different with her. Not… softer, juts focused, I guess. He was always guiding her, or… you know, touching her shoulder, her arm. Even though everyone knows she doesn’t like to be touched.” She stopped for a moment, and when she spoke again, sounded to him that she was sharing some of her deep thoughts. “It was like he was reminding her that he was there.”

Dean pulled the chair, sitting. He wasn’t stupid, nor he wanted to play this part. He had never lived with a woman, but he had his fair share in knowing them. Éber Grayson acted like a trapped animal, always waiting for the next beating. The clothes covering her body, those marks on her wrists, the way she flinched at the perspective of being touched… as if…

No. Dad wouldn’t do it.

“It’s a real loss,” Sam said, shaking his head. “For a girl so beautiful, you know… to have a life like that.”

An awkward silence fell between them. Dean blinked. “What?”

A small smile played on Sam’s lips. “Nothing. I just said she’s beautiful.”

“I heard you. Don’t be weird about it.”

“I’m not being weird,” Sam grunted. “It’s just an observation. You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

Jo snorted. “Oh, please. Even I’ve noticed.”

“Can we focus on the ghost-kidnapper thing, please?”

It didn’t matter if he had noticed that or not, Éber Grayson would still be a monster, beautiful or not. But his mind kept betraying him, as if it was triggered by Sam’s comment. Between checking his phone every five minutes and looking into the hallway every ten minutes, he grunted.

“Why don’t she like to be touched?”

He ignored the way Sam chuckled, not even bothering to look at him. Jo leaned against the table, arms crossed, a spiteful look on her face. Dean felt as if he was entering a fight unarmed and unprepared.

“She can’t control herself, that’s why.”

Dean forced a lazy grin, the kind he used when he got uncomfortable with things. “Control how? Gonna steal my wallet? My pie?” He shrugged. “Cause that I’d understand.”

“It’s not a joke, Dean,” Jo said, her voice sharp like a knife. “As far as I know, she can’t control what she sees. Like, you touch her, and she’s poking inside your mind. Always seems like she’s digging for something.”

The grin vanished from Dean’s face. It would explain the clothes and the gloves. But the image of his father unafraid to touch her made him shift his weight where he stood, annoyed by all the secrets still unanswered.

Sam, ever the analyst, leaned in. “It’s psychic feedback then? She sees… what?… memories, visions…?”

“I don’t fucking know, Sam,” Jo snapped. “All I know is you don’t touch her unless you want all your life put on display. Who knows what she does with what she finds after mind-raping you.”

Chapter Text

Their wait ended in the evening, when Éber knocked on the door covered in foul-smelling muck and a lot of bruises. Dean thought to himself how the fuck a woman that powerful could have gotten beaten by a ghost, by it didn’t take him longer to realize that she liked to be hurt. Éber didn’t provide them much of an explanation, only telling them that the problem was solved. Dean didn’t ask further — he was already feeling out of place with her hunting for them; he didn’t need a reminder of how good she was, of his lack of skills when compared to her.

They drove all night to deliver Jo safe and sound to Ellen. She refused to share the car with Éber, so she rode with Dean and Sam. Ellen received them with an eerie look on her face, neither inviting them in nor making small talk. Only Éber was allowed inside Harvelle’s Roadhouse.

When Grayson came out, Dean leaned away from the car. This time, her face held this strange expression, as if she was sad. But Dean wouldn’t know; she was always a stone-cold bitch. All he could pick from her was her hate toward the Winchesters. It was new and unsettling, which made Sam and him exchange a look.

“Jo’s alright?” he asked.

Éber stopped, lifting her head to look at the two of them. She shrugged, not saying anything else. Before he could curse, the front door of the bar swung open violently as Jo stormed out. Dean wasn’t one for dealing with chicks’ moods, but that one seemed pretty much personal, especially because of the way she glanced at him. He followed her, keeping a few steps behind to give Jo some space.

“That bad, huh?”

“Not right now,” she replied.

“What happened?” Quickening the pace, Dean held Jo by the shoulder. “Hey, talk to me—”

“Get off me!” she shouted, turning to him with her fists closed.

He thought for a second of trying to push her. But the sudden tiredness spoke louder. “Sorry. See you around,” Dean replied, irritated now.

He was almost reaching his car when Jo called him. He shifted just to look at her, getting a glimpse of the tears in her face. Suddenly, he felt like an asshole, but what was he suppose to do with that girl? She was too young to be hunting, and too old to be told what to do. His gaze found Éber before turning to Jo, speaking in a shaky voice.

“Turns out my dad had a partner on his last hunt. Funny,” she chuckled, her face turning more and more angry. “He usually worked alone. This guy did too.” She stepped closer, which allowed Dean to see the mixed feeling in her eyes. She was sad, angry, and desperately looking for something. “But… guess my father figured he could trust him. Mistake,” she cried. “The guy screwed up, got my dad killed.”

“What does this have to do—?”

“It was your father,” she barked out. Dean went still, his eyes searching for the joke in her face, but Jo was even angrier now.

“What?” he whispered.

“Why do you think John never came back? Never told you about us? Because he couldn’t look my mom in the eye after that. That’s why.”

“Jo—”

“Just get out of here.” He watched in silence as she walked away.

For a long moment, Dean just stood there. Jo’s words were drowning him as he tried to find an explanation, tried to understand why Ellen would say something like that. His father was a good hunter, he did everything to save people. God knew he’d made sure Dean would understand the consequences of his own actions so he wouldn’t let anyone die.

Sam joined him.

“I think we don’t know a lot about dad,” he whispered.

Rage grew inside him, and Dean turned on his heels. “Yeah, we don’t. But I bet I know someone who does.”

“Dean—"

He was already moving. Éber was leaning against the Bronco and she didn’t offer any resistance when he seized her by the coat lapels and shoved her violently against the car’s side.

“I’m done. I’m fucking done with your secrets!”

Éber lifted her chin. “It’s not secrets. You just have to ask.”

He growled, closing in on her until they were almost nose to nose. He wished he could get inside her mind and find out about what was wrong with that woman. She didn’t do anything, hands laying low, almost as if she would accept anything he did do to her.

“Is it true?” he inquired; Sam called him again, but Dean ignored his brother once more. “Our father killed Jo’s?”

Éber pressed her lips together. “He left him to die. John always knew it was a trap. He chose not to tell.” Again, that wave of sadness in her face made Dean feel like he was fighting that war from the wrong side. “He told me not to move. I could not help,” she murmured.

He wanted to scream. But instead, Dean gave her one final shove against the car before letting her go. He didn’t need to hear anything else, he just needed to focus. A good hunt, a warm body, and some greasy food, that’s all he needed to get back to his feet. He started the car, giving Sam a final warning. After a few seconds, Sam finally followed him. His brother didn’t dare to say a word, which lasted for a few hours. They drove in silence, each of them so deeply lost in thoughts that they both looked surprised when the exit sign flickered in the dark.

St. Louis, 2 Miles. It was only then Dean realized the sun had begun to bleed a dull grey in the horizon. He’d been in autopilot for hours, just like Sam. His brother had his face turned to the other side, as lost in his mind as Dean was on his own. He shifted in his seat, the leather cracking, as if waking from a trance. In the passenger seat, he saw Sam stir too. Dean couldn’t help to notice how awkward that felt.

Not knowing exactly where to go, Dean took the exit. It seemed to break the silence spell upon them.

“Dean,” Sam said quietly, still looking out the window. “We need to talk about it.”

He knew exactly what “it” meant, so his grip tightened around the steering wheel. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

Sam turned to look at him, his puppy eyes filled with sadness. The same sadness Dean was feeling. They both were ashamed of his father’s actions.

“You know there is.” His voice was low and earnest. “If dad let the man die… that’s not hunting. That’s… something else.”

Dean let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “As if you need any more reasons to hate the man, right?”

“This isn’t about me, Dean. Or my relationship with dad. It’s about what dad did, what… who he really was.” Dean kept his eyes glued to the road, fighting the urge to cry. He bit his tongue before he could curse, not sure why he felt like crying. “Éber was there. She’s the one person who might actually know who dad really was when we weren’t around.”

Dean shook his head. “Forget it.”

“Just talk to her,” Sam begged, his voice sounding exhausted. “You heard her — it’s not a secret, we just need to ask.”

Again, Dean fought so hard the urge to cry he almost couldn’t see the road clearly. “I’m not having some cozy little chat with her about dad’s failures, Sammy.” Turning his head, a single tear streamed down his face. He forced his voice to remain steady and controlled. “Have you considered she’d been playing us? That everything that comes out of her mouth in planned?”

Sam chuckled. “I doubt that,” he responded, looking outside the window again. “Maybe you’re afraid she’ll tell you something you don’t want to hear.”

He didn’t sleep well that night, nor the one before that. That feeling lasted longer than he thought it would, which made Dean grumpier than his normal self. Sam kept picking fights, so they always ended up spending their nights in different places. While Dean had sex with some waitress, Sam was studying a new case; if Dean was in the room, Sam was out somewhere. It lasted two weeks before Dean woke up in the middle of the night, stressed, irritated, and feeling lost, only to see Sam’s bed empty again. He cursed, sitting on the side of the bed and snatching the phone from the nightstand.

He didn’t let himself think too much into it, otherwise he’d change his mind.

“Yes?”

Grayson sounded sleepy. “You’re always awake?”

Silence fell between them. There was a lot he didn’t know about her. She let out a sigh before answering.

“It’s… a rule.”

Dean frowned, leaning back against the headboard. “What rule?”

“I have to be free.” She went silent, and Dean waited. “Available?”

“How many rules he gave you?” Dean closed his eyes as the question exited his mouth, like he could not see himself doubting his father.

Éber didn’t respond immediately. It took her quite some time to start speaking again.

“A lot,” her voice came out low and scared. “Not respond back, not hurt a Winchester, not kill myself, always win a fight…”

“But… what if you don’t have a chance of winning?” Dean asked, truly curious.

“I don’t have this option,” she spoke in a slow tone, almost like she was trying to put out each word in the sentence.

It sounded like a struggle to him, like she was fighting herself to keep talking like that. His silence might have sounded to her something different, because she apologized to him. Dean stared at the wall on the other side of the room.

“Why are you apologizing?”

“I can’t make you feel small,” she whispered. Again, she came back with other words. “Less than me.”

“He told you that?” his voice was breaking.

“Yes, sir,” she replied.

Dean clenched his jaw. “How would I know if you are lying to me?”

She sighed. “It’s a rule. I can only say the truth.”

Dean felt as if someone had unplugged him. For a long moment, he remained in silence, sharing a breathing contest through the line with Éber. He grew up in a broken family, with a dead mother, a brother to look after and a drunk dad that had an obsession. It always felt to him that love looked like that — control, sometimes violence, but sticking together even when you are hurt. Yet, all his beliefs were crumbling before him, tearing him apart while Dean resisted to believe what he was hearing.

“How was him?” he whispered, as if it was a sin asking her such question.

It took too long, which made something else break inside him. “Bad.”

“How bad?”

Éber’s voice was shaking when she murmured. “Too bad to deserve to remember.”

Chapter Text

Dean didn’t tell Sam about that call. He also didn’t know how to explain the emptiness inside him. He kept hunting, but this time, he was… broken. Nothing seemed to fill the void inside him, nothing seemed to help with the darkness growing in his head. He listened to music, had sex, ate, fought with Sam. But in the end, he was still feeling broken, like a compass that didn’t work anymore.

Sometimes, Dean would wake up in the middle of the night and stare at his phone, trying to decide if he should call her and ask more. Once he almost gave in. He let the phone ring and she picked up, but he couldn’t go further. The second time, he just kept hearing her on the other side of the line. Before he could hang up, she whispered to him “If you don’t want to know, is fine.”

That stuck with him for the next days, until a new wave of problems arose with Sam’s new visions. Dean found him panting on the floor after what he described as a vivid nightmare. An hour later, Dean was behind the wheel, driving full speed into the darkness.

“There are only two towns in the US named Rivergrove.” Sam said, staring at the GPS.

“How come you’re so sure it’s the one in Oregon?”

“There was a picture of Crater Lake,” he replied.

His face was awful, and Dean knew he had a headache and was probably a bit dizzy. Happened every time Sam had visions.

“Okay, what else?”

Sam pinched his nose. “I saw a dark room, some people, and a guy tied to a chair.”

Dean nodded. “And I ventilated him?”

“Yeah,” his brother muttered. “You thought there was something inside him,” he continued.

“What?” Dean frowned, his eyes going from Sam to the road. “A demon? Was he possessed?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, all your weirdo visions are tied to the yellow-eyed demon.” Every. Damn. Time. Dean couldn’t help but remember his father’s words each time something like that happened. It was like a curse, always following them close. “So… was there any black smoke? Did we try to exorcise him?”

Sam moved his head from side to side, as if he was trying to remember. “No, nothing. You just plugged him. That’s it. That was the vision.”

“Well, I’m sure I had a good reason,” Dean growled.

“I sure hope so,” said Sam.

All that void inside him made Dean look at his brother with anger. “What does that mean?” He waited, but not long enough for Sam to reply. “I mean, I’m not gonna waste an innocent man. I’m not a bad person.”

“I never said you would,” Sam’s voice raised as Dean’s anger took over.

“Fine!”

“Fine,” agreed Sam.

They drove in silence. Sam avoided bringing up Dean’s actions in his vision, just like Dean avoided asking anything about it. He wrote a message to Grayson, but cursed quietly when he remembered she was blind. She wouldn’t be able to read a message. Half an hour later, though, she wrote to him, telling she was on her way. Inside him, he had two different feelings. One was shame, especially because he was leaning over the idea of using her as a weapon. The other one was loathe; he hated the idea of being a mediocre hunter, having to rely on her to solve that shit.

One look over to Sam, though, and he decided that every help he could get would be put to some use.

They arrived early in the morning, two days after Sam’s first premonition — there where others, Dean was sure of that, but Sam kept it to himself. After some digging, they found out the name of the man in Sam’s weird visions: Duane Tanner. He was a young, well-loved guy, a local golden boy — which made the version of Dean in the vision look like a straight-up monster. It made him feel grumpy, particularly because he had been fighting hard that darkness inside him telling he was a bad person since his talk with Éber over the phone. The fact that he followed his father’s orders, that he tried so much to be like him, was now hunting him in unexpected ways. Part of Dean felt like he was exaggerating, and believing in Grayson was a mistake. But that other deeper and conscious part was indeed doubting all his father’s actions, particularly the ones Dean still had nightmares about.

Dean was deep inside his own head when Sam’s voice snapped him out of it.

“Hey.” Sam lifted his hand to point at a word carved in a lamppost.

“Croatoan?” he read.

The low, dead voice behind him responded. “Yeah.” They both turned to see Éber standing there, dressed in a leather jacket and that old green sweater that she always wore. Picking the words with care, she added. “Roanoke? Lost colony?”

In his head, nothing like that rang a bell. Sam was the history guy; he was there to make sure the job would be done. That was all. But judging by the way his brother was looking at him, Dean’s lack of knowledge was a big problem.

Sam sighed. “Dean, did you pay any attention in history class?”

Dean pursed his lips. “Yeah. The shot heard around the world, how bills become laws.”

Sam shook his head in disappointment. “That’s not school, Dean. That’s Schoolhouse Rock!”

“What is that?” Éber murmured, which made Dean turn his head to her.

“You kidding, right?”

Sam spoke, in an irritated tone. “Roanoke was one of the first English colonies in America, late 1500s.”

“Yeah, yeah… I remember that. The only thing they left behind was a single word carved in a tree.”

“Croatoan,” Éber murmured.

Sam smiled to her, as if he was proud of her for knowing that. “So you’ve heard of them?”

Dean frowned, not liking the way their relationship was developing.

Éber shrugged. “I heard the… biblical non-sense about it. Long time ago.” Burying her hands in her pockets, Éber wet her lips. “This place feel strange, like the air is inside a glass.” She pulled her phone out of her pocket. “No sign, also. The public telephone also don’t work.”

Dean turned to look around. People were acting like everything was normal, not a single sign of distress in their routine. The town seemed almost normal, except for that strange feeling in his gut. A word carved like that couldn’t be a good signal, especially when connected with Sam’s visions. He let out a loud groan, turning to face the other two.

“I’ll tell you one thing. If I’m gonna massacre a town, that’d be my first step.”

“We should find Daune. Now,” Sam rushed.

Dean agreed, pointing out that they would have to be prepared for the worst. He knew he would have to explain Éber’s presence later, since Sam was looking at him with curious, suggestive eyes. He let it slide for the moment, walking with Éber while explaining to her that she should keep on eye on the town. Once they were a few steps away from Sam, he murmured:

“Find out if it's that fucking demon.”

“I think so,” she replied. “I can smell smoke like the town is burning.”

“Then keep him away from Sam.”

“Yes, sir.”

Chapter Text

“You called her,” Sam pointed out. “Why?”

Dean turned left, reaching for the directions the older guy had given them. Sam was full of questions, and Dean didn’t want to answer them. Calling Éber was a moment of weakness, one he wasn’t proud about. But none of them could deny the fact that heaving someone like her taking care of the town could leave things easier for them.

“Well, dad left her for us. Why not use her?”

Sam blinked. “Okay. But why now?” Sam shifted in his place. “Two weeks ago, you couldn’t ever hear her name.”

“The situation now is different.”

“She can’t protect me from this demon, Dean,” Sam said quietly. “I know you asked her to, but she will die—”

“It’s what she wants anyway.” Dean parked the car, opening the door. “Let’s focus on one shit at time, okay?”

The place was too quiet, too still for a normal house. The trees hid the building behind a curtain of leaves, evoking a deep sense of foreboding, quiet and heavy as a burial shroud. Dean couldn’t shake off the feeling that it was a trap. The phone was not working, calling anyone was impossible. It would be them against whatever the demon had prepared. He felt more and more that Sam’s vision was a premonition of the bad things waiting for them. Dean considered if it was a way of guiding them to where the demon wanted them to go.

“Stay sharp,” Dean muttered, not taking his eyes off the house.

They walked together over to the porch. Beside him, Sam’s eyes hovered over the house as if searching for something that wasn’t there. They both looked at each other before knocking on the door. Dean ran his hands over his coat, feeling the hidden weight of his gun. Just in case, he told himself. It took at least a minute before someone answered the door. A boy, probably a teenager, stepped onto the doorstep. He was smiling with a confidence that seemed out of place. Dean glanced at Sam, but his brother didn’t seem to recognize this one.

“Yeah,” the boy greeted them.

“Hi,” Dean said, showing him one of his fake IDs. “Looking for Duane Tanner. He lives here, right?”

The boy nodded. “He is my brother.”

“Can we talk to him?”

“He’s not here right now.” A smug smile stayed fixed on his face, which was strangely unsettling.

Dean offered him a tight smile. “You know where he is?”

“Yeah,” responded the boy, looking at Sam with that same creepy smile, making him shift in his place. “He went on a fishing trip up by Roslyn Lake.”

“Your parents home?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, they’re inside,” he said, eyeing Sam in a way Dean started to feel like that boy had something wrong in him.

The boy’s father came to the door a moment later, looking very much normal, but that feeling inside Dean’s gut wasn’t going away. When the door closed, he and Sam stood on the stairs, looking to the green grass growing in front of the house,  framed by some dry flowers planted on both sides of the trail.

“Weren’t they confused about where the mother is?” Dean murmured, glancing at the house over his shoulder. Dead quiet, not in a normal way. “Kind of creepy, right? Little too Stepford?”

“Bigtime,” Sam replied. “Let’s check it out.”

Going around the house, Dean took his gun out of his coat. Peering through the windows, nothing seemed out of place, except that nobody was in sight. Sam tapped him on the shoulder and pointed toward the only open window on the side of the house. They crouched and moved forward in silence. The scene sent a chill down Dean’s spine: the two men were dripping blood onto a woman tied to a chair, smearing it across a wound on her shoulder.

The first word that came to his mind was contamination. The second was murder.

Without thinking, he kicked the door open and shot the dad. Two bullets straight into his chest sent the man collapsing over the woman onto the ground. The young boy bolted, and Dean’s next shot didn’t catch him. He jumped out the window, Sam right on his hills, while Dean rushed to the woman. She was covered in bruises, beaten heavily. A fresh cut bled on her forehead and she was crying, begging for help.

“I lost him,” Sam said, helping Dean untie the woman.

“We’ll worry about it later,” Dean responded.

Dean carried the woman to the car, Sam scanning the surroundings in case the boy doubled back. He wished he could smell the air like Éber. He wondered if it would have helped him to notice earlier that there was something wrong with those two. Part of him was scared, Dean didn’t want to stay in that town. But he knew he had a job, and Winchesters don’t run from trouble. They run toward it.

They drove in silence, with only the moaning pain of that woman in their ears. Dean was concerned about a lot of things, but specifically about the shared blood. Sam kept saying words of assurance, as if it would make her less afraid of what she had just gone through.

Dean parked in front of the clinic, the only place in that town that had a doctor. While Sam got the woman inside, Dean went through his things to gather ammo, salt and holy water — along with anything else he could possibly think of.

There was no sign of Éber, and the phone wasn’t working. He needed to figure out what was going on, fast, especially if it was really related to that demon. In that case, the best thing to do was get Sam out of town. One look around, Dean felt that feeling of dread again, cold and familiar. The town was quiet; no people on the streets, no cars, no kids playing in the playground, nothing. The sound of nothing was too loud.

Inside the clinic, he followed the voices.

“Wait, you said Jake helped him?” Dean stopped on the doorstep as he saw the old woman being stitched by the doctor. With them, Sam and another girl, dressed in pink hospital clothes. “Your son, Jake?”

It took her a moment, but her voice came out shaking and crying. “They beat me.” She looked over to the doctor, then Sam. “Tied me up.”

“I don’t believe it,” murmured the blond girl in pink.

“Pam,” the doctor cut in, her tone warning. “Beverly, you have any idea why they would act this way?” Dean had a pretty good idea, but he kept his mouth shut. “Any history of chemical dependency?”

“No, of course not,” the old lady rushed to deny. “I don’t know why,” she cried out. “One minute, they were my husband and son… and the next, they had the devil in them.”

Dean didn’t need to hear anything else. The signs were there, it was too obvious. He left the room, walking down the hallway into the reception. His mind was racing, trying to conceive a plan good enough to keep his brother and those people safe. Every time, though, he came to only one conclusion: Sam needs to leave. His father’s words still haunted him, and Dean was walking on a thin line there. Sam followed him, standing a few steps behind him, looking awfully concerned.

“Those guys,” Dean started. “They were wacked out of their gourds.”

Sam nodded, his eyes scanning the empty reception area before turning to Dean. “What do you think?” he murmured. “Multiple demons? Mass possession?”

“If it’s a possession, there could be more,” Dean said, imagining a town full of demons. It was impossible for two hunters to fight them all. “God knows how many. It could be like a frigging Shriner convention.”

“Great.”

Dean sighed. “That’s one way to wipe out a town. Take it from the inside.”

“I don’t know, man,” Sam pinched his nose, as if he was trying to summon something inside him. “We didn’t see the usual signs. Don’t think that’s just it.”

“Well, whatever,” Dean retorted, wandering around the room. “Y’know, if you’d taken the other one, there’d be one less to worry about,” he growled, irritated.

He wasn’t mad at Sam, not really. But that situation was bad, and the fact that Sam kept having some feeling about things was getting on Dean’s nerves. Deep down, even though he didn’t want to admit it, he was afraid that Sam was indeed a monster, and that’s why he kept feeling sorry for them.

“I’m sorry, alright? I hesitated, Dean,” Sam turned to face him, annoyed, his eyes darkening with the thought. “It was a kid.”

“No, it was an it.” Dean stated. Sam narrowed his eyes, a flicker of something unfamiliar in his gaze. “Not the best time for a bleeding heart, Sam.”

Sam, for some reason, chose not to fight. Dr. Lee — a blonde woman with hazel eyes and an unnerving calm in her voice — asked them a bunch of questions to which Dean had no answers. Peering through the windows, the city was now covered in a low, strange fog. The empty streets showed no signs of life, another thing that was getting on Dean’s nerves. Cursing under his breath, he turned to Sam.

“I’ll look for Grayson, see if I can find her.”

“It,” Sam corrected him, ironically. “She’s an it, right?”

Dean clenched his jaw. “Yeah, right. It,” he muttered, but the word felt like ash in his mouth.

Chapter Text

Éber never thought about the day she would see Luis again. She dreamed about it of course, but never thought it would happen. Her heart stammered as Luis stepped into her line of sight. He still had that roguish look in his lines, just like she remembered, but the years had honed it, sanding down the reckless youth into something more weathered and deliberate. His shape was now not that inviting, and his scent had turned into something familiar, but scary. His lines were denser, outlining a form bigger and more solid than she remembered. Éber approached him with light steps, standing behind the cars while listening.

“Listen, Krauser, I’ve told you, this work requires patience,” Luis sighed, his tone weary. “We can’t just go out… hunting blindly in the dark.”

Krauser’s low, threatening voice dripped with the contempt he held for the subjects.

“And you call this patience?” The scoffing laugh, long since embedded in Éber’s memory, made her clench her fists. “That girl should have been with us from the moment she began to show results.”

“She’s… just a girl, compañero,” said Luis, his tone hesitant. Éber couldn’t tell if it was remorse or indifference. She felt she should hate him, but they had been through so much together that she wanted to demand answers. “In the end, children always… are. But at least now we know she is the key.”

“Save your sentimentality, tovarisch,” Krauser grunted, using the Russian word for ‘comrade’ with clear derision. “Saddler wants her now. So when I say now, it means now.”

Éber still remembered the way Luis’ shape looked when he was angry — sharp, straight and very threatening. It was a reminder that while Krauser may have trained them, they would surpass him eventually.

“Friend, huh?” he muttered, without any humor. “We wouldn’t be friends even if we needed each other to survive. And even then, she only comes with us when I’m sure she knows.”

Knows what? The question terrified her. She knew so little about them that she had never questioned the gaps in Luis’s actions. Éber had been so focused on keeping Salazar alive that she had ignored everything else around her. Her world was horrifying; she just didn’t want that boy’s world to be, too.

“Enough talk, Luis,” Krauser replied, sounding more threatening this time. “The girl is an experiment, not a friend.”

Éber’s stomach sank, and she opened and closed her hands in despair. An experiment?

“Yes, of course,” Luis seemed distant, moving out of Éber’s line of sight. “You’re in charge, aren’t you? But remember, amigo: without haste is better than without results.”

Lowering herself to the ground, Éber thought of what she knew. Sam had a vision about that city — Dean hadn’t specified what he had seen, and she didn’t ask anything else. The smoky scent around town was too strong to be ignored, which she imagined was tied to the Winchester. The presence of Croatoan was unsettling, though. It had a specific, greasy feel to its scent, one she had learned to associate with Saddler's work. Éber felt the urge to run after Luis, to scream his name… to demand that he tell her that everything she remembered wasn’t just a lie. She could feel the burning sensation of crying in her throat. But she kept quiet, frozen and silent, because her instincts were screaming that the danger had not yet passed.

She stiffened and flinched when the blade of a knife shot through her leg, sending a wave of pain through her body. “There you are.” Krauser’s voice was a low growl, cutting through the silence of that already dead town. “Did you really think you could hide from me?”

Éber moved just in time to not be hit by another blade. With a burst of force, she sent the car a few meters in his direction, activating its alarm. The sound waves showed her the place — an empty street full of houses and cars, a few trash bins and Krauser, standing in the middle of the street. She heard his hysterical laugh as he circled her.

“Is that all?” he taunted. “I expected more. Show me.”

He lunged very fast, his lines almost like a blur. She noticed that he moved in a pattern, one she had seen before. Her muscle memory made her counter his blow, deflecting the blade with a quick movement. It allowed her to put some distance between them. The cacophony of noise painted the entire scene for her, which made her smirk.

“So arrogant,” she gritted through her teeth.

She never advanced, always letting him take the initiative. Krauser had a common habit when using a knife, always leaving an opening on his left side, even when he launched a kick. Éber had learned to deal with monsters that were highly resistant to her blows, forcing her to channel her power into her limbs whenever she attacked them. So she dodged the knife, planting her hands on the floor and lifting her legs, hitting him in the chest and landing back on her heels. His lines flickered. She frowned; they had never flickered before.

“Good. But strength alone won't save you.” He pressed his attack, his voice cold and analytical. “You couldn't save that boy, Salazar. What makes you think you can save yourself?”

Éber knew he was provoking her. Krauser fought dirty, he always had. No sane person threatens children with their fears to make them improve their skills; no one with a heart in the right place would tie a girl in a well and leave her there for days to be eaten by worms. Each memory was a flood of pain, but she held her ground. When he attacked, Éber retreated, always on the defense. Krauser wasn't fighting for real; he didn't want her dead. He wanted to test her, and that was very understandable, if she was indeed an experiment.

“Don't look to Luis for help. When it matters, he follows orders. Just like always.”

“I don’t care”, she said flatly.

Krauser lunged, looking for an opening. She knew how his mind worked, alternating between defense and offense in equal measure. His strikes were always very precise, but Éber had kept up her training. He might not have been around, but her mind was a living recording of the past. She remembered every detail. She dodged the blade attacks, spinning on her heels and hitting the side of her boot against his face. When Krauser staggered, she struck him in the chest, throwing him backward. Gathering the remnants of her strength, Éber slammed her hands against him and focused all her power in her hands, one move that seemed to drain the strength from her arms and pull at her bones.

Krauser was thrown back, his lines flickering and disappearing as he crashed through the cement bricks of the nearest house. Éber didn't lower her hands until part of the wall had collapsed and the bricks lay on the floor. Only when her instincts finally calmed did she allow herself to kneel and bend over, spitting blood onto the ground. She didn't know what kind of limit she had hit, but she knew it couldn't be good. The world swam out of focus, a nauseating swirl of heat lines and echoing silence, broken only by the alarm that kept drawing the collapsed house where Krauser was supposed to be.

Her body was shivering so hard she thought she would collapse. Then, a new set of footsteps echoed in the ruined street. Not in the heavy, confident way of Krauser returning to finish his job. As she turned, the shape was… strangely familiar. An old, dusty memory surfaced as she recognized those lines. His voice was a voice she hadn’t heard in over a decade, maybe more.

“Éber?”

Her breath hitched. That voice. It belonged to a ghost, a memory of kindness in a childhood of horror.

Slowly, she forced herself to draw him in her mind. He didn’t have a face, but he had this steady aura, in older, harder lines, weighed down by a lifetime of fighting. But the core was the same.

The man from the bad place. The one who had tried to help.

Leon Kennedy knelt before her, his movements careful and non-threatening. He didn’t reach for a weapon. He didn’t try to touch her. He just looked at her, the shape of his head so calm, so peaceful that Éber started to cry.

“I told you I’d come back for you,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “I’m sorry it took so long.”

Chapter Text

Her world was a blur of pain and exhaustion. She was walking, but barely. Leon tried to put his arms around her, offered to carry her, but Éber refused. She couldn’t take any touch right now; everything was already too much. He slowed down when her steps became more unsteady, but said nothing. She always thought he was a dream, something she’d invented just to feel like there was someone out there looking for her.

He had a low voice, something between reality and hallucination.

“Just keep walking. You’re safe now.” He paused. The professional in him remained calm, but the concern in his tone was purely personal. “Are you hurt? Beyond… all of that? Beyond the fight, the blood dripping from her leg.

Her voice was nothing more than a whisper. “I’m okay.” Pressing her lips together, she continued, sounding embarrassed. “I waited. I thought I dream about you.” It was a simple confession, but it held years of loneliness.

“You didn’t dream me, Éber. I was real. I am real,” he said in a gentle, pained tone. “And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry it took me this long to find you.”

She shook her head. His apologies weren’t necessary, it wasn’t his job to save her. He was engraved in her mind because of the way he treated her and Salazar when Saddler left them to die in that city. She remembered him much younger than now, just like her. She was a kid, afraid of the dead coming back to life. Éber was still figuring out how her powers worked in that time, all while taking care of Salazar, and he had helped them despite knowing she was the same thing as that monster following them. Leon called him X subject, along with the other one, which years later they named nemesis. She was one of them.

“You know this is him, right?” Leon’s voice cut through her thoughts, bringing her back to the present. “He’s perfected the virus. Some say he calls it Las Plagas.”

Éber nodded. “Like before. It’s like a worm.”

“Exactly,” he agreed. “But now it has faster conversion, total obedience. It’s like a hive.”

Éber knew that word. It was always in his sermons, how they needed to be a hive instead of independent organisms. “It’s like that for some time now,” she explained, quickening her steps as the wound in her leg started to heal. “He said a lot of things about being united. Being one. All of us.”

Leon let out a curse, as they both stood on the sidewalk. Éber couldn’t say where they were, since there were no noises around to guide her well.

 “This is an assimilation. And as far as I understand, the fog is the carrier. I believe you know how this works.”

Éber shook her head. “But the fog have no smell. The air is… wrong. Like the lab, but it’s not the fog.”

Leon fell silent. She could hear his blood thundering in her ears, rushing as if he was already running. She didn’t remember well how it was back then, but sure it wasn’t so urgent as he sounded now. “When did they left you here?” he asked. “How long have you been in town?” The lines in his head started to jump, pulsing uncontrollably. “We need to move faster, before they notice you’re gone.”

“It’s not like that,” she murmured, moving again. Something she learned is that you have to plan things while moving. “I left many years ago.”

The professional posture in his lines froze, replaced by a dawning, horrible understanding. There was a bit of relieve also, but he was mostly afraid. “Many… Éber, look at me.” His voice was dangerously soft. “You’ve been free all this time?”

Although she couldn’t explain to him because of the rules, Éber shook her head. “Not free exactly”

“Not…” his voice trailed off as if he was trying to picture everything together. Éber knew that having a master was a complicated concept for people. It’s not normal to have a master. Either you are free, or you are not. So she avoided diving too much in it. “You escaped him once.” He started, sad now, his figure crumbling around her in pain. “And now, of all places, this town goes dark right when you show up? That’s not a coincidence.”

She didn’t think much of it until she heard Luis and Krauser. That’s when she started to suspect that, maybe, it wasn’t just about Sam. How could it be connected? Would Saddler be working with demons? She raised her eyes. “It’s a bait?”

“Maybe.” She turned her head to the sound of a sharp click. The wave was minimal, but enough for her to see him unholstering his gun. “I took this job to find you. I just— I knew,” he explained. “I’m gonna take you out of here before Saddler can get to you.”

“I can’t,” Éber murmured, hopes dropping below her feet, dying as she thought about her fate. “I… have to protect someone.”

She saw it, the way he became mad at her words. Not at her, because his lines were still trying to lean over her in a protective way. He sucked in a breath, but before any word could come out of his mouth, the screech of tires on the asphalt cut through the tension. Leon’s reaction was instantaneous. His body shifted, placing himself between Éber and the way the sound was coming from. The gun hanging low before was now pointed at the new threat. His lines, for Éber’s senses, were a sudden, violent burst of protective aggression.

“Fuck, Grayson,” Dean’s voice came from in front of her, where the car stopped and the sound waves started to disappear. “Where the hell have you been?”

Leon’s voice was low and deadly calm, directed to her. “Who is this?” A flicker of painful hope appeared in his voice after his lines shake. “Salazar?”

Éber swallowed hard. She wished, but reality was much more —so much more— unkind to her. “This is Dean. He is my master,” she explained.

The word hung in the air, toxic and suffocating. She watched as his professional composure shattered. Leon turned fully in Dean’s direction, spitting the words in anger. “Your what?”

“Who the hell is this guy?” Dean’s figure was standing outside the car, but Éber could only hear his blood running. There weren’t enough noises for her to draw that scene in her head.

Leon ignored him. “I find you after ten years, and you’re telling me you traded one cage for another? That you serve him?”

“Whoa, hold on. Serve? What is this, middle ages?” Dean argued, angry. “Don’t know what she told you, but I ain’t the bad guy here, man.”

Stepping between them, Éber raised her hands, putting some distance between the two of them. “Stop. It’s complicated. I have rules—”

“Rules?” Cutting her off, Leon directed his anger to Dean once more. “You gave her rules? What are you, some kind of cult leader?”

Dean stepped forward and Éber saw herself trapped between them. Her aching body complained, but she held her ground, standing there like a wall between two barking dogs. “Listen up, you son of a bitch. I don’t know who you are and I don’t care. But you better stop pissing me off.”

The two men stood almost chest-to-chest. “I’ve put down monsters for less,” Leon hissed.

From Leon, she could read perfectly what he was feeling. Dean was a manipulative abuser who had twisted his victim. But Dean was impossible to read. She tried to reach for that strange line in his feature, but it led her to an emptiness where her senses only picked up that carnal scent. But she had an idea of what the violence in his posture meant, so she pushed both of them away, avoiding too much touching.

It was in that perfect, heated silence, as they were ready to tear each other apart, that a new, chilling sound echoed down the street.

A slow, mocking clap.

Éber didn’t need to turn. She knew who it was. The smell of rotten flesh punched her senses and she felt her knees tremble. His lines glowed with a sinister, unnatural light. His voice was smooth as oil, and it froze the blood in Éber’s veins.

“How touching. A family reunion. The prodigal daughter, her loyal knight… and her new owner,” Saddler mocked, his steps stomping in her head like hell’s bells. “It seems we have a custody dispute here, don’t we?”

Chapter Text

Suddenly, she was nine years old, screaming on the top of her lungs for someone to help her. Death was upon them, and Saddler was the messenger. An old fear crawled inside her, thick and syrupy, flooding her veins, locking her joints. Éber was a statue trapped in a memory — a vivid, terrifying memory.

“Run,” Leon whispered, his lines pulled taut with urgency.

But she didn’t move. Osmund Saddler’s presence was a physical weight on her, stealing the air from her lungs. She couldn’t see him, but she felt him so close she started to shiver again. He was always the dark presence in a room, and even though she was blind, he always made sure she could find him in the dark. Because he liked the way he made her scared. He felt power in the control he held over her.

Leon’s voice cut through her fear again, sharp and direct. “Get her out of here. Don’t let him get to her.”

Then, Dean’s hand was on her elbow. Not a rough grab, but a firm, grounding pressure. “Who’s the creepo?” His tone was different this time, lower, flatter.

Saddler’s smile widened — she heard the way his dead skin stretched. A low, terrified whine escaped her throat before she could stop it, a sound she hadn’t made since she was a child in a cage.

That’s when Dean’s touch changed.

His grip in her elbow shifted. He wasn’t just trying to pull her anymore; he was anchoring her. She lowered her eyes to the place she thought he was touching her, feeling… alive, light; she felt not violated, nor was she violating him. His scent accentuated and that carnal smell turned into something familiar, warm, like a hug in the middle of a rainstorm. She felt the vibration of his blood, the way his muscles were coiling to spring. He listened to him took a half-step, positioning himself between her and Saddler’s voice.

“My perfect child.” Saddler let out a saccharine, possessive whisper. “I felt your presence the moment you entered my garden,” he sibilated, his voice reaching Éber’s ears like a grenade. “Why do you hide behind these… flawed creatures? You are sacred. You are meant for a divine purpose.”

She forced herself to stare at where the wave of decay was coming from. His voice carried a latent obsession, which seemed to be slowly awakening. He was seeing her again for the first time, mesmerized by how she turned out. She wasn’t made for some divine purpose, but to fulfill his delusions about what the world should became.

“Don’t listen,” Leon muttered. “Ignore him.”

Dean’s grip tightened, his fingers digging in her skin. “Divine purpose? A garden… what garden?” he hissed in a frustrated voice. “Someone start making sense!”

“Silence. This is between a father and his progeny.” Saddler’s tone was dismissive, and Éber knew he was irritated to have to acknowledge the presence of such inconveniences as normal humans. “Your blood is the key to our ascension, child. Our mutual friend ensured his vessel would be here. Imagine,” he laughed, clapping again. “Imagine all the possibilities!”

She felt the lock around her throat, as if she was being chained to something. She knew it was fear, but she pushed against it, trying to make her head work. She could feel them — all of them — coming, reuniting with their leader.

“They are coming. All of them,” she said.

Saddler’s voice thundered around them. “To witness your return, my child.”

“Get her out of here! Now!” Leon’s voice was not a request. It was a crack of lightning crossing her vision. The sound carved the air into a before and an after.

The outline of his shape, which had been steady and protective, suddenly turned into spikes, pointing away from her, toward the decaying presence of Saddler.

A sound ripped from her throat — raw, guttural, more animal than human. Her hands came up, trying to reach the fading image of Leon, but encountered the hard leather of a jacket, pushing against an unmovable wall. She needed to get to Leon, she needed to keep him safe. She couldn’t bare another death in her name, another life taken because of her.

“No—! He’ll die! He’ll die!” She kept screaming, but she felt small, trapped in the space between two arms.

Dean’s touch transformed again. From anchoring her to chaining her to him, yanking her backward. Her boots skidded on the asphalt, the world shrinking into a black space. The warm map of Leon’s form was replaced by the violent, carnal scent of Dean. He didn’t argue when she fought, just kept pushing her back. A metallic screech assaulted her ears when he opened his car’s door. She tried to shove him aside, but he held her in his arms, whispering close into her ear.

“Get in the car, Grayson. Now.”

The order flowed through her, even though she was panicking. Her body went numb and she fell into the car’s interior, the smell of old leather and gun oil softening the scent of death. The slam of the door sounded like a guillotine. She was crying, sobbing loudly as the closed door severed her from Leon. In one moment, he was a beacon of hope. The next, there was nothing. A void. A silence in a sense only she possessed.

The engine roared to life. The car peeled away, the force pressing her against the seat. The sobs became more and more violent with the distance. Her senses were a hurricane of loss. She was sure she would come back for his dead body, and she could not take it.

“Breathe, Grayson. Just fucking breathe.” Dean’s voice was close, cutting through the storm in her head. “It’s gonna be okay… gonna figure this out. Just hold on…” he murmured, but Éber knew they were empty words. Still, his voice grounded her in the present.

Chapter Text

Éber sat in a catatonic silence for hours.

She chose to remain in the dark, shielding herself from any noise that could draw that place in her head. She just didn’t want to see it, the pain, the fear, the bodies. She heard voices round her, someone offered to check her wounds. She just didn’t respond. Part of her was grateful that Dean didn’t make her talk, he just left her there alone, checking on her from time to time. Although she couldn’t see him, the scent always gave him away.

She imagined it was late when Sam’s voice cut through the fog in her head.

“But… I mean, who knows how far this thing can spread.”

She sighed. “Far.” She felt them go still, in complete silence. “They call it virus. It’s in the blood. Saddler made it that way.”

“Made what that way?” Dean’s voice was closer, softer, but he didn’t sound angry, just tired.

She felt like he was speaking with a spooked animal — she was the spooked animal. “The… obedience.” Éber closed her eyes, struggling with the words. Her breath itched again as she tried to rush her mind to find the right way to explain it.

Dean sighed. “Just… take your time.”

“Right,” she murmured, focusing on the sensation of her body touching the chair, her feet on the ground, familiar noises that could keep her in the present. “That… thing, he is Saddler. He is not a man,” Éber began in slow, deliberated words, searching for each one in her head so she wouldn’t sound stupid. “He is a parasite. He has a parasite, one… one made many years ago.” Pressing her temples, she avoided looking too much at her memories, focusing exclusively on the information. “It’s to control people, to make them obedient. It’s—ugh!”

Éber stood up, rubbing her face while roaming around the room.

“It’s okay,” Sam said, his voice a quiet rumble.

“No, it’s not!” she shot, turning to where the sound came from. “Why words are so hard?”

“Maybe because the stuff you’re talking about is hell,” Dean grunted, his voice flat and matter-of-fact. “Just, don’t know, give us the pieces. We’re good at putting ‘em together.”

She stopped, taking a sharp breath. “Pieces. I can do that.” Moving her hands, she shaped what she was trying to say. They wouldn’t be able to see nothing besides this crazy woman gesturing, but for her, it would allow her to put those words in a sentence. “He have a cult. He calls himself prophet,” she started. “He make people… like, one mind, many bodies. A hive. All for one.”

“A hive?” Sam whispered, his tone shifting into a research-driven cadence.

“Yes. This virus takes your free will. It’s easy to use a body like that,” she explained, swallowing hard at the thought of herself fighting the thing inside her. It seemed impossible to win until she did, and she only did so because she was strong, she knew that. A normal human would be consumed.

Sam’s voice was full of confusion. “But why this town?”

She shook her head. “Don’t know. His old town was small, not like this.”

“His… old town?” Dean questioned.

“Where I grew up,” Éber explained, not digging deeper in her mind. “It worked like a lab. He isolated, tested. Maybe it’s the same here.”

Dean let out a loud, humorless laugh. “Of course we’re lab rats.”

“But there is this thing,” Éber murmured, crossing her arms with the sudden cold. “He said his mutual friend brought a vessel. And the town smells like smoke.” She closed her eyes. “Imagine all the possibilities.”

“Mutual friend?” Sam echoed.

Éber stared at the fading lines of Sam Winchester, picking the fear in the way they disappeared in the dark. “I think is your demon.”

“So,” Dean began. “We’re dealing with a demonic virus?”

“Yeah, more like a demonic germ warfare,” Sam muttered. “Not sure what we can do about it.”

“Well, our little dog here has a friend out there. He seemed pretty informed about this thing.” Dean stood in front of her, his blood warm in anger and something else. “Care to explain who is he, Grayson?”

She shrugged. “Old friend. He helped me when they tested me the first time.”

Although it was impossible to know what Dean was feeling, Sam was an open book. He was scared about her, about was she was saying. The more she spoke about her past, the more he seemed to pity her life. And if there was something Éber hated was pity.

“So… you have this?” Sam inquired.

She straightened her shoulders. “I belong to myself. And to you,” she added in disgust. “But I’m not like them. And they will not have me.” Turning her head, she faced the heat coming from Dean’s blood. “Leon is my friend, and he will die. I’ll go after him, even if you punish me.”

She expected a fight, or maybe a command to shut down, to be silent. John usually hit her before turning her into a puppet. If she thought too much into it, she could still feel his hands touching places they weren’t supposed to. Instead, the floorboard creaked under Dean’s weight as he took a single step closer. The scent — carnal, poetic, enigmatic, suffocating — consumed her senses.

“Your friend,” Dean muttered, the word twisted with skepticism. “Before we left, he told me not to let that thing get near you.” His voice was low, a private, gruff thing meant only for her. “So, I wonder, since you’re so big on explanations right now. Why? What happens if he gets to you?”

It wasn’t concern in his voice, a fact the rush in his blood outlined so clearly for her. It was a question of a man sizing up a weapon. Beneath that, though, there was his heart in a rampant beat against the controlled tone of his voice. He was agitated, but Éber didn’t know if it was really anger. It was something more coiled.

He leaned in slightly, and the scent seemed overwhelming. “I mean… what’s so special about you that the guy begged me to keep you away from the main event?”

She felt the pull of their bond, ready to force the words from her even as she fought them. He wasn’t just questioning what Saddler wanted, but also what Leon saw in her. Nothing new, Éber was well aware of that. Dean was always questioning why people liked her, as if it was a sin to even think of her as a human being.

“Officers!” A frantic shout erupted from somewhere to her left. “You need to see this,” said a woman full of concern.

Dean pulled back as if burned. The heat of him vanished, but the scent remained around Éber. “We’re not done here,” he muttered, the words a low promise — or a threat, she wasn’t sure.

Éber stood there for a moment, calming her mind as she heard two shaking voices growing louder. Around her, she felt the night coming, and the horrors it could bring were terrifying. Leon was out there, somewhere, fighting things that were meant for her. If she was assuming correctly and the Yellow-Eyed Demon was working with Saddler, Sam shouldn’t stay in that place. Shaking her wrists, she walked to the windows, standing there for a moment and closing her eyes.

Once, she was able to control them too. Éber never knew how she did that, but she managed to keep them away from Salazar. It was a cold night, and snow was gathering around them. They were starving, freezing, alone; the village was the only place where she could find shelter and food. But it was full of his creations. And she controlled them.

Then, maybe, she could try it again.

“I’m like them, right?” Sam whispered right beside her, making Éber slightly jump.

She turned her head to him. “Yes,” she confessed.

“That’s why the bond doesn’t work between you and me.” It wasn’t a question.

Éber nodded. “I think is too much blood from the demon.”

He was sad. The smoke became stronger as she felt the sadness in his veins. “I’m sorry for this,” he said after a long moment in complete silence. “Never thought my dad would, you know, chain someone like this.”

Éber didn’t respond. There wasn’t anything she could say that could change the past, or the future.

“If I’m the vessel… does that mean they see something in you and me?”

She was afraid of that, to be seen like something made to carry the distorted hopes Saddler had about a new beginning. “I hope not,” she simply said. “You should leave.” When Sam sighed, she grunted. “I mean, the town. You should leave.”

“How about you?”

This time, even she could hear the relief in her own voice. “Dying would solve things.”

Chapter Text

No calls.

We left her there.

It was past 4PM and there were no calls. It had been two days, and Éber Grayson was still missing. Dean was sitting on the hood of the Impala, watching the lake in complete silence while Sam was asleep in the back seat. He looked at the screen of his phone again, dialing her number just to be sent straight to voice mail. Again. He shouldn’t have left, but he did it anyway. Dean told himself he was worried about the civilians they couldn’t take with them. But he wasn’t, not really. He only cared about Sam’s safety and Éber had provided it for him.

He could still picture her, standing in the middle of the street while he watched her from the rearview mirror. Black clothes, dark sunglasses, a serious expression. She looked more like a soldier than he would ever be and the sight both pained and infuriated him. He would do anything to just forget about her, to really see her as something they were using. He cursed at Sam for softening him.

It took one more hour until Sam stirred in the back seat, the rustle of his jacket against the leather of the seat. Dean didn’t turn, his gaze still fixed on the other side of the lake, where a group of women was doing some yoga. If he focused enough in those asses, maybe he could forget those thoughts. The car’s door swung open as Sam stood up, stretching himself after hours in the same position.

“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty,” Dean joked, trying to fall in their normal rhythm, but his voice was devoid of the usual warmth.

There was a long pause and Dean could feel his brother’s eyes on him, that hyper-observant stare.

“Dean.”

“Don’t,” Dean cut him off, finally tearing his eyes from the lake to glance at the phone one more time. “Just… don’t, Sam.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he murmured.

“You don’t have to.” He could feel the guilt in Sam since they left town; it was mirroring his own feelings, just louder. Sam always felt things so damn big, and it was getting to him now.

Sam sighed, the sound heavy with exhaustion and something else. Dean recognized it as remorse, because he was feeling it too. “We just… we shouldn’t have left her there. Not alone.”

“There was a horde of infected people after you, and a cult leader looking for her. We saved who we could. There was no choice.” He repeated it again, but this time out loud, hoping that those words would sink in. They didn’t, not really.

It took Sam a moment to respond, as he sat on the hood of the car with his brother and stared with indifference at the same ladies Dean was so interested on. “Whatever weight you’re carrying, let me help a bit.”

Dean chuckled. “I can’t. I promised.”

“Who?”

“Dad.”

Sam frowned. “What are you talking about?”

The alternative was lying, and Dean was tired of lying to his brother. Keeping secrets was exhausting. It took him a few weeks to tell Sam about the demon blood, which led to a fight. This would too, but it would be easier after. Dean hoped so. “Right before dad die… he, uh, told me something about you. He said that he…” Feeling his hands shaking, Dean shoved them in his jacket’s pockets. “He wanted me to watch out for you. He said that I had to save you. And if I couldn’t, I’d—” Dean took in a deep breath. “I’d have to kill you.”

Sam’s breath hitched, his voice growing louder. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He stood, taking a few steps away from Dean. “Am I supposed to go dark side? How could you not have told me?”

“Because dad asked me”

“Who cares?” Sam yelled back. “You had no right to keep this from me!”

Dean growled, standing up too. “You think I wanted this? The secret, her… huh? I wish to God he’d never opened his mouth!” Pointing at Sam now, Dean poured his heart into his brother. “That I wouldn’t have to walk around with all of this screaming in my head all day! That I wouldn’t have to be here, fucking losing my mind over that stupid woman!”

Sam took a few steps back, rubbing his face and breathing loudly. All signs that he was pissed off. Dean figured things would end that way, he never expected that Sam would take news like that with a smile. But fuck him if he thought Dean would accept being blamed for everything. His father was the one to blame, he was the bad guy. The thought crossed his mind and Dean froze, swallowing hard with the realization that washed upon him. He shook his head, trying to get rid of that feeling, but it had already sunk its claws in him.

“We just gotta figure out what’s going on then, what the hell all this means,” Sam said, cutting through Dean’s fears and reaching a new level of concern.

Dean turned to him. “Do we? Why don’t we just lay low?” he suggested. “I mean… at least for a while. Be safer. And that way I can make sure—”

“What? That I don’t turn evil?” Sam teased, his face twisted in an expression of disgust and mockery. “That I don’t turn into some kind of killer?”

“I never said that,” Dean hissed.

“You didn’t need to, Dean.” Dean would not apologize for trying to protect his little brother, but damn, the hurt in Sam’s voice wasn’t something easy to hear. “You’re not careful, you’ll have to start treating me the same way you treat Éber, right?”

“I would never do that!” Dean’s angry reply echoed around them, making some heads turn to face them. “You’re my brother and this whole thing is spinning out of control. It was you or her, and I’ll always choose you!” Sam turned away from him, making Dean feel this terrible thing inside his chest. “You’re pissed at me and I get it. That’s fine. I deserve it. But let’s lay low. Let’s figure this thing out first. Please, Sammy, please. I’m begging you.”

Although Sam quietly agreed, Dean found out that night that his words meant nothing. Sitting alone in his room, he tried every fucking hunter he knew, but nobody had heard from Sam. He had vanished in thin air, smart as he was, hiding himself from Dean. All he had left behind was a note saying ‘don’t bother looking for me’, which only pissed Dean even more. Like it was that easy to just switch off that part of him.

He sat on the edge of the bed, calling Sam once more. Voicemail. He tried again. Voicemail. Again. Voicemail. “Damn it, Sam!”, he snarled, clenching his fists while trying to think. The silence was scary because it accentuated Sam’s absence.

Scrolling through the number, he turned to the only other number that felt like home. It rang once, twice. The cheerful, annoying voice picked up. “Singer’s Scrapyard, we shot first and ask questions never, how can I—”

“Ethan, put Bobby on the phone,” Dean barked.

A beat of silence passed before he could hear that motherfucker smiling. “Well, hello to you too, sweetheart. Let me guess… daddy issues?”

“Ethan, I swear to God—”

“Alrighty, keep your shirt on. Or don’t, I won’t complain.” The muffled sound of Ethan’s mumbling for Bobby came through and Dean focused on the idea of not having to talk with that idiot again. “He’s coming to save you from your feelings emergency,” Ethan mocked.

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a fresh wave of exhaustion washing over him. It took so long he thought that Ethan had hung up before he heard the gruff voice of Singer chanting in his ears. “What’s the matter with you boy?” Bobby grumbled, no greetings, nothing.

“It’s Sam, Bobby. He’s gone.”

“What do you mean, ‘gone?’ What happened?”

So Dean told him, even the parts where he would be the bad person. About the Croatoan, about the town, about Éber, all the things he knew he should hide, but ended up telling him anyway. Bobby remained silent; the kind of silence that made the hair on the back of Dean’s neck stand on end in anticipation. He could feel the disappointment Bobby was feeling, but if he lied, Dean would have felt even worst. He could picture Bobby in his study, wiping a hand down his face under his cap.

“You had to what?” The high pitch in Bobby’s voice gave away the fear Dean knew he was feeling. “You listen to me, your idjit. I spent years putting that girl together because of your father. I trusted you’d do better!”

“I didn’t have a choice!” Dean shot back, pacing the cramped motel room. The helplessness in his voice was palpable.

“I don’t give a goddamn!” Bobby roared. “You don’t leave family behind!”

Dean refrained himself from saying that she wasn’t his family. “It’s not like she’s going to die, Bobby. She is strong, you know that.”

There was another long, heavy silence. He could hear Bobby's ragged breath on the other end of the line, fighting a war between his fury and his need to fix this.

“Idjits,” Boby finally muttered, not exactly full of emotion, but less cold than Dean expected. “The whole lot of you.” He took a deep, audible breath. “Alright. Pissing contest is over. Here’s what you gonna do: your brother must be following something related to the demon. I’ll send Ethan to help you with that. You two will help each other to find Éber too. You’ll find my girl and bring her home; do you hear me boy?”

Dean though of refusing. He didn’t need lassie with him. Ethan was a werewolf, one that claimed to be good, but there wasn’t such thing in his world. All monsters were bad, they just needed the right push. Taking a deep breath, though, he agreed. “I will, Bobby. I swear.”

“Don’t swear to him.”

The voice came from behind him. Dean spun around, his heart hammering on his ribs as he laid his eyes on Éber. The dark sunglasses were gone, revealing a face badly bruised and cut. A fresh wound traced the path from her hairline to her jaw.

“He take it too serious,” she said, her voice was raspy, but calm.  She held out her hand, waiting. It took Dean’s stunned brain a minute to figure out she wanted the phone. “I will calm him. Don’t worry.”

Chapter Text

He stood outside the door of his motel room for a long time before coming back in with a few chocolates he got from the vending machine at the entrance. Éber wasn’t talking to Bobby anymore, but sitting in silence at the open window. He made sure to shut the door loudly, but she didn’t turn her head. The side of her face that had the horrible cut was turned toward the wall and her eyes were glued to something outside the window.

“I called you,” he said, leaving the chocolate bars over the table.

She pressed her lips together. “I lost my phone.”

Dean didn’t push her. He picked up one of the chocolate bars and tossed it to her. It fell on the floor, right in front of her, and only then she moved her head. Standing there, it felt awkward; the space between them felt charged, like a thunderstorm of emotions he didn’t know how to put in words — he didn’t want to, actually.

“Your friend…” Dean started, letting his voice disappear as her eyes met his face.

The wound was ugly. It must hurt, he thought to himself. It had some poorly done stitches, but it was clean. She shrugged, not showing much more than a sad look before bending to take the chocolate. “Safe. I got to him. He is alive.”

Dean nodded, sitting on the fastest place he could find. “And… the cult guy?”

“Also alive,” she replied, staring at the chocolate in her hands. “I’m not strong enough. He knows how to hurt me.”

Dean couldn’t imagine something more powerful than that woman. He saw her tear apart a nest of vampires alone. She didn’t need help, she was a force of nature, destroying everything around her so fast the only thing he could do was watch. He always felt unskilled when thinking about her abilities.

“But… are you okay?”

She frowned. Her eyes seemed devoid of life. “When you started caring?”

It stung. He deserved it, but it stung. And made him think why did he. Feeling the urge to move, he stood up, moving slowly around the room. “Sam’s gone.”

She didn’t sound surprised. “Yes.”

“I told him—” Dean stopped, cursing under his breath. She was the only one he could vent about it. She would have to listen to it, right? If he commanded it, she would have to. “My father told me I had to take care of him, and if I couldn’t…”

“I know,” she murmured.

Dean went still. “You know,” he spoke slowly.

“He made me promise I would help you. Help him. Save him,” she spoke softly, like sadness spreading around that room, rooting inside them both. “I don’t know how,” Éber confessed.

The revelation hit Dean differently this time. He tried to be mad, think about the fact that she hid it from him. But he only felt sorry for her too, especially because he knew the weight of carrying that secret alone. His father passed away a burden, one they both carried. John Winchester’s perfect soldiers carrying his wishes. He felt so sick with the hatred boiling inside him toward his deceased father, but Dean couldn’t help it.

Dean was across the room before he even realized he’d moved. His fingertips touched her chin, raising her face so he could see the cut closer. He could feel the heat of the wound; most likely, it was infected. How was she enduring the pain? Éber flinched, going still like a statue. She didn’t pull away and Dean imagined she couldn’t. He didn’t dare to ask though.

“He had no right,” Dean breathed, his voice thick with resentment. “To put that on you.”

Éber’s lips parted somewhat, but she pressed them together until they were almost white. “He put it on you too,” she whispered. “It’s what he does.”

They shared something in that moment. The truth hanging in the air brought them together, even a little. Dean’s fingers brushed a string of hair that had escaped her braid away from her cut, his eyes lingering on her painful expression as he did so. He couldn’t deny that he was looking to the one person in the world that knew the weight of John’s expectations, that understood him in some level.

He retreated, regretting the contact and running his agitated hand through his hair. “I need to find Sam.”

Éber took a piece of the chocolate, chewing it carefully. “We need to call Ash. He can find anyone,” she explained, standing up. Dean noticed that she was using different clothes; still dark, but masculine, too big for her. “But we need to move. I can still smell the smoke, so maybe I can find something.”

Dean felt pulled back to reality. She was not human, not a beautiful woman. She was a thing, and he had to stick to that. “Right.”

They moved fast, and that moment was buried away with all the calls they had shared on the last weeks. She sat in silence in the back seat, calling Ash from time to time and sniffing the air like a dog. Dean felt uncomfortable riding with her like that, like he was her chauffeur, but it was for the best. It kept some distance between them, preventing him from letting those weird feelings growing up. It was past midnight when Ellen called. They were in better terms now, and he had to admit it was because of Éber.

“… he made me promise not to tell you where he is,” Ellen said, her voice cracking because of the bad signal.

Éber sighed loudly, responding. “We need to know. His brother just want to keep him safe.” She spoke slowly, and it showed in her face how much she struggled, as he saw in the rearview mirror.

“What else is family for, right?” Ellen murmured.

Dean drove the entire night to get to Indiana. They were at least two states behind, but he didn’t stop. Éber offered to drive, but he refused, making some hurtful joke about blind women driving. He needed it to hurt, needed to remember her — himself — that they were not friends, nor they would be. He was fighting sleep when they crossed into Indiana, heading to Lafayette. Éber made a strange sound, which put his senses on alert.

“What?”

She sighed. “You know Gordon Walker?”

Dean growled, slamming his foot on the accelerator. He couldn’t deny that having his own personal bloodhound had its benefits.

Chapter Text

Éber was right, they had a big problem with Gordon. Dean thought that he knew how to deal with assholes, but it turned out he was rusty. Gordon was on a different level of assholeness. Sitting tied up to the chair, he looked into Gordons eyes not surprised, but annoyed. His black skin glowed in the low light, deepening the obsession in his dark brown eyes. Dean wasn’t afraid to die, Éber would be around. Gordon could try to stop her, but there wasn’t anything he could do to avoid her wrath.

Since Dean had woken up, Gordon had been babbling — his hunting, the news he heard about a war coming, the fact that Sam’s name was involved in every encounter with a demon. Dean couldn’t care less about it, but he was all in for taking Gordon down for good.

Dean shook his head when Gordon dismissed one of his own victims, murmuring “You’re a son of a bitch.”

Gordon looked at him for a moment, his expression as unreadable as a stone. Then he closed the distance between them and struck Dean with a sharp, precise backhand. “That’s my mama you’re talking about.” Sniffing, Gordon rubbed his nose. He had calloused hands, and blood stained his knuckles — and it wasn’t Dean’s blood. His dark, military-cut hair reinforced the violence in his features and complemented the severe lines of his face. “Anyway… the demon told me about soldiers for this coming war.”

He pursed his lips, staring into the nothing.

“Humans… can you believe it? Fighting on hell’s side. I mean, not entirely humans,” he whispered, raising his gaze to meet Dean’s. “They have powers, but still… it’s our kind. The biggest kick in the ass,” Gordon kept going, “is that the demon said I knew one of them. Our very own Sammy Winchester.”

Inside, Dean was freaking out. That’s what he was afraid of; of people knowing about his brother, people coming for him like flies after rotten meat. Outside, however, he chuckled. “This is a whole new level of moronic, Gordon, even for you.”

“Come on, Dean. I know…” Gordon said, narrowing his eyes. “His visions, his blood. I know everything.”

“Really?” Dean mocked. “Because some demon told you? Yeah, right… that’s for sure not a lie.”

“I did my homework. Made sure it was true…” Gordon told him, leaning from the table to walk to him, placing the blade of his machete under Dean’s chin to raise his face. “You have your Roadhouse connections, I have mine. That’s how I found Sam in the first place. How I knew I’d find you too.”

Dean nodded, ever so slowly, keeping his eyes on Gordon’s. “Then you know about her too?”

A flicker of doubt made Gordon frown. “Her?”

“Me,” Éber said right before delivering a powerful, precise blow to Gordon’s face, causing him to fall unconscious to the ground at Dean’s feet. She glanced at him for a moment before raising her eyes to Dean. “Let me kill him.”

Dean grunted a loud “No.”

She rolled her eyes. “He is trouble. He is gonna come back.”

“Then we deal with him,” he responded as she got him free from the ropes. “Sam?”

“Sleeping in the car.” She turned to him when he stood there, waiting. “He is fine, I just made sure he would stay that way.”

He pursed his lips, thinking. “Is it gonna give him a headache?”

“I guess,” she said.

“Good.” Lowering himself, Dean picked the ropes to tie Gordon up.

Éber helped him even though he didn’t say a word. Once Gordon was tied, Dean started to wipe down his prints. His plan was to call the police, frame Gordon for assault, kidnapping, anything like that. The place was covered in blood and the pictures on the walls would probably make him look suspicious. But he stopped, looking at the way Éber was staring at Gordon.

“What?”

She shrugged. “I just don’t like him,” she said simply.

Dean ran his tongue over his lower lip. “Why?” He was curious. He looked at her hands; she didn’t have gloves. “You touched him and saw something?”

Éber’s mouth tightened into a thin line, nodding. Dean approached her carefully, standing beside her as his eyes hovered over Gordon.

“What is it?”

“Mostly bad things,” she replied, shoving her hands in her pockets. “He likes to kill. The screams, he likes it.”

Dean couldn’t say he was surprised by it. The first time they met, he felt an instant connection, but the more he knew him, the more he understood why it was a bad thing. He frowned, glancing at her.

“You always see it?” he asked. “Like, you get into people’s minds and see it all?”

She shook her head. “Just the bad things that happen. They become mine.”

“Yours? How?”

She shrugged. “I feel them, then it’s like I lived them. They are mine too.” She turned, grabbing another set of ropes. “I make sure the police find him. You should go. I smell ashes, and I know that demons are coming.”

Dean was still processing what she said, about turning people’s bad things into hers, when his head snapped up. “Wait… demons?”

“Yes. Sam should hide. It’s better.”

“Yeah, right,” he muttered, swallowing hard. “I’ll get him out of this place. And Grayson—” he waited for her to look in his direction. Her face was still horrible, but getting better. “Take care.”

Chapter Text

Everything was going well. Dean picked up simple cases, they were driving more often, taking short cuts, side roads, everything that could keep them off the radar. Éber sometimes gave them some heads ups, calming Sam down with vague explanations of what she and Ethan had been doing about the demons that were looking for him. Dean didn’t ask her to do that, and he hated the smug smile on Ethan’s face every time they met in person. He always stood behind, sitting on the hood of the car, watching Éber like a hawk.

Besides these minor inconveniences, things were going fine.

Until Milwaukee. Until Victor Henriksen.

It was supposed to be an easy case of shapeshifters. Ended up with Ethan helping them escape a bank robbery while Éber created a distraction for the police and Tyler changed their plates. Group effort, Sam called it. Dean thought of it as a failure. Their faces was all over the news and the FBI agent, Henriksen, was hunting them like they were the devil. Weeks later, Sam was in a bad shape, falling for some angel story in Providence where he almost killed a man. After that, he entered a period of pure depression, one Dean wasn’t sure how to handle. It lasted more than Dean expected and, in a hurry to get his brother back to his usual annoyance, he took Sam to a new bar down in Georgia.

The song was right, the Devil did go down to Georgia and he was looking for a soul to steal.

It was Sam’s.

Sam almost died, almost killed Jo; left a mess behind, one Dean, again, turned to Éber for help. And she came, without any complaint, because she couldn’t, he knew it. Sam kept being haunted by all the things he did, but became more careful after that. Éber suggested a tattoo to avoid possession — and Dean agreed, since anything else could be lost. But flesh, they would have to cut off their skin to actually possess them. He never thanked her, but he started to talk to her like a normal person.

Only four days later, they drove to San Francisco, California, to solve a mystery about some werewolves in a residential neighborhood. Ethan was with them, and Dean regretted accepting Bobby’s suggestion. But he regretted even more taking the case when the girl Sam had a crush on turned out to be a werewolf. Ethan tried to reason with them, explaining to her that she could deal with it just like him, she just needed to endure the first four or five years.

She refused. Again, Sam fell into a hole of darkness and Dean didn’t know how to help. When they left Ethan at Bobby’s, he waited for Sam to get in the house before saying that Dean should be even more careful from now on.

“What the hell it means?” Dean growled.

Ethan shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets as he stared at the house. “It looks planned. As if someone, or something, is preparing him, shaping him in a way it would be impossible to refuse some relief.”

Dean didn’t admit it to Ethan, but he agreed.

He was so caught up in all that Sam/them-being-fugitives situation he ended up being sloppy. Dean got caught in the middle of a hunt, just to wake up in a warm bed to a blank mind with no memories of his past night. He sat up, looking around, not recognizing the place. Did he hook up with someone while too wasted? He hadn’t been drinking the past few days, since they almost got locked up in a prison for good. Tossing the covers aside, he stood up, walking careful toward the sound of music — old generation Lynyrd Skynyrd.

At least the person has good taste.

The hallway was small, leading to a cozy and very organized living room. His leather jacket was hanging on the hooks by the door. Pursing his lips, he turned to the noise of plates. The kitchen was across the living room, and he stood there, blinking astonished as he watched Éber, almost naked, eating something in a hurry. Her hair was down and laying beautifully over her shoulders as she sang away the lyrics in a low hum. She froze as she turned and saw him standing there, just to laugh next and walk up to him to plant a light kiss on his lips.

“You scared me,” she murmured, pointing the kitchen. “I left you some breakfast. Though you would sleep in today.”

He blinked fast. “What?”

“I know you worked late,” she responded, reaching over the couch to grab a pair of pants. “I need to go; I have a lot of cars to take care today. But I’ll see you tonight. I promise I will wash before going to your mother.”

Again, Dean felt like his brain wasn’t working. “My… mother?”

Éber stopped, her eyes looking at him. She was not blind. Her eyes were this vivid green and she looked straight into his eyes, smiling in a way that made his stomach twist. Had she always been this beautiful?

“Are you okay?”

He nodded. Then shook his head. He wasn’t sure, this was all wrong. “I—” he stopped, carefully examining her expression as she approached him. Éber put her hands on his shoulder, frowning in a cute way. “You can touch me?”

“Hm, well, yes. Which is good, otherwise sex would be terrible.” She laughed and kissed him. He gave in, just a little bit. “Look, go back to bed. You seem to need it. I’ll see you later, okay? And eat something, don’t just drink beer.”

He just stood there, watching as she got dressed and left, asking himself what the hell was happening.

Chapter Text

Sam was an exceptional hunter. But still couldn’t get to her level. He called her in the middle of the night, explaining that Dean had disappeared. It wasn’t so unusual, she heard he liked to take his time with woman. But the more Sam told her, the more Éber felt an uneasiness growing inside her. She met him in Denver. It was mid-October, and they were already freezing. She gave thought to the idea of leading him the wrong away, maybe letting fate take care of Dean.

Two Winchester’s down, just one to go.

But she couldn’t. There were all those rules, and fighting the bond was ever so hurtful, so fucking disturbing, that she ditched the idea. And there was Bobby, too. He loved those two like they were his sons. She wouldn’t do anything that could possibly make Singer suffer. Sam explained to her the type of case his brother was working on, something related to a Djinn. She sighed loudly, sipping the hot coffee she had in her hands. She was shivering, wishing she could put on more clothes than the leather jacket and that sweater. But the rule was clear, she had to endured cold, pain and hunger; John was a sadistic son of a bitch, as Ruby had told her.

“I need to find him,” Sam murmured. “I know he is in danger.”

Éber nodded, leaning away from the Bronco and tossing the rest of her coffee in the trash. “Yes, he is. Let’s go.”

She drove for over an hour before she found that carnal scent. It was weak, fading slowly in the distance. Éber didn’t think twice before following it with Sam disturbing her peace with so many questions, she wanted to be capable to tell him to shut up. However, even if his blood was weaker and she didn’t feel the same urgency to follow his orders, he was still a Winchester, and she couldn’t tell him that.

It was an easy job. Get in, kill the thing, save the ones that could be saved.

Sam held his weapon in the air, but never got a chance to use it. When Éber finished, she turned to him, adjusting the sunglasses.

“You okay?”

His lines were happy. Éber was so used to see sad, dread feelings in people that it took her a while to recognize the feeling. “Yeah, all good,” Sam responded. “Just… impressed, I guess.”

She nodded, gesturing the space around them. “Find your brother. I will check for more.”

Two more Djinns were lurking in the dark. They often smelled like a week-old garbage and putridity, making her want to gag. It was like drowning in landfill, the stench was so thick she found it difficult to pull a clean breath. One of them seemed older than a century, but the smaller one was a recent acquisition to their group. His shape was scared, his voice sounded like a scream for help. Éber tried to convince him to go with her, but the old one killed him before she could pull him away. She chose violence then, leaving behind only stains of its blood and its entrails sprawled across the floor. 

Dean was safe and alive after all, having lost an alarming amount of blood, so Sam insisted on getting him to a hospital. Dean refused profusely, speaking always so low that Éber thought he was only speaking to himself. He slept for a day and a half before really waking up. Éber stood there the whole time, checking his pulse, calling Pamela for tips, giving Bobby a report every time she called him. In the end, her master was safe and she was still a dog on a leash.

Sam kept in contact with the hospital, just to be sure the other girl caught by the Djinns was alive. She heard him finishing a call when she came back to the room, carrying a bag with food and some coffee.

“Okay. Uh, thank you so much for the update. Okay. Bye,” he said, turning the lines where his head was supposed to do in her direction. “Thank for getting the food.”

She nodded, leaving everything over the table while evaluating Dean’s lines in silence. Something was off in him.

“That was the hospital. The girl’s been stabilized.” Sam said while he crossed the room to sit beside his brother. “Good chance she’s gonna pull through.”

“That’s good,” Dean murmured.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. Éber couldn’t understand why there was that divergence in Dean. She wasn’t able to read him, and she noticed that she never got any of his bad experiences when he touched her. Skin to skin was the easy way to get to someone’s memories and nothing happened when he touched her face. “How about you? You alright?” Sam tried again, and Éber felt the hope in him.

Dean cleared his throat. “Yeah, it’s all right.” Éber listened to his blood hum, and she felt that he was mourning. She knew the feeling; once, she had been caught. Best week of her life. “You should’ve seen it, Sam. Our lives…”

“Don’t,” Éber hissed. They both turned to her, and she felt seen in a bad way. Especially because of the way Dean’s line were projecting to her. “It’s not real. Don’t let it get to you. It will take too much time to feel normal again.”

Dean’s voice was sad. “I know. But I wanted to stay,” he confessed.

Éber sighed, crossing her arms and leaning against the table. “We always want.”

“You’ve been trapped before?” asked Sam, curious and preoccupied.

“Yes.”

Dean stood up, and he approached her a little. “How did you get out? Dad—” He stopped. “Were you alone?”

She conceded with a slight dip of her chin. “I hunt alone, so it can happen. But I got out,” she hurried to add. “Just— it’s better not think too much about it.”

The silence grew stronger between them, and she felt like it was time for her to go. Dean didn’t give her any work, he just stood there, his lines so different now, as if he wanted to say something, but couldn’t. For the first time in her life, she regretted not being able to read him. At least, if she could sense more his feelings, she would know how to approach him. She was sitting in the Bronco, waiting for the cars to move when her phone rang.

She took the free space to her left, parking poorly the car as she reached for the phone on the panel. Ruby’s voice came through, slightly shaking. “Do you want the bad or the terrible news first?”

Éber sighed. “What is the problem now?”

“A powerful demon called Lilith,” Ruby murmured in a low voice. “And she does not seem friendly, Éber.”

Chapter Text

They were all gathered in the basement. Ruby and Tyler were sitting at the base of the stairs while Ethan was standing beside Éber. He let a low music playing of his phone, which made easier for her to see the room — not like a normal person, but she made the most out of it. They were all scared, all the attention on Ruby as she explained what she had been through in her short trip to New York.

“It was a proposal,” she said. Her voice went low and rasp. “Their usual move. Lure the guy, help them get what they want, yadda yadda. I told her to go to hell. Politely.”

Ethan snorted. “Aw, without even giving her a kiss? How rude.”

“This isn’t a joke, puppy,” Ruby replied, irritated now.

Tyler moved in a nervous way, the lines that formed him were sparking. “But… you said no. Right? So, we’re good?”

“That’s the thing with demons, kid. ‘No’ is usually the warm up for them.” A rare flicker of unease crossed Ruby’s lines, something Éber almost never saw. “She threw something else in the basket. She said I’d be… rewarded if I helped them.”

Éber expected some kind of bargain. It was common, but it still felt like a trap. Demons, especially the powerful ones, didn’t appear with some proposal out of the nowhere. They planned in advance, always waiting for the right time. So she tilted her head, finally asking. “What kind of reward?”

“The kind that involves your safety,” Ruby said in heavy, scared tone.

The room went still. Ethan, ever so funny, lost the spark in his lines as he leaned in the conversation with fear. Even Tyler changed, and Éber cursed quietly for bringing him into the conversation. He was a kid; he shouldn’t have to care about this.

“See,” continued, “Lilith, she just happened to let it slip that you’re an important piece. That your bloodline is… precious. But she didn’t say why. I didn’t ask either,” Ruby confessed. She lowered her head, as Éber noticed it was a confusing shape of a thundering cloud. “She wanted me to know that your well-being is a currency she is willing to spend if she gets what she wants.”

“I’m not some kind of coin,” Éber murmured.

“Oh, well, I know that,” Ruby grunted, her voice losing the calm tone. “But they see you like that. You are a golden prize, as far as I understood. They need you for some reason.”

Ethan let out a low whistle. “Well, damn. We’re not hiding just Sam anymore. We’re hiding Éber from the VIP demon list.” The usual light tone he used gave place to this concerned, heavy words that made Éber shiver involuntarily. “Is there something you are not telling your own brothers and sister?”

Éber frowned. There was so much she was hiding, but being precious to demons wasn’t one of them. She shook her head. “Not that I know.”

It was snowing lightly when Éber went out, with a deep yearn in her heart that she could look up and see the sky clearly. But she was still blind, and life was laughing at her. She was right about her and Sam, they were connected. Saddler had indeed made some kind of agreement with that Yellow-Eyed Demon. She roamed around the house just to find herself standing in the shed, where Bobby was fixing one of the cages. She smelled the whisky and sweat from the other side of the yard. He was already having a bad day.

Without a word, she leaned against the doorframe of the cage. She knew he was kneeling and he had his cap on. She wished she could see his face, stare in his eyes, appreciate his smile. Éber only wished to love better the ones who dared to loved her.

“Spit it out,” he grunted, hammering something. “This fucking house is vibrating. It’s giving me a headache.”

Éber sighed. “Ruby came back with bad news.”

“Figured. Told her not to leave this place.” He stopped, his lines turning to her. He was so sweet to her, more than she deserved. Éber always wanted to be able to hug him without feeling his pain, without ending up leaving him catatonic for hours. “And?”

“A demon, Lilith. She had a proposal. About Sam. And… me.”

Bobby let the hammer fall with a clank and all his lines went very still. He was afraid. “You,” he repeated.

“I’m gold. And… there is something in my bloodline.” She closed her eyes, fighting to find the words, to let them out. It always seemed like she could draw them in her head, but when it came to speaking, they just ran from her. “I’m important for them.”

She felt studied and, as she opened her eyes, she saw the fading lines of his head spiraling towards her. Éber fought the urge to cry, biting back a plea for him to not try to save her. She didn’t care if the world burned, but she would never let a single flame touch Bobby. He stood up to stand in front of her, putting a heavy hand on her shoulder, even though she flinched.

“You listen to me, girl, and you listen good,” he said with a fierce voice. “I don’t care if your bloodline carries King Arthur’s or Satan traces. You ain’t something to be used. You are my kid, you understand me? And my kids fight back.”

Éber nodded; a lump formed in her throat. “We’ll figure this out,” he promised. “We always do. You stick with Dean for now. Or you stick with Ethan, or damn well stick with me. I won’t let anything happen.”

Although her life was surrounded by reminders of her job as a weapon, Éber felt less like one, and more like a child being taken care of. Sobbing violently, she held out her arms and hugged him tight. She knew he would forgive her later.

Chapter Text

Things became worse faster than she expected.

Sam went missing for over a week before they could find him; this led to a wave of deaths and the burning of Harvelle’s Roadhouse. And when they finally did, Éber witnessed life leave his body as he died in Dean’s arms. She told herself that the sadness that washed over her was a direct consequence of the bond between her and their blood, but it wasn’t it. She was genuinely sad, so she stood beside her master while he cursed the skies for his brother’s death.

He fought with Bobby for some reason Éber didn’t understand. She stood quietly in the corner of that abandoned house where they dragged Sam’s body, waiting for the fight to end, for Dean to grieve, for Bobby to say wise words to help him. But nothing like that happened, because Dean said some disgusting words to Bobby. She remained silent when Dean sat in the dark, drinking like his father, the smell of alcohol staining his soul. Éber wanted to tell him to stop, that he was leaning toward John’s way to deal with things.

But she couldn’t. So, she stood there, like a statue, like something invisible. As if she didn’t even exist.

“I always tried to protect you,” Dean murmured to his brother’s dead body. “Keep you safe. Dad didn’t even have to tell me. It was always my responsibility, you know?”

Éber listened to him, her body aching for some movement. She wasn’t a big fan of the Winchesters, but as she heard him, she felt the same. She was back at that very moment where Salazar died, and a few tears formed in her eyes.

“It’s like I had one job,” he stammered, his voice breaking mid-sentence. “That one job. And I screwed up.” He started to cry. “And for that I’m sorry. I guess that’s what I do. I let down the people I love.”

“Stop,” Éber whispered, going against her orders, feeling her head throbbing as the bond straightened its claws around her. “You—"

“You don’t fucking say a word!” Dean shouted, standing up to walk to her. “I don’t want to fucking hear your voice! You had one fucking job! Just one!” He was scarier, even more than John, and Éber cowered when he cornered her against the corner of that room. “My baby brother is dead! Do you—” he stopped, sobbing. “Have you any idea how that feels?!”

She knew exactly how it felt, and her crying only grew louder, making Dean roar in anger as he held her by her arms, yanking her closer.

“Stop fucking crying!” he ordered and she stopped, feeling like her head would explode. “Fix this! Find— fuck, find some way to fix this!” He let her go, returning to where he was sitting before, just to sit down and sob painfully.

Éber took that order, walking out of that house with one clear, dark purpose.

She knew exactly how to bring Sam back.

She drove almost an hour to find a crossroad. She wasn’t thinking, her body was just working. He gave her an order and all she could do was to find a solution. She picked up a few things inside the Bronco, dug a hole in the middle of the crossroad and stood there. It felt as if a lifetime had passed before she heard the heels on the gravel. The sweet voice made Éber feel nauseated, but she didn’t move.

“The infamous Éber Grayson,” the woman’s voice echoed around Éber, and Éber leaned toward it, because she didn’t have enough sounds to build a picture for herself. “What do I owe the pleasure of this meeting?”

“You know why, demon.”

The woman laughed, and Éber could hear the demon voice behind it. “It’s so good to see you, really. Give me a moment to appreciate it, please.” She inhaled loudly. “Oh, yeah, I can smell the leash. You’re really following your master’s footsteps, aren’t you?”

“If you know, let’s do it now.” Éber lifted her chin. “I know you are all looking for me. You can have me, just bring Sam back.”

The demon circled her, its voice oily, slimming over her skin in a horrific way. “I can offer you so much more than just Sam’s soul,” she whispered, standing behind Éber as its lips touched her skin. “I can offer you freedom. You can get rid of this cage you’re in.” Éber turned her head, following the voice. “Break the contract, but enter a new one. With us. You will die, of course, but will be finally free.”

Éber didn’t even blink. “Done.”

She sensed the hesitation in the demon. “Like that? Not even gonna bargain your time?”

“Give me what you want.” Éber didn’t care and, deep down, although worried, she only felt relief.

“You know what, sweetheart,” said the demon, standing in front of Éber. The smell of ashes was everywhere and she kept her ground when the demon held her face. The horrors that washed over her would scary her for a lifetime. “I’ll give you one year. Just because you’re so sweet,” she mocked. “Deal?”

“Deal,” Éber whispered.

Without any warning, the demon leaned in and kissed her. Soft lips, but the urge of breaking apart made Éber start crying again in despair. The touch was already awful, but doing something so intimate as kissing was worse than just killing her there. But it ended as it started, abruptly. And she found herself alone, the tug of the bond gone as she really found a way to fix things.

Chapter Text

She cried all the way back to that crappy house.

Once she had it in sight, Éber wiped the tears away and put back her mask. Parking the Bronco, she stayed there for a moment, calming down her feelings and finally thinking about what she had done. Bobby would be pissed; Ethan and Ruby would lose their minds. But she? She felt the smile grow, and relief washed over her. She had been living in hell for so long, that maybe the actual hell would be a walk on the beach. She walked in, following the smell of smoke and pepperoni. Their voices sounded happy — as happy as they could, given the situation with demons and human lab rats. She didn’t knock or announced herself; she just walked in the room, standing again in the corner.

“Éber!” Sam greeted her, his lines vividly moving toward her. She was concerned about what could come out of it, but she felt like it was him. “Where have you been? Dean told me you had to do something.”

Éber nodded, locking her attention on Dean. She couldn’t pick a thing, except a wave of shame and fear. “I did.”

The pull toward him was stronger than ever. She imagined if it was because of what she had just done or just a remnant of their feelings. She had learned that feelings leave strong impressions, so she wouldn’t dismiss it.

“Hey,” he murmured.

“Hey,” she replied, her voice flat.

Sam, still beaming, turned to her, not showing any signal of noticing something different. Éber imagined that Dean wouldn’t want him to know. “So… is everything alright?”

“Yes. I fixed it,” she whispered, and she knew he had heard her because of the way his lines stopped.

The unbearable silence between them didn’t seem to disturb Sam. He kept talking about something, offered her food, which she denied; complained about needing to start hunting that Jake guy, the one who killed him. All the time, Dean was telling him he needed to take it easy. During their conversation, he kept leaning toward her, as if trying to talk to her without words. They went on and on in their own discussion for some time, but Éber kept silent, standing near the window with the attention glued to the sun coming up on the sky.

It was morning when Sam finally slept. Dean stood just behind her.

“What did you do, Grayson?” he demanded, his voice a low, desperate whisper.

“You told me to fix it,” she said simply. “I fixed it.”

He let out a low groan, grabbing her by her arm and dragging her until they reached the hallway. Dean pushed her against the wall, standing right in front of her, as far as possible from where Sam was sleeping. “How long?” he asked. “How long you have?”

Éber pressed her lips together. “Enough.”

“You— fuck,” he whispered, holding her in place when Éber made a move. “No, don’t try to run,” Dean warned her. “I didn’t tell you to do this.” By the way his lines moved, she imagined he was pointing somewhere.

“You told me to find a way to fix this,” she explained, leaning against the wall and letting her head rest. She was so tired, but sleep was something she couldn’t afford unless Dean let her. “And I did. He is fine. You are happy. Everyone is okay.”

His lines bended over her. “I’m not happy. I’m far from being happy,” he whispered, standing too close. The carnal scent was getting under her skin, and she forced her hands to remain in place, even though she wanted to push him away. “How long do you have? How much time we have to… to find a solution?”

She closed her eyes. She had started to cry again. “Please,” she begged quietly. “Please, let me die.”

She had never begged to John. When the words slipped from her mouth, Éber froze for a moment. In that ominous silence, there was only the sound of her ragged breathing and the frantic beat of Dean’s heart hammering against his chest in pure panic. His grip vanished from her arms as that wave of shame and fear turned into a new, terrifying feeling: a grief so vast it felt empty.

“Éber…” Her name was just a breath, a shattered thing.

His lines, once so aggressive, were now soft in the edges, blurring in the middle. They ached in a way that it felt physical, as if they were touching her skin, holding her, shielding her from something else. She closed her eyes, bowing her head.

“Please,” she cried once more.

She expected shouting. Demands maybe. But the tenderness in his touch was new — frightening, alarming, disarming, visceral. One hand cupped the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair. The other arm wrapped around her back, pulling her gently against his chest. Again, it felt like he was anchoring her in this world.

The shock of that contact arrested her completely. Her entire body seized, every muscle turning into stone. Under the cotton shirt that acted as a shield between their skins, she could feel the solid, steady thump of his heart. It was a counter-rhythm to her own frantic pulse. The scent of him was everywhere, crawling under her skin as a reminder — of her situation, of who they were, of the fact that they would never become friends, that she would never have a life.

One sob broke after the other, until her knees gave in and Dean held her in place. She let out raw, ugly sounds that she didn’t recognize. The waves of tears made her entire body shiver and Dean held her face against his chest. She felt like she was dissolving, like the shadow of the person she could be was finally washing away in his arms, and all of that would be left behind like a specter of her promises.

He didn’t tell her it would be okay, either in words or in his feelings. Nor did he offer empty promises. He just held her, his cheek resting against the top of her head as he too started to shake. She never begged to John, but she begged to Dean and he had finally listened to her.

“Shhh,” he murmured into her hair, his voice rough with an emotion she had no name for. “I got you. Just… just breathe, okay? Breathe.”

And in that dark, crappy hallway, held together by the arms of the man who had sent her to her doom, Éber finally felt freedom.

Chapter Text

“You stupid ass. What did you do?” Bobby shrieked at Dean as a desperate, wild look rose in his eyes.

They were alone in the Scrapyard. Bobby lured him out with some excuse about getting materials for the hunt, just to yell at him for bringing Sam back. Dean and Éber knew it would happen, so she made him promise that he would play his part until she was dead. She would invent some spell that would free him, and she would die in a tragic hunt. But his heart was beating so hard in his chest, aching in a way he had never felt before.

Bobby grabbed him by the jacket. “What did you do?” He yelled again. Dean swallowed hard, looking at his boots. He would have to lie, and lie about something that, either way, would hurt Bobby forever. “You made a deal. For Sam, didn’t you?” Bobby’s eyes studied him with a horrified look. “How long did they give you?”

“Bobby,” he started.

“How long?” Bobby screamed this time.

Dean glanced over his shoulder at the house, hoping no one was listening to them. As he turned again to Bobby, he sucked in a breath. “One year,” he lied.

Bobby blinked. Dean almost gave up and told him the truth. “Damn it, Dean.”

“Which is why we gotta find this yellow-eyed son of a bitch,” he continued. “That’s why I’m gonna kill him.” And Dean would. For several reasons, including that torment right there. “I mean, I got nothing to lose now, right?”

Desperate, Bobby grabbed him tighter, pulling Dean closer. “I could throttle you,” he cried out.

“And send me downstairs ahead of schedule?” Dean joked, but his voice was shaking. He would send Éber there. How could he?

His faint smile seemed to scare Bobby even more. “What is it with you Winchesters, huh? You’re all so prone to throw yourselves down the pit!”

“That’s my point,” Dean murmured. Bobby’s face was read and he had tears on the corner of his eyes. Dean imagined Éber’s death and the damage it would do. “Dad brought me back, Bobby. I’m not even supposed to be here. At least this way—," his voice broke a little, his mind racing as he understood that he would, in fact, have sold his soul for his brother. Éber just acted first. “This way, something good came out of it.”

“What, and it didn’t before?” Bobby snarled, running a hand over his face as he took a step back. “Have you got that low an opinion of yourself?” Again, Bobby grabbed him by the jacket. “Are you that screwed up in your head?” He yelled.

Dean’s jaw tightened. “I couldn’t let him die, Bobby,” he confessed.

Bobby stood there for a moment, looking into his eyes as if he had so much more to say. The pain Dean saw in his face broke his heart, because it was all directed to the wrong person. Bobby wouldn’t lose him, but he would lose someone much more important to him.

“How is your brother gonna feel when he knows you’re going to hell?” Bobby whispered, crying in between the words.

Dean didn’t answer. In the silence that fell between them, Bobby held him tight in a hug and Dean let himself be comforted, even though it wasn’t his place. Ellen found them half an hour later, saying something about the others having a plan. Dean didn’t want to walk into that house and face what he had done. Éber would be there, a living reminder of a sacrifice he had never even thought to ask for. He walked ever so slowly, letting the sadness wash over him as guilt settled deep in his bones.

She was standing in silence in the hallway, a beer bottle hanging loose between her finger as she listened to Sam and Ruby discussing loudly about something Ash had left before dying.

“Listen, if, and it’s big if here,” Ruby grunted, “it’s really there, how do you intend to take a demon so powerful down?”

Sam sighed, ignoring her. “All of these X’s are an abandoned frontier church.”

“Yes,” Tyler agreed, sitting down with a big book in his hands. Dean frowned at the way they were all working together, his eyes moving to Éber as the corner of her lips lifted. He wouldn’t say it was a happy smile. It was more like a proud one. “And they’re all mid-19th century. And all built by Samuel Colt.”

Dean stepped forward. “Wait, the demon killing gun-making Samuel Colt?” He looked at the map spread out on the table. “Can someone confirm this or not?”

“The very same guy.” Tyler left the book over the chair, standing in the other side of the table as he reached for a pen. “He also built private railway lines connecting church to church. Can you guess what they picture?”

Dean watched as he drew a black line over the X’s, forming a devil’s trap. “That’s brilliant,” he found himself murmuring. “Iron lines. Demons can’t cross.”

“Someone can,” Éber let out, sipping her beer.

Dean’s head snapped, finding her face. He picked fast what she was trying to say and Bobby and he exchanged a concerned look.

“Well, but there’s nothing there besides a cemetery,” Ethan said, his eyes glued to the draw Tyler made. “Like, what could they possibly want in that place? Besides a few thunderstorms, nothing had happened around there.”

“There’s where you’re wrong, brother,” Ruby leaned against the back of her chair, a concerned smile raising in her lips. “The distant branch of my family tree happens to find this place very interesting. I’ve heard that some of them were hanging out there.” She turned to look directly at Éber. Dean noticed the way Ruby sounded concerned. “If demons are there, don’t you think that the guy that tried to hurt Sam could be, possibly, there too?”

Éber nodded. “They want what is inside,” she murmured.

“Whatever it is,” added Ruby.

Chapter Text

‘Whatever it is’ was a fucking Hell’s Gate.

Dean expected a lot of messed-up shit, but freeing demons like that wasn’t in his plans. Nor seeing his brother murder someone in cold blood. He stood there, frozen for a moment, while Éber tilted her head just a little bit, her face glued to Sam. They both felt that, Dean didn’t need a confirmation. Sam was back, but… different.

“The gate!” Bobby yelled and Éber moved faster, leaving Dean to gather the Colt from Jake’s cold, dead hands.

He told himself not to worry about Sam, to keep his mind on this mission. But even Ethan was looking kinda scared by the way Sam was acting towards a life he had just taken. He was cold, almost satisfied, with this look in his eyes that wasn’t there before. As Dean bowed down to take the gun, he felt the cold breeze in his neck that made him turn, just to find the Yellow-Eyed Demon smiling.

“Boys shouldn’t play with daddy’s toys,” he purred. In a shift motion, he snatched the gun from Dean’s hands and sent him flying against one of the gravestones.

Dean heard Sam call his name before hitting his head against the stone, laying there in pain. A loud, painful moan escaped his lips as the demon walked slowly toward him. Fear grew inside him and he suppressed the urge to call Éber.

“So, Dean, I gotta thank you,” the demon murmured, kneeling before him to meet his eyes. Dean felt the terror inside him spread as he noticed he couldn’t move anymore. “You see, demons can’t resurrect people unless a deal is made. I know,” he rolled his eyes. “Red tape, it’ll make you nuts. But thanks to you,” he reached out his hand, petting Dean like he was a dog. “Sammy’s back in rotation. Now, I wasn’t counting on that but I’m glad. I like him better than Jake anyhow,” he said, shifting to look at Jake’s body. “Tell me, have you heard an expression ‘if a deal sounds too good to be true, it probably is’?”

“You call that deal good?” Dean barked; his eyes fixed on the poor man’s face that the demons was wearing.

“Ah, it’s better than what your dad ever got,” he replied, lifting his eyes to find something over Dean’s shoulder. “That girl will be fantastic on my side of the war. Thank you for giving me her so willingly. I couldn’t have done it without your pathetic self-loathing, self-destructive desire to sacrifice everything for your family.”

The demon stood up in front of him, smiling. “I knew I kept you alive for some reason. Until now, anyway.”

He pointed the colt to Dean. Nothing had ever prepared him to face an evil like that, so Dean was scared. Everything in him was screaming to move, but he couldn’t. He was helpless, sitting there watching the demon condemn him to death. A glimpse of a memory caught his attention as he saw his deceased dad walking toward them. Dean didn’t want to let hope root inside him, but it happened anyway.

Before his dad could touch the thing, Éber grabbed the demon with a violent, brutal force, throwing them both at the damp ground of the cemetery. She held him on the ground, reaching her bare hand to touch its face. Dean watched as her body went still and the Demon’s eyes become glassy as she sank her nails deeper on its skin.

He remembered Éber explaining that the bad things became hers every time she touched someone, which made Dean imagine the horrors she was absorbing as she continued to touch it. It was a second before the Yellow-Eyed son of a bitch started to scream, a deep, frightening double voice. Éber’s face was pale, her arms holding loosely that thing until it exploded in a ball of light, leaving behind a corpse, its form already disintegrating into fine gray ash.

He felt his body free, and with a final look at his father’s ghost, he crawled to reach the Colt. As soon as he had the gun in his hands, he pointed it to the corpse, already starting to move again, and pulled the trigger. The bullet penetrated its head, leaving a hole in the middle of its forehead. Dean didn’t care if there was a guy inside that thing; it was probably dead already. He watched — witnessed — as the mocking smile faded of its lips and the body crumbled more, ashes flying in the faint wind.

Dean didn’t move at first. He didn’t know how to feel either.

He lifted his head to the light touch in his shoulder, staring into his dad’s eyes. A ghost, almost unshaped, but still his dad. The man he tried to copy his whole life, that now looked like a sentence. Still, Dean was happy. He wouldn’t be in hell anymore. He was free.

“Sorry dad,” he whispered, only to receive a smile back.

He broke contact when the screaming ripped through the night. Dean’s head snapped to the side as he watched a raw, guttural scream exit Éber’s mouth. She thrashed on the ground, her hands clawing at nothing, trying to grab something. Dean moved fast, knelt beside her as he took her glasses of to see her eyes covered in white. She was writhing on the floor as if she were on fire, moving away from his hands and screaming louder and louder.

“Grayson!” he yelled, trying to keep her steady. “Fuck, Grayson, it’s me!”

Sam joined him, his hands hanging in the air in confusion. None of them knew what to do.

“What do we do?!” Sam asked in panic.

“I don’t know,” Dean shouted, grabbing Éber’s face with both hands and lowering until they were nose to nose. “Éber, you’re safe. Listen to my voice,” he murmured only for her. “Come back to me.”

The screaming stopped. Bobby shoved him aside as he took his place, murmuring continuously for her to come back. Dean sat down, feeling the hurt under his right arm, but his eyes were glued to her. Ethan was standing beside them, the worried look in his face displaying their fear of losing her. A fear, Dean thought, that would come earlier than they expected. He felt nauseated.

“Stop touching me.” Her voice came out in a hoarse rasp, snapping Dean out of his head. “Please, stop touching me,” she begged.

Bobby raised his hands. “It’s okay, girl,” he murmured. “You’re back and safe.”

“Give me an order,” she asked, her eyes still closed. Dean looked from her to Sam, frowning. “Any order,” she added.

Dean cleared his throat. Searching for the keys, he left them over her thigh. “Bring me my car.”

She took the keys, stood up and walked away, in the direction he left the Impala parked. All of them remained in silence, looking at each other in astonishment as nobody understood why she wanted an order after looking like she was dying. Ethan was the first to break the silence.

“Well, at least we know she is tough.” Dean knew he intended to lighten the mood, but it did the opposite.

With Sam’s help, Dean stood up. His brother was glancing at him, as if waiting for the right moment to speak. Dean grunted, letting go of Sam.

“Speak,” he ordered.

Sam pursed his lips. “It’s nothing. We can talk later—”

“For fuck’s sake, Sammy, just tell me.”

With a slight nod, Sam shoved his hands into his jeans. “You know, when Jake saw me, it was like he saw a ghost.” Sam took a deep breath as Dean went still. “I mean, you heard him, Dean. He said he killed me.”

Dean clenched his jaw. Would it be possible to keep it a secret like that from Sam? Only Bobby knows, Dean thought to himself. He was sure that Bobby wouldn’t advertise it to everyone, since he begged him not to. Singer was a good secret keeper.

“Glad he was wrong,” Dean mumbled as he saw the headlights of a car approaching them in the distance.

“I don’t think he was, Dean,” Sam replied. Dean kept his head turned to the car. He didn’t need to look to Sam to know what was so clearly exposed in his tone. “What happened?” Dean didn’t want to talk about it, to remind himself of what he had done. “What did you do, Dean?”

“I already told you,” Dean murmured.

“Not everything.”

With a loud moan, Dean turned to his brother. “Man, we just killed the demon. Can we enjoy this for a second?”

He regretted looking into his brother’s face. Sam was already crying, which made that moment a million times worse. Dean knew he wasn’t worthy of their sadness — Bobby, Sam, none of them. Éber was the one with a one-way ticket to hell. She deserved that; the worry, the fear, the love.

“Did I die?” Sam’s voice was breaking when he asked.

Before Dean could even form some kind of answer, Éber replied. “Yes.”

She was standing a few steps away from them, the car parked on the other side of that small dirt road. Her eyes were back to normal, the glassy green hiding something Dean didn’t like. Sam’s breath hitched.

“So… it’s true. Everything that the demon said… it’s all true?”

Again, Éber answered. “We have a plan.” She took one step closer. “You all be alive in the end.”

Dean echoed her. “We will.”

Sam didn’t look convinced. Éber told him to find something to clean their wounds in the car while she approached Dean to check his shoulder. Her fingers moved fast, pressing the spots where he felt pain. He groaned, looking down to her.

“You—” he stopped. “Everything good?”

She shrugged. “I guess.” With one, clean move, she put his shoulder back in place. “You have a broken rib. It will hurt.”

He cursed. “Yeah, I know.” He moved his shoulder in a round pattern, his eyes glancing at Sam all the time. “Thanks for, uh, saving my life.”

“You’re my master,” she said, putting her hands in her pockets.

“I’m not your fucking master,” he whispered, sliding his fingers over the sore spot between his ribs. Once more, he stared at her face. Without the dark glasses, she had a small, determined face. It looked like she was in constant pain, which framed the expression of despair in her eyes in a beautifully sad way. “Why you asked for an order?”

Éber bowed her head. “I don’t have to think, just do.”

“It was that bad?”

She seemed to think for a minute. “Yes, sir.”

Dean groaned again. “Stop with this ‘sir’ thing.”

“It’s one of the rules,” she replied. “I need to talk with you with respect.”

Dean was full of the rules she had. He grabbed her chin, yanking her closer gently as he stared deeply inside her eyes. She couldn’t see him, but he could see her. Ever since that Djinn fever-dream, she has looked more like a human being than a monster. She saved him, helped him, protected him; they would never be friends, but they could not be enemies for once. She had only twelve months, he could cut her some slack.

“There are no rules anymore,” he murmured, “except the one about killing me. You know, I want to live.”

For a moment, nothing happened. But then she smiled. It was an unfamiliar sight, so startling that Dean froze. It wasn’t broad or loud, but seemed genuine to him. It softened her round face, carving two perfect dimples into her cheeks. For a single, heart-stopping moment, the soldier was gone, replaced by someone young and unburdened. The image engraved itself deeply in his mind, a fleeting glimpse of a life she’d never had.

“No rules?” She asked, blinking fast. “I can… sleep, and eat, and… and go see movies? I can—” She pressed her lips. “Thank you, Dean.”

It was the first time she said his name. Dean quickly released her chin, as if the touch had burned him. “Don’t—” he stopped, frowning. “What do you mean, eat?”

She shrugged. “It was a rule. Don’t matter now,” she replied, turning on her hills to walk toward Ethan.

He stood there, watching her, taking her in, finally unraveling secrets he never thought he would want to know.

Chapter Text

For the first time, Sam didn’t complain about Dean’s hookups. The whole “I sold my soul for you” thing was working in strangely beautiful ways — at least, if Dean didn’t think too much into it. Sam was understanding; Dean was living his best life, and everything seemed to fall in place. But once his head hit the pillow at night, his mind always ended up thinking about Éber’s fate.

As far as he knew, she was enjoying her freedom. She had gone to Canada with that adoptive sister he hadn’t met yet; made Ethan take her to the movies. Bobby also told him she went to one of Sioux Falls’s sheriff’s dinner or something like that. She was happy, he told himself. She had accepted her own fate, he also convinced himself.

They met again five weeks prior, after Bobby called them saying that he had found something about a new set of demons lurking in the dark. Their encounter happened in the outskirts of Lincoln, Nebraska. Bobby sent them the location of a semi-rural property, with a large white house, ranch style. It was a spacious property with a  country feel, Dean noticed. Éber and Bobby were standing beside the Bronco, both laughing about something. His heart clung to the sight of her. It was a pulling sensation, something raw and sudden.

“Hear those cicadas?” Sam asked him while he parked the car, his eyes betraying him as they always followed their path back to her.

“That can’t be a good sign, right?” he murmured.

“No, it can’t.”

Dean left the car, giving one last bite to his bacon cheeseburger before walking toward them. Bobby lifted an eyebrow, looking at him with a mix of cheer and sadness. “We’re eating cheeseburgers for breakfast, are we?”

He glanced at Éber, whose eyes were hidden behind sunglasses again. “Well, sold my soul. I ain’t sweating the cholesterol.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “So, Bobby, what do you think? Biblical plague?”

“Let’s find out,” Singer replied, leading the way.

Éber stood behind, hands in her pockets, wearing a different sweater now. Dean walked with her, watching over the house. “Enjoying the free time?”

“Yes,” she murmured. “Thank you.”

He nodded. “Heard you made Ethan’s life a living hell over a movie trip,” he joked.

“I guess,” she replied, a small smile on her lips. “He liked.” A pause. “I know.” Moving ahead of him, she pried the window open.

They looked at each other before she entered. Dean followed her, standing side by side in the small room. It smelled like rotten food, which made Dean wrinkled his nose.

“Ugh, that’s so can’t be a good sign,” he whispered.

Éber stared at the door in concern.

“The sound is not human,” she told him in a low voice. “Like is crawling.”

Dean took out his gun, cocking the hammer and aiming it at the door. As he moved, Éber mirrored him. He never noticed the way she moved, as if she knew exactly what he was planning to do next. She was standing behind the door when he took his position. With one small nod, she opened it for them to find an even smaller room, where the TV was still on. On the couch, a family of four was sitting there, all of them dead. It looked like they’d been dead for days.

“What the hell happened here?”

Éber took a step closer, pulling out one of her gloves. “Maybe—”

“No,” Dean grunted, pulling her by her forearm. “Don’t need to.” He circled the dead bodies, staring at them in concern.

He knew trouble was on the way. Since that night in Wyoming, he had expected for the demons to start doing their demonic voodoo across the country. It didn’t happen as he had imagined, but this was far from normal. To the sound of creaking wood, he lifted his head to find Bobby standing in the doorframe that led to the hallway.

“Looks like they starved to death,” the old man said.

Éber leaned over them, and Dean noticed the way her nose was moving. He thought how awful it was for her, to be sniffing that scent of dead, putrid bodies. “It is more than hunger,” she said, tilting her head. “It’s smoke too.”

Dean watched her, noticing that Bobby left them in a hurry. Sam followed him. Éber put the glove back on, her head turning as she seemed to scan the room. There were a lot of things Dean never noticed about Éber; the way she worked on a case was one of them. She was quiet, observant, despite being deprived of one of her senses. She lifted one of her hands in the air and shook it. Dean noted the tiny Christmas chimes in her wrists.

“What are the bells for?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I see lines. The sounds… they help.”

“So… in some way, you can see?”

She shrugged. “Not very well,” she confessed.

When she lifted her hand again, Dean grabbed it. There was this recurrent thought in his mind; not that it consumed his days, but he sometimes asked himself if she continued that. So, he rolled up her sweater sleeve. Beneath it, he found recent lines carved into the sensitive skin of her wrist. Éber didn’t move, standing there so still he sighed.

“Breathe, Éber.”

She did it, but remained silent. Dean gently ran his thumb over the cuts. “Did you try to kill yourself?

She shook her head. “Not this time.”

Not this time. Her words hit him in a different way. She had tried before. Maybe she had even come close, but his dad’s old rules prevented it.

“Why?” he murmured. “Why did you do it this time?”

She shrugged. “Help with the nightmares.”

When he stood there, holding her hand with no words, she pulled away from him. Dean wondered if he’d imagined the embarrassment in her expression. At the sound of voices coming from outside, he left her, not sure how they could keep that conversation going. He found Bobby standing on the porch with Sam. With them, there was this couple. The woman had a rich brown skin with very short hair and a wide smile as she spoke with Bobby. The man, his skin as dark as hers, looked a bit less friendly, although he was replying to Bobby with a light tone.

“Yeah, we heard that too,” the man kept going. “I guess news spread fast. Every hunter on the way was talking over and over about this new wave of things.”

“Who’re your friends, Bobby?” Dean asked cheerfully, even though a hollow ache opened in his chest.

The woman smiled at him. “So this is one of the infamous Bobby singer’s kids, huh?”

“This is Dean. He’s Sam’s brother. They’re both John’s boys,” Bobby explained. “A bit mine, though.” Bobby shifted to look at the door. “My girl is around here somewhere.”

“I’m Isaac,” the man told Dean, reaching his hand for Dean to shake it. “This is my wife, Tamara. We worked with your father a long time ago. He was one of the good ones.”

Dean nodded, not sure if he still agreed with that statement.

“Yeah, the old man knew his way in this world,” Dean said. He took a step back, his body instantly noticing when Éber joined them.

“So… demons, huh?” Tamara said, hooking her thumbs in her back pockets.

Bobby sighed. “It seems so, yeah.” He moved over to make room for Éber between him and Dean. “And this is her. This is Éber.”

Suddenly, the smile on Tamara’s face faded, giving space to something Dean knew very well: repulsion. Their friendly persona vanished as Isaac lifted his gun to point at Éber. “Bobby, what is that doing here?” he asked, his eyes locked on her.

“Whoa, easy there,” Dean raised his hands, stepping in front of Éber, just beside Bobby. “Let’s calm down.”

“John told us about this thing,” Tamara said to Bobby, ignoring him. She spat out those words as if Éber had done something to her. “A monster on a leash. He said if the leash ever broke, it was to be put down.”

“She’s saved our asses more times than I can count,” Bobby hissed, his face turning red. “She’s with us.”

Isaac moved his finger to the trigger. Dean imagined he had salt bullets, and, even though they wouldn’t kill her, it would hurt her. Taking the fact that she liked to be hurt, Dean almost laughed.

Sam stepped in, talking in a slowly, low voice. “Look, we get it. It sounds bad, but she is one of us. She fought with us, there’s no need for this.” His eyes went from Tamara to Isaac, stopping at the gun. “She’s on our side.”

“There are no sides here,” Tamara sneered, “there’s only us and them. An that… is a them.”

“It won’t leave this yard,” Isaac threatened.

Dean moved with Sam, both of them shielding Bobby and Éber behind them. When he spoke, he sounded dangerous. “You take another step toward her, and you’ll be dealing with us. And we don’t come with a leash.”

A heartbeat passed before Éber spoke. “I go.”

“Like hell you will,” Dean said, his eyes still on Isaac.

“It is better,” she replied, leaning to murmur something to Bobby. Singer looked pale and angry, but he nodded, his eyes turning back to the couple standing across them. Éber pressed her lips, looking at Dean. “Can we talk?”

With one final warning look to Isaac, Dean followed her to the Bronco. He noticed her hands were shaking and that her face had dropped most of the light he had seen when they arrived. She stood by the door, the car keys in hand.

“What is it?”

“Can I ask you for something?”

Dean nodded before cursing to himself. “Yeah… sure,” he voiced, remembering that she couldn’t see him.

“Keep Bobby safe, please?” She pressed her lips together. “I stay close. If you need me.”

Dean forced a smile, squeezing her arm gently. “I will. I promise.”

“Thank you, Dean.”

He watched as she opened the door, sitting behind the steering wheel of the Bronco. A strange feeling ran through his veins at the same time Éber looked at him, frowning. “Listen…” he started, “what I saw in there…” Again, he stopped, trying to find the right words. “Don't. Don't do that again. That's an order. If the nightmares get bad… come to me. Come to Bobby. Hell, call someone. Just don't do that. Understood?”

Éber nodded. When she left, Dean felt empty inside.

Chapter Text

They buried Tamara and Isaac behind an old church they used for the exorcism of the Seven Deadly Sins. In the end, Éber had to come to their rescue. When they parted ways, she was in a strange mood, quieter than the normal. Bobby was also different, but Dean let it slide since the situation was already complicated enough. He sat down with his brother, listening to Sam tell him all the ways they could keep him from going to hell. Dean drowned in darkness and beer, pretending that he was listening, but all the time, his mind was telling him the horrible person he was.

But Éber never blamed him. Not once. At least, not to him.

He would give everything to know what was going on in that mind of hers.

They spent the next three months diving in and out of different cases. One they worked along with Ethan. In another one, they found Jo working on a bar in Seattle. She had had a fight with Ellen, and she was under Éber’s constant supervision. While they were there, Dean didn’t see Éber. They drove all the way down to Texas to kill a nest of vampires and he was enjoying a flirting game with the waitress when his phone ringed.

As soon as he saw the number, he left a ten-dollar bill on the counter and walked out.

“Go ahead,” he said, walking toward the Impala. “Tell me.”

“I—” Éber stopped. He could hear her loud breath.

Dean waited. He sat alone in his car, waiting for her to find the right words. He leaned against the seat, closing his eyes. She grunted in pain.

“Let me,” she begged.

He sighed. “Why do you think this’ll work?”

“I concentrate in it. It’s different pain.”

“But the nightmares will still happen,” he said, “and you will do it again. It’s not healthy.”

She laughed, just a bit. “I’m not healthy.”

I know.

He still didn’t grant her the right to cut her wrists. He also assumed she could be creative and try new ways to hurt herself. That thought crossed his mind and he snapped open his eyes.

“Talk to me,” he asked. “If you don’t want to tell me what the nightmares are about, uh, tell me what you want to do with the time you have left.”

She had four months — four months and one day, to be exactly; he counted. That ticking time bomb was haunting him; how could he forget that she was going to hell because of him. He waited, and waited, but Éber remained in silence; the only sound was her loud, rasping breath on the other side of the line.

“Éber,” he murmured, “just talk to me.”

“I don’t know,” she whispered in a heavy tone. Dean could tell she was struggling even more now. “I want to be with my family. I don’t know more things.”

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. He wasn’t very good at it. His own last wish would probably be something greasy to eat and a lineup of twenty different pornstars. “Okay, okay. Let’s think small, then. Stupid stuff. You gotta have a bucket list.” He pushed on, forcing himself into a cheerful tone. “You ever… don’t know, gone skinny-dipping? Stolen a road sign? Eaten a whole bucket of ice cream in one sitting and lived to tell the tale?”

He waited as she breathed on the other side of the line. A soft, embarrassed “No” came through.

“Fine. Now you have a list to start. What about… uh, a concert?” He searched his mind. “You gotta hear Metallica live at least once in your life, before you…” his voice trailed off as guilt took place in his chest. “You could try karaoke, murder some Bon Jovi,” he went on, trying to leave that sentiment behind.

Her breath was still unstable, but she sounded more normal as she responded to him with ‘yes’ and ‘no’. He kept rambling about anything he could possible things girls would like, trying to fill the horrible silence on the other end. He grasped the basic, the most humanly things he could possibly think.

“Alright. Now we get really simple. Forget monsters and deals for a second. You ever… I mean, have you ever been kissed?”

The silence in the other end was so heavy Dean felt like a dark cloud had set between them. “Yes,” she replied, small and factual.

A weird, unexpected spark of something flared in his chest. “Yeah? Who was the lucky guy?” he asked, trying to keep the light tone.

“A demon.”

The way that she said was so casual he wondered if he had listened right. “What?”

“The deal,” she explained, her voice low, flat. “He made the deal with a kiss.”

Dean felt the world tilt. He stared blankly at the Impala’s steering wheel, his mind trying to process the sheer, profound wrongness of it. “It was your first kiss?” he whispered.

“Yes.”

Her first kiss. A transaction. A payment for his brother’s life, given to some evil creature.

“Go out there,” he murmured. “Kiss a real guy.”

“I don’t want to,” she replied.

Dean clenched his jaw. “Is it because the touching thing?” She confirmed, without explaining further. “But it happens— how does it work?”

“If I touch the skin, I can see. If they hurt or if they are hurt. And it all comes to me,” she murmured. “And I live it.”

“Was that what happened with the demon that day?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

Dean closed his eyes. He could only imagine how it must have felt, to experience the memories of a demon, to witness the horrors that were waiting for her. There was nothing he could say to her that would make it better. A new kind of fear crawled inside him as he remembered the times he had touched her.

“It hurts when you… when I touch you?”

“No,” she replied as if it was a confession. “I don’t feel you. It is scary. But don’t hurt.”

He didn’t know if he should feel relief or fear. He waited before speaking again, not sure how he would sound. Too many confessions too fast, there wasn’t enough time for him to digest it all.

“Feeling better?”

She cried out. “Let me, please.”

As the words exited his mouth, he was already regretting it. “Just don’t kill yourself, Éber. That’s an order.”

“Thank you, Dean.”

Chapter Text

Bela Talbot was a whisper of money and greed among the hunter’s community.

Éber left the Bronco parked at the marina. She was still feeling sore after being ambushed by a group of hunters, who had beaten her heavily. She killed two of them, and Bobby helped her hide their bodies. She felt bad for dragging him in it, but she didn’t know who else she could call. Dean was out of question; he would not have helped her. She exited the car, her eyes accompanying Ruby as she stood under the sun, her arms wide open.

“Oh my, have I missed this,” she said, turning to Éber. “Couldn’t take any more of the rain back home.”

Éber smiled. “Enjoy. Bela will make it be bad.”

Ruby groaned. “Don’t say her name. You’ll summon that bitch.” Leaning against the car at Éber’s side, Ruby glanced at her. “How are you feeling? How’s your back?”

“Fine,” Éber replied, ignoring the burning sensation of her skin.

She let herself get lost in the laugh that ignited the world for her — a shimmering outline of a person, traced by the rhythmic heartbeat in her chest that told Éber she was a female. With her, two other figures, small ones, she noticed, as the lines draw them for her. She thought about it. She could finally eat ice cream, and she drank a whole gallon of orange juice just because she felt like it. But deeper inside her, she wanted to be able to laugh like that, just once in her life. At the burning in her eyes, she focused on the solid, familiar form of her combat boots, trying to block that chaotic sight of a world she would never be in.

“I spy with my eye two handsome guys,” Ruby sang quietly, bumping shoulders with Éber.

Éber felt it before she saw him, walking down the street with that obscene scent in him. After that night in Wyoming, when he released her in some way, she had, without meaning to, opened a door in her mind. And he had walked right in and stayed. She had, of course, considered killing him before, but had been restrained by that thing he had over her. But that night bounded them with this unsettling intimacy Éber didn’t like. They hadn’t grown closer in any conventional way, but they had reached some sort of silent understanding.

She avoided looking too much into his lines. It wasn’t just strange now; it was too intimate.

“Well, well. Look who God threw in our way, Sister Grayson,” Ruby purred, her voice dripping with mock piety and menace. “Two deadly, walking sins.”

“Hello to you too, Satan,” Dean replied.

Éber raised the corner of her lips, saying nothing.

She felt the way Ruby had questions. “What bring you two to this lovely town?”

“The name Bela ring a bell?” Sam said, his lines jumped in an irritated mood.

“Oh, yes,” Ruby laughed. “Don’t tell me you found the bitch.”

“Oh, we did,” Dean replied, his voice dripping with angry irony. “And next time I see her, I’ll put a few rounds in that skank.”

It seemed to Éber that Bela’s fan club was growing stronger every time she heard about her. Shoving her hands in her pockets, she pursed her lips. “There is a case here. Bela is selling something. She do it every time.”

Ruby sighed. “Well, the bitch survives on the money of these poor, stupid people anyway.”

“You hunt now?” Dean asked, and Éber lifted her eyes just a little, seeing his figure turned toward Ruby.

Ruby denied. “I’m just here for emotional support. My girl here had a tough week.”

“Why?” Sam questioned.

Éber sighed. “We need to go. I need to find Bela.”

Ruby protested, but Éber bought her silence with the words ‘good hotel’. She sensed how Dean was lingering on her, but she walked away from them, agreeing on meeting them later, to share what she found. She took the rest of her money to pay for a shared room in a more expensive hotel with clean towels, as Ruby said. The bedroom was facing the water and Ruby told Éber she would enjoy a beautiful day in the heated pool. She and Ruby would meet later that night.

Before Ruby left the room, Éber murmured: “Stay away from trouble.”

“But why?” she replied, “I’m excellent at getting out of it.”

Éber knew she would come back to hell breaking loose over their heads.

As she left the hotel, she forced herself to remember Bela’s scent. It wasn’t a difficult job, since she was long used to recognizing people like that. For Éber, it was like she had memorized a face. Someone’s scent was her kind of face; it was her way of remembering people. It took her an hour until she found the right trace — cotton, with this hint of roses that was nauseating. She was using a fake name and had been working as a spiritual guide for a rich old lady. Éber didn’t need much to understand Bela was trying to steal something cursed to pass it on for a good amount of money.

“Hell must be freezing if you came all the way from South Dakota just to find me,” Bela taunted, founding Éber standing in the entry hall of the Museum of Maritime History.

Éber sighed. “You called.”

“I did. But didn’t think you would actually come, Grayson.”

Éber said nothing. Bela was beautiful, Éber didn’t need her eyes to see it. Her aura was smooth and the lines were full of right angles and specific shapes. She was a beautiful woman with an awful interior. The lines in her chest were dark, glowing in a light red that Éber never liked. She was rotten inside.

“Well, you owe me anyway,” Bela exhaled. “It’s about time you pay me back.”

Éber went still when that carnal scent hit her senses. “The bitch still speaking, Sammy. She just don’t know when to shut up,” Dean growled.

“Thanks for telling Gert the case wasn’t solved, by the way,” Bela hissed at them.

“It isn’t,” replied Sam.

“She didn’t know that. Now the old bag’s stopped payment and she’s demanding some real answers.”

Éber chuckled. “Bad for you.”

“Keep it quiet, monkey.” Bela’s lines jolted, in a charming, threatening way. Éber was very used to it. “Look, just stay out of my way before you cause any trouble.” She laughed. “Now, you should get to that car of yours. Before they find the arsenal in the trunk. Ciao.”

Éber watched as Bela walked away, knowing damn well that Talbot would wait for her. Dean growled.

“Can I shoot her?”

“Not in public,” Sam responded, as irritated as Dean.

“I talk to her,” she simply said, not waiting for their response.

Following the scent, Éber found Bela in a room full of books — the smell was too characteristic, with the old paper and leather bindings. She heard Talbot’s whistle, a low hum combined with the throb of her blood. She stood in the doorframe, waiting.

“Why won’t you have a seat, Éber darling?”

Éber didn’t move. When Bela sighed, she took a step in and closed the door. “What you want?”

“Right to business then,” Bela’s figure leaned against the chair. “I have a… situation here. And I need your help. God, even those two idiots out there would be helpful. Gert certainly liked Sam’s… hindquarters.” Éber waited, letting her senses study Bela in search for something odd. “I need to put my hands in this Hand of Glory,” Bela stopped abruptly. “Please, tell me Singer taught you well.”

“The hand of a hanged man,” Éber repeated after what Bobby had taught her in their classes. “It’s an important occult object.”

The way Bela’s lines moved showed Éber she was deeply impressed. “Aren’t you a sharp tack?”

“What else?”

“If you want to stop the murders in town, we need to put our hands in that piece,” Bela pointed out. “And it happens to be right here, in this very museum.”

Éber nodded. “I go there now.”

“Are you insane?” Bela stood up, quickening her steps to prevent Éber from opening the door. “We are not doing it your way, Grayson. Last time, it cost me two million dollars.” Éber wasn’t aware of how much money Bela could get with just one cursed object, so breaking that giraffe statue didn’t seem like a big deal. Apparently, she was wrong. “We’re doing this my way now.”

Éber frowned. “Why you doing this?”

“Because I, unfortunately, need help with this. And, as we already established, you owe me.” Only then, Bela opened the door for Éber. “Be a love and get the dogs ready for me.”

Chapter Text

Éber stood there quietly.

“What is taking so long? Sam’s already halfway there with his date,” Bela said, entering the room, only to find Éber still dressed in black, long clothes. “What is it?”

“I don’t do dresses,” Éber replied.

“Tonight, you do.”

She approached Éber and snatched her sweater, forcing Éber to take it off.

“Stop,” Éber grunted.

Bela sighed loudly. “Look, I get you have this… thing, whatever it is. But we don’t have time, darling.”

Clenching her jaw, Éber took the sweater off, revealing a long sleeve t-shirt. Bela's eyes lingered on her, a silent, intense inspection that made her skin prickle. She hated the idea of people looking at her body, noticing her skin as something they could desire. Éber had had a life of violation, and the feeling of being desired was unbearable. Her breath hitched as she took the combat boots off and opened the button of her jeans, her fingers feeling clumsy, foreign at the thought of being naked in front of someone.

“Stop looking,” she hissed.

“If my looking bothers you, just wait for what you’ll endure in that party.”

Once she was out of her clothes, she became very aware of the fact that her body had profound marks of everything she had lived. If Éber traced the lines in her skin, they would all tell a history of painful servitude and terrifying abuse. She couldn’t change it, couldn’t hide it in a dress.

Bela remained silent while helping her put on the dress.

Éber never understood why Talbot wasn’t afraid to touch her. Her fingertips bumped on Éber’s skin as she zipped up the dress. Éber was also used to the bad things in Bela’s story, so she pressed her lips together, feeling something between sadness and resignation.

“You have less than two months,” she murmured.

“And?” Bela grumbled.

“Are you scared?”

Bela scoffed. “Look at you, sweetheart, using some big words,” she mocked. “I’m perfectly fine.”

But she stood there, right behind Éber, her heart racing in a way that made Éber feel sorry for her. She was afraid, and had survived too many things too. Éber could understand her nature. When she spoke again, her voice was devoid of the usual mockery. “I know what it’s like. To feel a man’s eyes on you and know you’re just a thing to be used. I know the look on your face because I see it in my own mirror every day.” She smoothed the fabric, her heart bumping loud and frantic for a moment. “But let’s be practical. If you survived years of John Winchester’s particular brand of care, then one night in a room full of lecherous old bastards is a walk in the park. So stop trembling. It’s just a different kind of hunt.”

Éber swallowed hard. “You know,” she whispered in fear.

“He liked to brag,” she replied with a sad tone.

Éber didn’t move. She stood there while Bela undid her braid, leaving her hair hanging loose over her shoulders. Éber shouldn’t be dressed like that, shouldn’t look anything other than a soldier. She felt the pain in her bones, spreading in her veins like a poison.

“I’m so not okay with this,” Dean yelled down the hallway.

Éber turned to see Bela’s lines curve. She was stressed and irritated. “What are you, a woman?” she yelled back. “Come here, already.”

Éber listened to his steps — firm, determined steps that thundered in her head. She stood there, quietly as a specter, trying to pretend she didn’t exist until she saw him reach the door, his lines disappearing in the dark as the noise of his steps ceased. Confused, Éber tried to decipher what was that strange move in Bela’s figure until Talbot sighed in a way Éber recognized as desire.

“Ok, let it out. I’m ridiculous.”

“Not exactly the word I’d use,” Bela replied.

Éber rolled her eyes, reaching for her sunglasses as Bela stopped her. “No. You’re not using this tonight,” she said, taking them away. “I already have to let you use this… horrible boots of yours.”

Éber shrugged, taking a seat with her back turned to the door to put the combat boots back. She didn’t need to hear how ridiculous she looked; she already knew it. Luis always said she wasn’t that beautiful, and that she had this round face that remembered him of a Christmas cookie. Only Salazar used to say that she was an Angel, and she accepted it; he was only six.

The thought made her fingers tremble and she fought the urge to stand up and leave.

Trying to shield her mind from the outside world, she fell into a memory of Salazar, laughing hard in the green grass under summer’s sun after learning to use a knife. He was so stupid — a sweet, stupid, lovable child; and she missed him so much.

“I believe we are all ready to go,” Bela announced, leaning to Éber to whisper. “And I believe you’ll behave.”

Éber chose not to respond, sucking in a deep breath as she stood up and walked past them. Dean’s scent was so strong she felt intoxicated, which just made her walk faster toward the stairs to leave that small, suffocating room. She needed the distance to give her brain time to think about how she would survive that night. No glasses, not enough clothes; it was a waking nightmare.

She felt him again, close enough that she couldn’t shield herself from him. She felt the brush of the fabric against her arm, which made her turn her head in his direction. “You look cold,” he murmured, as she understood he was offering her his coat.

They drove separately. Éber took the Bronco as a way to think straight and focus on her task. She left if parked a few blocks away, walking fast in the cold night , using it to ground her in the present and prevent her mind to fall into old memories that could led to her not being able to move. She had only to take the piece and leave, that was her job. Éber was good at her job.

She found them on the parking lot, already fighting like an old couple. Their voices were echoing around them, picturing the surroundings to Éber. There was a lot of people there.

She saw Bela loop her arm around Dean’s. “Remember, darling, we’re a couple tonight. Try to look like you enjoy my company.”

Dean ripped away from her, stepping closer to Éber. “Forget it. I’m going with Grayson.”

“No, you’re not,” Bela said, the sweetness in it disappearing. “She has a job to do. And our job is to create a distraction to keep the guests, and security, entertained. That means you and me walk in together.”

She felt his eyes on her. She was standing there, so till, so unmovable, too ready. “I don’t like this. Sending her in alone.”

“I’ll be fine,” Éber murmured.

“See? She’ll be fine,” Bela repeated. “Now put on a smile, handsome” Bela grabbed Dean’s elbow, already pulling him with her. “It’s showtime.”

Dean resisted her, turning again to Éber. “You sure?” he asked, his voice sounding worried in a way Éber never heard.

She gave him a simple, sharp nod, passing him on the way to the entrance. Éber could feel all of them. At least, that great amount of people made it easier for her to see the place. The loud chatting and the music playing in the background were enough for her to see all those shapes. This time, she chose to let them be just a shadow in her vision, focusing exclusively on the wave of power a cursed object could emanate. It was still a soul after all, even if it was trapped in an object. She avoided all contact as much as she could, but still, she felt them — rapists, murderers, liars, swindlers; all kinds of people, pretending to be good while donating money that didn’t belong to them.

Around her, the voices grew louder.

She used it as a way to form a plan, remembering Bela told her the exposition was happening in the second floor. She couldn’t read a sign or anything, but it wasn’t difficult to understand that the stairs were closed. She stood on the other side of the room, watching silently. Her socials skills were non-existent, which only made that task worse. If she knew the flirting game Ruby had tried to teach her, maybe she would be able to convince the guard to let her pass.

But Éber was broken.

In that swirling, stinking waves of voices, a sudden void opened. The absence hit her first. It was an emptiness, but pure, submerged in sterile neutrality. It was a place in the world where her senses simply… stopped. No scent, no frantic heartbeat, no thermal outline; exactly like a quiet eddy in a raging river. And it was moving toward her.

“We have to stop meeting like that, Princess.”

Éber turned to that calm, smooth voice. It was loud, even over the chaotic noise of that room. The shape in front of her wasn’t strange. She had seen him months ago, right before Hell’s gate was open, and she had to fight the Seven Deadly Sins to keep Bobby safe. He was a faint memory, but unforgettable.

“You,” she whispered, her body tensing as if she was ready to fight. But how do you fight silence?

“Me,” he replied. There was a smile in that voice. He moved closer, and the world around him silenced, pushing back the crowd around her and depriving her of her senses. “You’re looking for a way upstairs. And you, my gorgeous hunter, are about to get yourself a hole in that security guard for staring too much.”

He knew. Of course he knew, she thought. Just like he knew about her pact, about the little time she had left.

“What you want?” she hissed.

“To help,” he said simply, as if it was obvious. He took her hand, placing it in his arm. Éber felt nothing. Not like Dean, just… the absolutely nothing. Empty. “The stairs are closed. But, a guest of honor fainting…? That requires immediate assistance to a private, quiet room upstairs.”

Éber’s mind raced. It was risky to take help from things she couldn’t understand, even more if it were a man. But she had no solution other to start a massacre and just take what she wanted. And he had fallen there like scent from above — maybe from hell.

“I don’t faint.”

“You do tonight,” he stated. His hand found the small of her back, guiding her with him. His touch was cold and steady, calm despite his empty nature. Éber felt the uneasiness building up inside her. “Don’t worry, Princess,” he whispered in her ear. “I’ll catch you. Just follow my lead.”

He led her to the center of the room, where people where dancing. Éber held her breath, feeling all that skin touching her, pressing her eyes closed to try to run from this. Maybe it was his plan, overwhelm her in a way she wouldn’t be able to fight him. He held her even closer, as if he knew what was going on.

His voice was a low, deep whisper. “Now.”

The vulnerability in it made her stiffen. Then, she let out a loud sigh before going limp in his arms. She was suddenly weightless. He swept her in his arms as if she were nothing. His hold was firm and strong, but the emptiness in his scent was unsettling. She kept her eyes closed, despite wanting to open them. Why, she asked herself. She wouldn’t be able to see him anyway. He carried her through the crowd.

“Make way, please! She needs air!” he announced, his voice full of convincing concern.

He was a good liar, she sensed that. She would need to be careful to everything that came out of his mouth. He carried her upstairs without much problems, passing the guard with her. A perfect, silent weapon in the arms of a perfect, silent mystery.

Chapter Text

“I can walk now.”

His arms didn’t loosen. “So you’ve said,” he murmured, his voice a low vibration she could feel through his chest.

He continued down the hallway, only the muffled sound of his steps echoing faintly in her ears. She was losing her patience.

“Put me down,” Éber demanded.

“But you look like you could use the help, Princess. All tense, looking tired like a bird that flew too far from its nest.”

She flinched, just a little, but he noticed, letting out a low laugh. Everybody always took her as a dumb girl that couldn’t understand anything, but she knew damn well that was a threat. They were alone; she didn’t have her backup with her.

“I don’t need help,” she let out, trying to keep her voice normal, flat. “Not from you.”

“Don’t you?” She couldn’t see him, but she heard the way his skin stretched. A smile, probably an evil one. “You were stranded downstairs, looking clueless of how to get here. I’d call that a need.” His steps slowed as she felt they approaching that wave of angriness. “Besides, I find it enjoyable taking care of you. It’s a novel experience.”

The softness in his tone had nothing to do with care, and so much to do with power. He sounded like a cage, and the appeal of leaning to him wasn’t knew to her. Éber had a life full of traps, she had already learned not to trust people so lightly.

He finally, ever so slowly, let her feet touch the ground, his hands lingering on her waist for a moment too long, ensuring she was steady. Éber felt it like control, not care. Again, she was used to be seen as something to be owned. She had learned the signs, and being taken by dumb was usually helpful. The room around her was drenched in bad energy, the wave of anger slapping her in her senses. The Hand of Glory was placed somewhere there, but she needed a bit of noise, so she raised her hands and shook it.

The malevolent pulse of energy appeared in front of her, inside some kind of box.

“You never cease to amaze me,” he whispered.

Éber ignored him, but not him exactly. She could pretend she didn’t hear him, but he was standing in front of the door. There were only two ways out, and one of them was through him. Éber couldn’t sense his power, so she hasn’t decided yet if a fight was her best option. Being strong is something good, but strong and smart keeps you alive.

Not that I care, she reminded herself.

“See how I keep my promises, Princess? Now… what will you do for me?”

She reached for the Hand of Glory, unsure of how to feel about it. He was stating that he wanted something. The only thing Éber could give someone was her power, her ability to shut down the world and do the job. This time, though, she was afraid to offer it. It looked too much like a trap.

“I have a master already,” she replied.

“I know, gorgeous. That’s not what I’m asking.”

She frowned, holding the Hand of Glory carefully as she pulled it out of the box. Once in her hands, she turned to his direction. “I’ll die. I’m nothing to you.”

“So I’ve heard,” he murmured. Éber tried again to feel something about him, but the emptiness was all that she found. “But you still have, what, four months?”

She remained silent. She regretted not bringing a coat, because she wouldn’t be able to hide that thing in a short dress. Moving faster, she walked over to the window, but the man intercepted her. “You have the door right here, Princess.”

“And you’ll let me go?”

His laugh was, again, too similar to a threat. “Maybe,” he whispered. “Only if you promise me one thing.”

Éber cocked her head. “I don’t do promises.”

“Just one tiny, little promise,” he begged.

The begging sounded strange. Éber pressed her lips together.

“Only if you say your name.”

His fingers traced her jawline, lifting up her head. “Names are not important, and I bet you know that.” After a moment of silence, he sighed. “But… I guess this kind of transaction requires compromise. So… you can call me Mikhail, Princess.”

Éber narrowed her eyes. “Is your real name?”

“One of many,” he murmured, leaning closer. The emptiness embraced her, and the world went silent. “Will you promise me something now, Éber?”

She thought of it. How bad a new deal could be once she was already going to hell? What she saw in the memories of that Yellow-Eyed Demon was haunting her still. It was engraved in her mind; the suffering, the burning, the screams. She would end up there, living that same horrible reality, only to finally break free from a contract she never signed. At least, with this one, she was given a choice.

“What?”

He let his thumb rest over her chin, pressing gently against her skin. “Don’t go after Lilith.”

“Why?”

“This is a much more complex conversation, one we don’t have time to have right now, Princess.” He pulled her with him toward the door before she could protest. “There’s a new guest who’s not happy to see you here.”

He manhandled her out of the room, into the hallway, just for Éber to be met by the carnal scent of Dean coming to her. A hot, possessive wave of anger accompanied him.

“Get your hands off her,” Dean snarled, reaching them as fast as he could.

Mikhail’s hand traveled to her neck, grabbing her skin in a very deceptively gently way as he ran his thumb over her skin. “Is there a problem, friend? The lady was feeling faint. I just ensured she got some air.”

“I bet you were,” Dean shot back, pulling Éber closer. His touch burned her skin, leaving a mark inside her as his lines leaned over her, protective. “You okay?”

Éber ignored the laugh in Mikhail’s voice as he murmured something, focusing entirely on Dean. He was a safe space, one she could read, even though he was hidden. She handed him the Hand of Glory, whispering in a low, rushed voice. “I did. I think you have to hide for me.” Their fingers brushed and Éber avoided thinking too much about the way the scent deepened too fast. “Don’t let Bela see.”

“Don’t intend to,” he replied.

She opened her mouth so say something else, but the only sound was a painful gasp. A searing pain erupted inside her head, right behind her eyes, flooding her mouth with a coppery taste. She tried to grab Dean’s arm, but she fell to her knees, spitting blood on the carpet under her. Everything went dark, and then it came back with a loud, insufferable thunder.

“Éber,” Dean crouched beside her.

Mikhail did the same, his voice was right beside her. He had a low, urgent tone, meant only for her. “Tod you, Princess,” he murmured. He didn’t touch her this time. “You’re not strong enough to fight it. But you’ll be. Right now, though, I need you to leave. Can you manage that?”

She nodded frantically, trying to stand up, but the pain came back. The only time she had felt that was the first command Saddler gave her right before poisoning her with that thing he called a gift — the virus. The fear she felt, of becoming one of his things again, made her start to shake.

“Get her out of here, would you, friend?” Mikhail said.

Dean slid his arms under Éber, lifting her effortlessly against his chest. His heart was hammering in her ears, fear uncontrollably coursing through his blood as he left Mikhail, and whatever was hurting her, behind.

Chapter Text

She knew Ruby was asking her something, but Éber only sat there in silence, lost in her mind. The memories were mixing with reality, and she wasn’t sure if what she was experiencing was reality or a nightmare. She could only sense the fear around her and it became her entirely, not leaving any room for her to get out of that place inside her head. She could feel the cold steel bars pressed against her back, the wave of blood she was vomiting, the pain inside her head.

Was it Saddler? Mikhail knew Saddler, knew she wasn’t strong enough to stop him?

She would die, she let herself think about it. She would die, but he would still be alive. She wouldn’t be able to revenge Salazar.

She flinched at the touch on her leg. She didn’t want to be touched anymore.

“Éber,” Dean’s voice echoed in her head and she lifted her eyes, but couldn’t see anything besides the lab. “Listen to my voice.”

She did. It brought her slowly back to reality, the order flowing in her as she was forced to do what he told her. She blinked, letting the sounds around her finally became her reality. Dean was crouched before her, one hand hanging over her knee. Ruby and Sam were there too, she could feel them.

“Yes,” Éber whispered, almost adding ‘sir’ out of habit.

“Are you… here?” He asked, hesitant.

She nodded. “I’m sorry. I did something wrong.”

“You didn’t.” It was Ruby who responded. “Tell her she didn’t. She already had a bad week. You don’t—”

“Shut up, for fuck’s sake,” Dean growled. He turned to Éber again, a hot, big wave of fear emanating from him. But she didn’t know why. “You look normal again.”

She wasn’t feeling normal, though. Her wrists itched, and she held her right hand, her fingertips hovering over old scars. She would give anything to hurt herself. Just a little, just enough to forget where she was just a minute ago. Again, that terrifying wave of fear in Dean got to her like a punch and she held tighter her own wrist, sinking her nails into the skin. His hand covered hers.

“Sammy, can you get Satan’s daughter right there with you and find us something to eat?” Éber waited for him to let her go, but it didn’t happen. “Please,” he added, sounding exhausted.

Éber moved her head to find Sam, standing closer to the door. He was so sad for her, the kind of sadness that wasn’t just pity, but something denser, like he felt too much and she just happened to give him more to deal with. Éber pressed her teeth together, fighting the urge to cry.

“Sure,” he whispered. “We’ll be back soon.”

“Thanks, dude,” Dean murmured, still holding her hand tight. Éber waited for some command, some punishment. Anything would be better than that horrible silence. “You do have a problem, don’t you, Grayson?”

She closed her eyes. “Please,” she begged.

“Tell me,” Dean’s voice also sounded hurt, just like something inside him. “It was that guy? Did he—” he stopped.

“Don’t ask.” Éber tried to pull her arm, but Dean held it in place. “I can’t explain.”

“But you can’t hurt yourself to feel better, right?” She heard him move, the shuffle of his pants against the hardwood floor. But he didn’t let her go. When he was back, she felt the cold, sharp edge of a knife against her skin. “Let’s make a deal.”

The word deal hung between them.

 “You can do it on you, but you have to do the same on me.” His voice was low and strained, making her stiffen. “How’s that sound?”

Utterly bewildered, Éber whispered. “Why?”

“Call it a guilty conscience,” he answered. “I won’t sit here and watch you take your one-way ticket to hell early.”

A loud, crying moan escaped her lips as she pulled away from him. Éber walked to the farthest corner of that room, sitting with her knees against her chest, trying to hide in her own darkness. Dean didn’t try to stop her, sitting silently in the chair she was a minute ago. They remained like that for some time, only Éber sobs filling the silence between them. Éber scrubbed at her eyes with a violent urgency, letting her chin rest over her knees.

“He asked me something.” Her voice was rough, but she noticed that Dean was paying full attention to her.

“The man?”

She nodded.

“Did you know him?”

“No,” she replied, leaning her head against the wall. “But I met him one time.” She pressed her eyelids shut tightly. “He is empty. I can’t feel him. Everything was empty. It was like the world was gone.”

Dean’s lines curled, his body moving closer. “It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

Éber shook her head. “No, I’m not,” she murmured. “I felt this… pain. Like before, like when I was a kid.” Her lower lip trembled; she was falling into a memory again. “If I speak, I go there,” she confessed. “Please, hurt me.”

His voice sounded so painful. “Don’t ask me that.”

“So let me,” she begged once more.

With a loud sigh, he tossed the knife toward her feet. Éber grabbed it like a man starving. Her shaking hands placed the blade right on the skin of her wrist and she cut it deep, feeling warm, thick blood dirty her hands. Her mind stopped spiraling between past and present, and she let herself appreciate the waves of pain.

“I can’t,” Dean growled. “I fucking can’t.” He walked out of that room.

Chapter Text

“So he knows Lilith?” Ruby was sitting across the table, a beer in front of her, a scent of possession and guilt in her.

Éber, standing beside the window, noticed the same on Sam. She wasn’t stupid, sex was a thing people usually appreciated. They were both adults, but it could get so complicated with Dean’s anger in the way. She crossed her arms over her chest, feeling comfortable now that she was back on her usual clothes.

“Don’t know. He only asked me to not look for her.”

Dean didn’t say a word, but there was a lot around him. Éber wished she was able to actually understand him. Sam, ever the opposite, was already thinking about the future. “What if Lilith is the answer for something?”

“For what?” Ruby mocked. “For your death? It’s stupid to run to the storm when you didn’t find shelter first, you idiot.”

They started to discuss again, which made Éber turn around and leave the room. Bela called her a few times, but Éber ignored her. It wasn’t like she was there to pay for something, Éber didn’t care if Bela would put a price on her head. She went there as an excuse to just take Ruby to somewhere she wanted to go. There wasn’t much time left. She went downstairs, looking for the quietest room in that house, just to be held by the dark e let herself go a little. The pain in her wrists was helping, she was back to her normal self.

She found herself standing again near the window. She wished she could look up to sky, pretend that Luis, and Salazar, were looking to the very same sky that she was. But she was blind, a fucking, stupid, weak blind weapon not even capable to deal with her own traumas. She stood there like a statue for what felt like an hour before heavy steps approached her.

It was him. The scent was always around him, so extremely violating.

“How’s your head now?” he whispered, standing right next to her.

“Back.” Éber pressed her lips together. “Sorry.”

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Let’s just not talk about… that.”

She accepted that. Shoving her hands in her pockets, she just heard his breath for a long time. They’d fallen into a comfortable silence, one both of them could just appreciate. It was strange how comforting his presence had become, especially because of whose son he was.

“I wish I could see the sky.” Her confession was nothing more than a whisper, and Éber felt vulnerable telling him that. “I saw when I was little.”

She felt his blood change, rumbling like a song. “When did it happen?” he asked. “When did you go blind?”

She raised her head to pretend she was staring at the stairs, even though the only thing in her sight was complete darkness. “Luis told me I was nine,” she whispered. “I had him. And Salazar, but he was small.” A soft smile played on her lips. “And dumb. But good.”

“Yeah?” Dean’s blood changed the pace again, the song turning into a seducing melody.

“Uhum,” she continued. “He was the last thing I saw. Then it went dark, because I was a great weapon, made to be better.” She stopped, searching inside her head. “Optimized.”

“Jesus,” he let out and he sounded like he was mourning.

The horror in him was difficult to ignore. “It worked. I’m a better weapon now.” She let out a hollow breath. “They were right, I guess.”

“No, they weren’t,” he hurried to deny. “You’re not just a weapon, Éber. There’re people who love you. They see who you really are.”

“They do not.” She turned to him. “They know a bit, not all.”

He stepped closer. “Then tell me.”

“It will hurt you. And is past. Don’t matter anymore,” she replied.

He grabbed her by the arm before Éber could walk away. She could smell his scent, feel his warm breath over her, sense his touch like a burning print of possibility. “How bad was he, Éber? What my father did to you?” He stopped. “Tell me the truth. That’s an order.”

The command landed like a physical blow. It snapped her spine straight. Her voice, when it came, was empty. Éber felt fear, but the order made her become just a lifeless soldier.

“He was my master.”

Dean’s grip in her arm remained there. His blood was thundering now, and she imagined that, if she could really read him, he would be begging her to not do it. But she couldn’t, and the order was there.

“He started with the rules. They were for me to obey him. If I was good, I could eat. See my family. But it needed to be useful, and I needed to learn,” she spoke, the words floating in different ways. They were always different when it was an order — easier, cleaner, clearer. “He was always angry, and I always did things wrong.”

His silence was louder than ever, but Éber couldn’t stop. She felt the bond angrier and twisted at her slight push to refrain it. Pain flooded her head. She closed her eyes. “The carpet smelled like death. He told me to be quiet, that good weapons don’t make sounds. So I didn’t. I waited for him to finish. I know all bad things, all bad thoughts. He touched me too much; in places I didn’t want him to touch.” The first tear streamed through her face until it reached the corner of her lips. “It always hurt, always made me feel dirty.”

A chocked sound escaped him. Éber couldn’t look at him, couldn’t open her eyes to stare at what he was displaying. “He… he raped you?”

Éber didn’t acknowledge his question. “He used me, and beat me. It was to show power, that he was my master. And I was never free. I could never speak. I could only wait, and accept.”

Chapter Text

Dean was hunting recklessly.

He jumped to one case to another, only to find himself empty after every hunt. It didn’t matter how much Sam tried to put some sense in his head, he always ended up taking some questionable decision. Sam assumed it was because his time was ending. Dean didn’t correct him.

His time was ending. Éber would be dead soon, and all the things she told him about his father would haunt him forever.

He could still see, clearly as daylight, the way she harmed herself with that knife, the expression of pleasure in her face when she was in pain. It was a fucking nightmare and he just wanted to forget about it. To run from it, he turned to hunting and sex. Each orgasm pushed him closer to the edge of a cliff, one he was almost jumping. Each reckless decision pulled him back.

He wasn’t ready to see her again, but life seemed to have a disturbed way to hurt him.

“Okay, calm down,” he hissed as Ruby met them at the entrance of the public hospital in Charlotte.

Noticing his distress, Sam spoke in a soft, calm voice. “Ruby, slow down,” he said. “Tell me what happened.”

“I don’t know,” Ruby responded, fear in her voice. “Dad—” she sobbed. “ Dad and Éber, they were hunting. Next thing I know, we get a call saying that they were in a hospital. Nobody knows what is it,” she cried out.

Dean walked past her, searching for someone who had their shit together. Ethan was standing near the reception, signing some papers. He looked extremely dejected, tired. Dean stood beside him, his eyes reading the loose words on the forms.

“What happened?”

He sighed. “I’m trying to find out.”

“Are they alive?” His voice sounded pitched.

“Yes,” Ethan responded, lifting his eyes to stare at Dean. “They are two stubborn sons of a bitches. They will survive, Winchester. Relax.”

Not even Ethan seemed to believe that. Dean followed the direction he pointed out, just to find both of them lying in beds. Bobby looked serene, almost peaceful, a huge contrast to the pain in Éber’s features. Her hair was loose again, framing her face. She had a new scar near her neck, one ugly, dark mark that seemed not entirely healed. He stood between their beds, hands curled into fists, not sure what he was supposed to do.

He turned to Éber, holding her hand. “Éber, wake up. That’s an order.”

She didn’t move. Nothing happened.

“Yeah,” Ethan murmured, entering the room, “don’t think this will help.”

“And what do you know, Lassie?”

Ethan sighed. “They were working on this case about some sleep-related death. Something about secret experiments in people’s dreams,” he explained. “It’s not like them to fall into traps like that, so I imagined it was something even Éber wasn’t able to sense.”

Dean shifted to look at her again. She had a frown on her face and seemed in pain. “She is smarter than that.”

“Yeah, but something’s off.”

The way Ethan said it made Dean shiver. One look to the guy and Dean knew he was walking on eggshells. “What makes you think that?”

Ethan shrugged. “Just… I know her. Fuck, I learned with her. I know her. She’s saying goodbye and I don’t understand why,” he confessed. Dean wanted to run from that conversation, but he just stood there. “I mean, is she sick? Does she have an expiration date we’re not aware of?” Ethan looked at him, sadness in his face. “It’s just… the way she’s acting.”

Feeling something heavy in his chest, Dean walked out of the room. Following the hallway until he reached the entrance, he left the building, one clear, determined purpose in his mind: he would fucking keep them alive, no matter what. It led him to hours of research, stupid visits to the university and one strange chat with this guy, Jeremy, only for him to find out that they had been poisoned with something called ‘African dream root’.

It was late, and he was fighting sleep. Sitting in their motel room, he shared all he knew with Ethan, that had been also conducting his own research. He’d left Ruby in the hospital with them after a strange call from Talbot. He looked stressed when he knocked on their door, but Dean could see a relief also.

“Negotiate with the devil and sell your soul,” he joked, “but get answers, right?”

Dean didn’t find that funny. “What happened?”

“Bela is the worst, but I know how to wake them up.” He closed the door behind him, leaving the box he was carrying over the table. “All we need is someone brave enough to get in their heads and bring them back.” He pressed his lips together. “I mean, Bobby is a piece of cake. Éber though, that will be… something.”

“I’ll take care of her,” Dean growled. “Sam gets Bobby.”

Ethan pursed his lips. “You know, I can help too.”

“Éber will fucking kill us you get your dog hair hurt.” Dean mocked, not looking to Sam, even though he could feel the need in his brother to ask more questions. “Get this thing ready.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, an hour after Ethan started to prep the ritual. Sam was looking him in a weird way, and Dean kept his head down, focused on his job. He felt his body go limp for a moment, floating alone in the dark before waking up in a hotel room. Everything around him was black and white. On the floor, sitting in silence, was a small, skinny girl with short black hair and blood on her back. Dean stood there, in silence.

“Hey,” he murmured.

The girl looked at him. Green, vivid eyes, and tears all over her face. “Who. You?”

“A friend.”

“Friend,” she repeated. “No. Bad.”

He blinked, but she was gone. The smell of flesh burning made him turn to see a small kid burning alive. He swallowed hard; his eyes were fixed on that scene. He couldn’t be more than ten. The screams grew louder until he found himself standing in a dirty tile floor. There was blood everywhere, and sounds that didn’t seem human to him. He was unsure if he should move; things were changing too fast. But he put one foot in front of the other, following the hanging light on the other side.

Under it, there was a cage. Éber was sitting inside it, eyes closed, hands pressed against her ears. He crouched before the cage. “Éber?” he whispered.

She didn’t move. Dean looked around one more time, but everything was drenched in darkness, except for that cage.

“Éber,” he said again, his voice louder.

She opened her eyes. This confused look crossed her expression. “Dean?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” Ever so slowly, he opened the cage. “You know you’re dreaming, right?”

“I’m not,” she replied. “He is here.”

Dean reached out his hand to touch her. “It’s a nightmare. You got trapped in it,” he explained. “If you come with me, I can take you out of here.”

The coldness around them grew deep, leading to a penetrating chill that had nothing to do with the temperature. The distant, inhuman sounds faded around him, just to be replaced by something far more terrifying.

“Don’t you dare run from me, girl.”

This voice he could recognize easily. It was gravelly, imbued with a familiar, paternal menace. But different, like he was mocking it. It came from everywhere and Dean stood up, looking around in that darkness. John Winchester stepped out from the shadows between the crumbling walls of Éber’s memories. He was naked. Not in a vulnerable way, but in a terrifyingly dominant way. It was pure, brutal power. He never looked at Dean, his gaze locked on the caged Éber at his feet.

He took heavy steps toward the cage.

“You know the rules,” the ghost of his father said, horrible calm. “You break them, you pay for them.”

Inside the cage, Éber started to scream. It was a terrified sound, something Dean only heard in the victims he couldn’t save. That was the sound that shattered Dean’s paralysis. He turned to her, kneeling before her and grabbing her arms to pull her to him.

“It’s not real!” he screamed to her. “Look at me, Éber! It’s an order!” She didn’t do it, so Dean let go of her arms to cup her face, whispering non-stop to her: “Wake up! Wake up! Wake up! Wake the fuck up, Grayson!”

Chapter Text

He knew she remembered it. She knew he knew it. It was an awkward situation.

She was only two weeks from the end of the deal, and Dean hoped Sam would want to leave Bobby’s before that. But they didn’t. After Bobby and Éber left the hospital, Sam thought it was a good idea to stay close. Dean didn’t complain, but it was killing him. Just the sight of her was a living reminder of what was about to happen. Everyone was so concerned in finding a way to keep him alive, that nobody looked at her, at the way Éber was slowly giving up her own life. He wanted to scream his lungs out, to tell them the truth.

He did nothing.

It was late, Christmas was just a few weeks ahead of them. He was sitting alone in the hood of the Impala, late at night, waiting for dawn with a beer in his hands. Sometimes, his eyes lingered in the house, waiting for her to get out and join him. Despite his interior terror, she was the only one he could share his thoughts in that moment.

It was past 5AM when she came through the gate. Dean frowned, looking for something wrong in her.

“You sneak out?” His voice sounded too emotional, so he cleared his throat.

Éber stopped, raising her head to look at his direction. She shrugged, walking closer. “I need to walk sometimes.”

“Clear the mind,” he whispered. “I get it.”

Éber leaned against the car, across from him. He watched her. This time, he just let his mind carve her in his brain. He told himself he owed her that much, remembering her was just his way to pay back all her suffering. But it wasn’t it. She looked sad. He took a big sip of his beer, gathering the courage to ask her.

“You afraid?” His voice was so low he wondered if she would hear him.

“I am,” she simply said. “Why?”

Standing up, he left the bottle on the floor before putting more space between them. “All this shit is my fault.”

He expected her to deny it — maybe he needed her to deny. But she didn’t do it. Neither she offered him some hollow comfort. She just remained silent. He felt that pressure on his chest again. “How are you gonna do it?” he was shaking, every part of him. “How you gonna tell them you saved me? How you gonna… pretend to die?”

There was this serene acceptance in her posture. Éber smiled to him. He almost fell to his knees and begged for forgiveness. “I leave on Sunday. I die on Tuesday. Far from here,” she explained. “Nobody will see. Nobody will suffer.” She looked at him. “You will be okay, Dean. Don’t worry.”

Dean let out a bitter laugh. There was no joy in it, only the sadness that filled his chest in the last past weeks. “Don’t worry? Éber, I’m—” He ran a hand over his face, tearing himself apart before confessing. “I’m gonna suffer. I don’t want you to die.”

“I want to,” she replied, her voice low. When she spoke again, her tone was gentle. “Things will be okay.”

“Okay,” he echoed.

The helplessness in his bones felt like something physical, and it made him move suddenly, morphing his fear in a desperate, reckless need. Dean closed the distance between them in three quick strides, stopping right in front of her. He could feel the warmth of her body, but also her panic. Slowly, he raised his hands and took off her sunglasses. He felt this urge to just look inside her eyes, to admire, to memorize her.

His voice was low and rough when he spoke again. “You want a real kiss before you go?”

She stilled. Dean wasn’t stupid, he could see the conflict in her face. He couldn’t read people like her, but he was good in his own way. He didn’t want her to die thinking that physical contact was only about pain.

“I…” she started, but stopped. She looked so fragile under the stars.

“Hey,” Dean murmured, his own heart hammering so hard in his chest he thought he would explode. Slowly, he brought a hand up, giving her every chance to pull away from him. When she didn’t, he touched her chin, his fingertips tracing her face. “I’ll be gentle.”

Éber closed the final inch between them. He let her lead the way.

The first touch of their lips was a question. It was hesitant, achingly slow. He felt the tension on her body melting, a fraction of an inch at a time, against him. Hesitantly, he rested his hands on her waist. He was standing still, just pressing his lips against hers. He needed her to feel used to his touch, to let him go further.

She broke the contact for air, breathing heavily against him.

Dean murmured in a ragged, husky command. “Open your mouth for me. Please,” he added, not wanting it to sound like an order.

She shivered against him before obeying, and he captured her mouth again. The kiss turned into a deeper, overwhelmingly intimate thing. He wasn’t prepared for the lack of control he felt once he tasted her. She wasn’t experienced, and she wasn’t the type of woman he usually looked for. But God help him, she was the most sinful, delicate thing he had ever kissed.

One of his hands fisted her hair, while the other slid down her back, pulling her hips against his. She was hesitant at first, shattering under his touch until he felt her completely surrender to him. He walked her back until she was pressed against the cool metal of the Impala, his body caging her. His lips trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses along her jaw and down her throat, just to come back to her mouth so he could dive deeper into her. Dean forced his hands to remain steady, even with the urge to roam her body screaming inside him.

Feeling the last shred of control disappearing when she held his face with her bare hands, he took a step back, breaking the kiss.

He watched as she leaned against the car, her chest raising and falling fast. He was feeling the same; there was this urge inside him to touch her again. To never let her go.

“It don’t hurt then?” Éber murmured.

“Fuck,” he grunted, before kissing her again.

Chapter Text

They left on that very same day. Sam asked him endless questions about his motives, but Dean didn’t elaborate further than ‘we need to go’. He drove for hours, not sure where to go. Sam finally stopped asking when he noticed Dean shaking while filling up the gas tank of the Impala. He assumed it was because of the clock ticking on Dean’s life. So, he just assured him that they would find a solution and fell back into silence.

Sometimes, Dean couldn’t breathe. He used loud music to drown out his thoughts, wishing he could just make time stop to give him an opportunity to save her. But she refused when he offered; she told him more than once that she wanted to die.

How could she want to die when there was so much to live for?

For all the questions he had, and all the answers he would never get, Dean turned to hunting for comfort. He acted like a machine, and while part of him was happy for having Sam, there was this strange hole in him that was growing, day by day, as if it was a disease spreading in his body. Sam tried a few tricks, they visited several psychics, Dean even accepted some kind of cleansing for clarity. Nothing happened, the future was still coming.

The day he dreaded — that Tuesday — had finally come. He spent hours staring at his phone before he could bring himself to call her. Sam was freaking out, and he couldn't deny his own panic, even if its source was different.

“Yes,” she murmured. Éber’s voice sounded strangled.

“It’s me,” he whispered.

“You call to say goodbye?”

He chuckled, far from finding it funny. “Not that I want to.”

Dean wished he could let the words inside him flow through his mouth, confess his sins, ask for forgiveness, promise her she would be safe. However, he did no such things. He just walked into the bathroom and closed the door, sitting on the closed toilet lid. “I thought, uh, maybe… you didn’t want to do this alone.”

He could picture her shrugging.

“I do things alone,” she murmured. “But I’m afraid today.”

“I know,” he breathed out, closing his eyes. “I’m sorry Éber. I’m so fucking sorry.”

“It’s good,” she responded. “This will end soon. You will be free. I will be too.”

Not the kind of freedom he wanted — at least, not anymore. Not after this past year. They had become something else, something he didn’t want to name, mostly because he was afraid. He held the cellphone against his ear so tightly his fingers started to tingle. The rough knock on the door only made him scream ‘not now’. Sam knocked again, calling for him in a desperate tone.

With an angry stride, he crossed that small bathroom to open the door. First, he thought he was going crazy. Then, he was standing in the living room of their old house in Lawrence. He swallowed hard, noticing the line went dead.

“What the hell?” he breathed, his head spinning.

Sam wasn’t there, only this woman dressed in white, with long, golden hair floating around her shoulders as if she was an angel. The house seemed suspended in time. There was dust motes dancing in the air around him, and the furniture was covered in white sheets. The woman glided across the room, her hands touching everything in her way. “It always comes back to this, doesn’t it, Dean?” she spoke, in a soft, sweet voice that made Dean take a step back to find a wall behind him. “The little house where it all began.”

Careful to not catch her attention, Dean moved toward the entrance. “Don’t think we’ve been introduced before, lady.”

“Oh, we didn’t,” she laughed, stopping suddenly. When she looked at his, her eyes were all white and her expression, inhuman. “But you can think of me as your tour guide. I came to show you the consequences.”

She was small and skinny. Dean could take her down if she was human. But she wasn’t; he could be a regular hunter, but the years gave him this superpower of recognizing unholy things lurking around.

“Not interested, thank you,” he mocked.

She looked at him under her eyelids. “Hell is in an uproar, you know,” she started, that smile slowly fading into something darker. “Someone screwed up big time downstairs. Rules were broken. They accepted a soul that wasn’t theirs.”

Dean’s blood ran cold. His immediate thought was Éber. “Get to the point.”

“The point,” she hissed, “is that your little blind dog wasn’t on anyone’s ledger, Dean. She wasn’t supposed to be there. But now, she’s burning for it. You see, hell is built on deals. And someone just welched on the biggest one of all.”

Dean felt the air being ripped from his lungs. Éber was already dead. She died alone, probably suffering. A rumble started deep inside his chest, thundering with pure rage, making him lunge for the woman dressed in white. This invisible force seized him, freezing him mid-step. In response, the house shuddered. Lights flickered around them; the air plunged into a deep, bone-shaking cold. It had happened before, Dean remembered. It was his mother.

But this time, the thing manifesting in that room was something else entirely.

It was a tall man, dressed in a white suit. Dean had seen him before, which only made him angrier. There was a spiteful smile in his face and Dean couldn’t deny he emanated an almost painful grace. Like in that hallway, he felt pressured, tormented, subjugated. The man had a face of a renaissance angel, so serene and otherworldly beautiful. Cascading over his shoulders was a torrent of long, red hair.

After pursing his lips in his direction, the man turned to face the woman.

“Always looking for trouble, aren’t you, Lilith?” The man mocked. “But I believe this one is way out of your league.”

“This is not your domain,” Lilith hissed and Dean couldn’t stop staring at the mask of fear in her face. That was Lilith, the demon Éber wasn’t supposed to look for. “The Winchesters are Hell’s business.”

The man tilted his head. “Darling, don’t start a game you’re not ready to play.” His voice was a low, calm wave of threat around them. “You should leave. Or I will have to unmake you in this place, and your master will have to find a new first-born.”

Dean expected a fight. Demons liked to do that show off of their powers. However, Lilith hissed in a strange language before vanishing in thin air, leaving behind a shadow that slowly faded away in the darkness. Dean stood there, his eyes scanning the newcomer. Éber described him as empty, like the world ceased to exist. And if she was afraid of it, so should be Dean.

“Hello, Dean,” the man said.

“Who the hell are you?”

A slow, captivating smile erupted in his lips. “You can call me God.”

“What?”

The man laughed. “It never ceases to amaze me how naïve you all are. Of course I’m not God, Christ.” Circling the couch, the man took sit, crossing his legs as he leaned back, comfortable. “I’m Mikhail. Pleasure to finally meet you, Dean.”

Dean clenched his jaw. “We’ve met.”

“Did we? Huh, interesting,” he muttered. “Anyway, you’re welcome.”

“I’m not thanking you.”

Mikhail’s eyebrow lifted. “You should. We have a lot of work to do.”

“Stop speaking in riddles and get to the point,” Dean growled.

He didn’t have a weapon. He was naked, striped from any form of protection. But would death be the worst destiny he could get? The past year showed him living was overestimated. Mikhail sighed loudly, standing up, unbuttoning his suit to put his hands in his pants’ pockets.

“Well… considering your friend has drawn the attention of… unsavory elements, I would say we will end up helping each other.” He turned to face Dean. “I mean, if you truly want her back.”

Dean stared at him blankly. “What did you say?”

“Such fire for her,” Mikhail murmured, studying Dean with this strange expression. His eyes were dark and his face displayed only mockery; Dean’s instincts were screaming to not trust a single word. “You humans are so oblivious sometimes,” he sighed. “She has a unique soul, doesn’t she? Pure, in its own way. Yet… she is so terribly, tragically strong.” He spoke as if he was amazed by her, as if Éber was something precious to him. “A soul that can bear an immense weight like that often turns into as target for those who desire to use such strength for their own ends.”

His voice was melodic enough to make Dean feel dizzy. He put some distance between him and Mikhail, narrowing his eyes.

“Why don’t you start making some sense, huh?”

Mikhail’s laugh was… unsettling. “Ah, I must say. You all took that woman as a poor, dumb creature, but it is you who sound like monkeys.” The cold, as Dean noticed, had started to sunk into him, mixing with pain and sorrow. “If you wish to bring Éber back to life… you can’t do it by playing their game. You have to bend the rules a bit, Winchester.”

A large nod installed itself in Dean’s throat. “She is dead. She can’t come back.”

“Really?” asked Mikhail, looking Dean up and down. “I bet she can. If that’s what you really want, Dean,” Mikhail added. “Believe me, she is worth it. A soul like that… it’s the only thing that still feels new, pure. So, I ask you, Dean Winchester, what are you willing to do to bring Éber Grayson back?”

Chapter Text

Like a frenzy, like an ocean overflowed

This must all be just an accident at most

Oh, I'm changing, and I feel more like a ghost

Like a specter in your headlights on the road

Bad Omens

Chapter Text

The coffin was made of old, moldy wood, and was left in an old cemetery outside Oak Ridge. It wasn’t covered with dirt anymore and the raindrops were gathering around it; water was pooling around the body laying peacefully inside it. The black hair was braided and the clothes were dark, exactly as she used to dress when she was alive. The skin was pale and the body had started to decompose. There were a pair of sunglasses laying between her hands, like a promise. Above it, the grey sky was crying. Thunder crossed the heavy clouds from time to time, as predicting something unnatural was about to happen.

Flesh was still burning. And she woke up with a silent scream on her throat.

Cold drops hit her face as the rain deepened. Running a hand over her hair, Éber searched for something on her skin — cuts, bruises, burns; anything that could possibly give her a clue of what was happening. There was nothing, except that burn in her lungs every time she breathed too deeply. Her legs were numb, but she could move them.

Listening closely, she didn’t hear screams. No blades being sharpened, no flesh being cut; everything just felt too… normal. Éber blindly felt for the floor around her, feeling damp and hard grass. It wasn’t gravel or bones. The thought of something changing gave birth to a wave of panic inside her. Holding onto the wood, she stood up, but fell again when her legs didn’t work. She should be in hell, should be dead. And that place felt like earth.

Unless it is a prank.

They’ve done that before, the demons. Played with her fears, with her traumas. They brought back her worst fears and tortured her, in twisted ways Éber never expected. Her past life wasn’t a heavenly dream, but Hell was something she wished she had never experienced. She crawled out of that hole, kneeling on the wet grass as her senses gradually came back to her.

Thunder crossed the sky and a bolt of lightening struck just in front of her, bringing someone with it. Éber pressed her eyelids, trying to get used to seeing those lines again. The figure stood there, the deep scent of cigars with it. Other than that, there was just this emptiness — a dark, humid place with nothing but void. Another thunder rumbled around her and she saw this person looking down on her.

“Éber,” a man grumbled in a tired voice. “Do you have any idea of how hard you were to find?”

She resisted the urge to scramble back. The next thing would be something hurtful, followed by them cutting her in pieces. It would hurt, but there was nothing she could do to run from it. However, his hands never touched her, he just stood there. The air around this person was cracking in a different way, like static.

“Who are you?” she asked, her voice hoarse and bruised by her own screaming.

“Castiel.” She heard his smile — it was reluctant, as if it was strange for him to smile. “Servant of the Lord, blah blah blah…” he muttered, “though lately I haven’t exactly been acting like one.”

His lines were all straight, going up until she lost them in the sky, like a puppet with strings. The only odor in him was the smoke of cigarettes, and she couldn’t say if he was being exactly friendly. His tone though, it seemed like he was in a hurry.

“I didn’t come here to preach a sermon,” he continued, his head turning to the sky. “Or recite a celestial order. My interest is you.” His head turned to her again, a bolt of clear, pale light that showed her nothing. Only the emptiness, and it wasn’t as calm as she expected it would be. “We need to talk.”

“I’m dead,” she replied.

His chuckles sounded like mockery. “Hate to break it to you, but you are very much alive.”

Éber touched herself, feeling the touch — actually experiencing it. She felt the pressure, the way her fingertips were burned, the way her nails could sink in the skin. Everything seemed fine, like she has just woken up from a nightmare. In Hell, they deprived her of the feeling of her own touch. It dehumanizes you, they explained, leaving you alone in yourself, invisible to everything, except the pain they inflicted in the ones paying for their sins.

“Why?” she whispered.

She was dead. She was free — some kind of agonizing freedom, but still. This felt like being dragged back into a cage.

“Because I’m risking a lot here. When you question and disobey the angels, spoiler alert, they get pissed at you,” he grumbled, his hands floating in the air. “I’m alone and unarmed, totally harmless. Can we talk?”

There was this piece of information that sunk deeper into her mind, making Éber stare at him.

“Angels?”

“Yeah, about that…” He stopped mid-sentence. “Let’s start from the beginning, shall we?”

Éber listened to him under the heavy rain, her bones shaking from the cold. He spoke fast, sometimes too fast, and her weak, broken mind was finding it hard to follow him. Every time she stopped him, he sounded impatient. But in spite of that, he didn’t sound mean, nor did he try to hurt her in any way. Éber let herself believe that, just maybe, she was really alive.

“… so, to sum up, someone downstairs went full Leroy Jenkins on the rulebook, if you know what I mean,” he said, gesturing toward her. “They broke a major seal. Your soul wasn’t supposed to go to barbecue house. And you definitely weren’t supposed to get a respawn.”

Éber blinked. “I don’t know this words,” she whispered. “I don’t understand you.”

“It means someone screwed up, Éber.” He crouched to meet her gaze. His lines followed him, descending from the sky like a cascade. “Your death, this… return… it’s a symptom. Something’s deeply wrong in Heaven, and your little field trip from Hell is a flashing neon sign. Is that clearer for you now?” he mocked.

She narrowed her eyes. “Heaven?” she said, the word sounding foreign in her mouth. “What it is like?”

Castiel sighed, waving his hand dismissively. “It’s a place. Lots of light, choir practice and divine wifi. Be a good girl and maybe you can go there.”

She ignored the mockery in his tone, forcing herself to stand up. The feeling of her feet pressing the ground was, again, something old and new. She wasn’t able to walk — or run. It was another thing they took from her, to aggravate the sense of helplessness in her while they hunted and tortured her. But John Winchester taught her well how to endure pain, as if he knew it would happen one day.

“My family,” she inquired. “They are fine?”

Castiel ignored her, murmuring non-stop about her coming back from the dead. “But, again, if you are back, maybe it means the board is being reset. There are, of course, angels panicking. But what about the ones that seem okay with it?” he stood not far from her, still talking more to himself than her. “We need to find out who brought you back and why. And stop whatever it is that is happening upstairs. Do— are you fucking listening to me, Grayson?”

She had turned away from him, moving slowly through the grass while remembering how it was walking on the dirt.

“Excuse me?” Castiel yelled. “We are having a conversation here!”

“You are talking alone!” Éber replied, moving faster, her body trembling with the cold.

Castiel got to her in a few strides, just to grab her by her elbow and yank her back. “Heaven has a job for you, Grayson.”

“You talk and talk and don’t answer me!” she snapped. “You want my help, but I don’t know you. And you don’t talk about my family! I need them,” she confessed.

“You don’t understand—”

“I understand I was in hell,” she shot back, baring her teeth to him. “I understand I was tortured and hunt, and… and—” Éber pressed her lips together, freeing herself from his grip. There was nothing inside him, he just shut down the world and it was terrifying. “I’m not a symptom. I’m myself. And I want to go home.”

The air around him crackled. This time, she felt him as a threat. His mockery was replaced by a low, aggressive and commanding tone. “This isn’t a request.”

“If you don’t leave my way, I’ll show you why you should send me back to Hell.”

She sensed the shift as his straight, orderly lines twisted tightly around her. She understood he was expecting a victim, someone to whine and cry about time spent downstairs. But he received a survivor, and it had changed something in him; Éber couldn’t know what exactly. But he took a step back, letting her go without any other words.

Chapter Text

Éber felt lost.

Her senses were still recovering, but she had no money and she couldn’t really drive. Loud noises made her feel nauseated and the flash of strong light crossed the darkness in her eyes in a painful way. So, she walked for a day and a half before hiding in the toilet of a gas station to sleep for a few hours. Her body was aching with pain and she was hungry.

Her clothes had dried, but she was still cold.

When night finally came, she felt like she could breathe again. But only if she remained in the present. Of all her memories, the ones from Hell were a different kind of nightmare. She did something there, something sinful and horrible. It was necessary, she understood it, but it had stained her soul. She lost track of time too, and when hunger became unbearable, she stopped beside an old lady and touched her chin, telling her to buy Éber some food and give her some money.

She stood in front of a public telephone, feeling stupid. She was all messed up, how would she call someone?

For the first time, she experienced complete desolation. She felt alone, small, left behind. Éber was well aware that everyone still thought she was dead, it wasn’t their fault. But sitting alone in a bench in a strange park, eating a sandwich that tasted like nothing was rock bottom for her.

Night came again and she walked, always following that scent.

Often, the night of her death replayed in her head. The silence before the hellhounds attacked, the laugh lingering in the air, coming from a dark spot on the room, the pain she felt as she had her body teared apart. Sometimes, it was so strong she had to stop, hold herself, wait for it to leave her mind.

She crossed into Iowa on the fifth day, her feet sore from the endless walking. She was slowly feeling her normal self again, with all her senses coming back into their places. The cacophony of traffic and life was no longer a nauseating assault, but had become again a map of the world around her. The sun’s glare was manageable, although it still crossed her eyes in a strange flicker, sometimes painful, sometimes not. Bets of all, her nose had started to lock again onto the right scent, the one that smelled like home. She let herself be pulled toward it.

She was in Oskaloosa when the scent hit her. It was stronger than ever, pulling her in like a chanting siren.

She stood on the sidewalk, filling her lungs with air. Dean Winchester was her master before she passed away, and his words worked like a chain on her. He had hurt her, confessed to her, helped her, kissed her. He was a complex human being that crawled under her skin and had been living in her head since then. He never said that they were friends, and she wasn’t sure if she could trust him now, but she moved slowly in his direction, hoping that he, at least, could get her home.

Her hands were cold and shaking when she felt it deepen. It was almost nightfall, she could smell the night coming, timid, as if waiting to witness something. She almost got hit by a car so lost she was in her own head. Everything in that place was vibrating around her, screaming something Éber didn’t know how to read. Inside, she felt her blood rush as she approached the place he was supposed to be.

Was she dirty? Was her hair wrong? She cursed the fact that she couldn’t see herself, couldn’t make herself look better. Éber knew she wasn’t a beautiful person — both inside and outside. She was a patch of all her choices, of all her sins. The honk of the cars at the traffic light painted a small parking lot for her. She followed the scent across it, standing in an open hallway, facing the park — she could hear the kids playing.

Éber felt this strange feeling in her lower belly.

With light steps, Éber reached the door where the scent was the strongest and knocked. She heard his voice, followed by a curse before something fell on the floor. Éber frowned; it sounded like heavy books and glasses. Nervous, she wrapped her arms around herself, pressing her lips together.

The door swung open with a frustrated creak. “For the last time, I already tipped the damn delivery—” His voice died. His heart stopped for a moment before thundering again, a frantic, hammering rhythm filling her ears.

Éber shivered. She could smell the sharp, acid scent of shock-sweat mixing with soap. A raw, guttural grunt erupted from his throat — not a word, but more like a choked-off noise. The click of the gun made her jump. “You sons of a bitches don’t get tired of this game?”

“They do it a lot?” She whispered.

“You tell me,” Dean chuckled.

If she was him, Éber would have done the same. Nobody comes back from the dead like that. She stepped back, putting some distance between them.

“I woke up in this cemetery,” she whispered, her voice trembling, “and this man told me I was alive. It feels like a lie. But the world is working, so…” She let her voice die as she didn’t know how to explain. Apparently, some things would never change. “I only want to call Bobby. Please.”

His voice was flat and cold. “You’re all getting really creative. Using Bobby?” he said, circling her like a predator. “Nice touch. Tugs the heartstrings.” The gun barrel touched her forehead, and he pressed it against her skin. “So, prove it.”

“Prove it?” She echoed.

“That you are you,” he growled. “That you’re not some shapeshifter, ghoul, or any fucking thing the pit sent to screw up with my head.” He shoved the gun against her, harder, pushing her back. “You woke up on a cemetery. What was written on the grave next to yours?”

She sighed. “I’m blind.”

“Convenient,” he shot back, not missing a beat. “We can do this the hard way, then.”

“Torture?” She whispered, hoping that wasn’t the answer. She couldn’t deal with more torture, not now. Not when it was all so fresh in her mind.

His laugh was a hard, dark sound that shaped him to her. She still couldn’t read him like the others. “If you’re clean, you don’t have anything to worry about.”

“Ask,” she begged. “Ask something.”

“You fucking hell douchebags read my file, and you know it.” Still pressing the gun’s barrel against her forehead, he walked her back against the wall. There was violence in his lines, one Éber hadn’t seen in him before. It was mixed with a hollow mourning that was hard to miss. “Tell me something only she would know. Right now. Or so help me God, I will pour a gallon of holy water down your throat just to watch you scream.”

Éber didn’t know how to defend herself. She felt small and tired, her body shivering at the thought he would shoot her. She wasn’t sure if she would go to Heaven this time, so death wasn’t something she wanted to experience again. She shrugged.

“I asked you to hurt me. You was the first person that said no,” she confessed. “I know I hurt you, but hurt is all I know.” She lifted her head, the gun still pressed against her skin. “And I don’t feel you. I can’t feel you. You don’t hurt. It always hurt, but you don’t.”

It was the silence that scared her — like a living thing hanging between them ready to explode.

The barrel slid from her forehead, scraping faintly down her skin, hitting the floor with a final, heavy thud. His hand shot out and fisted in the damp fabric of her sweater, right at her collarbone. He yanked her closer, bringing her stumbling until their faces was inches apart. That scent of his embraced her, drowning Éber in a feeling of familiarity she only felt at Bobby’s. His breath was hot against her face. At first, he didn’t speak, and Éber imagined he was trying to find something in her — a lie, a threat, maybe the truth.

She felt him like a storm breaking inside her head, letting her feel the edges of it.

When his voice finally echoed between them, it was rough. “Don’t you ever die on me again, Grayson.”

Chapter Text

“Okay, walk me through it one more time,” Sam said, his voice gentle but persistent. He had been asking question since he saw her and Éber’s head was hurting from all that thinking. She wanted to rest, to forget a bit about what had happened. “You just woke up and an… angel?” She nodded. “This angel told you something brought you back to life?”

Éber sighed. “He said a lot of things,” she confessed. “But I don’t understand some words. I—” She closed her mouth. “I’m dumb sometimes,” she murmured. “And I was cold.”

The room went still for a fraction of time before Sam’s voice softened.

“Hey, no, you’re not dumb,” he said, his voice dropping. “None of this is easy to process.”

Her hands reached the glass Dean had put in front of her. She drank the water like a starving woman, holding it in her hands as if it was part of reality. If this wasn’t real, if this turned into a hunt, she would know. Things usually faded when she held them for too long.

“Let’s start simple, right,” Sam murmured. “When did you woke up?”

She frowned. She lost track of time at the beginning; everything was a blur inside her head. “I’m not sure. A few days ago,” she spoke slowly, forming the words without rushing them. “Five, I guess.”

“Five days?” Sam repeated in disbelief. “Éber… why didn’t you call us? We would’ve come to you.”

She shrugged. “There was no way to call.”

“Why not?”

“I did not have money,” she said, as if it was obvious. “And I was… wrong. The noises were too loud. And the light hurt. Thinking was hard. I just—” she sighed. “I started to walk. I try to follow Bobby’s scent.”

Every time she said something, they both went silent. It was heavy and oppressive, curling around her in different ways, each of them more possessive than the other. She couldn’t understand it, but Sam’s was very loud about being afraid — for her, because of her, despite her.

“You walked,” Dean repeated, his voice a mix of horror and anger. “We buried you in a cemetery in Tennessee. You tellin’ me you walked all the way from there?”

She gave a small, tired shrug. “Yes, sir,” she responded, out of habit. “My feet hurt a bit.”

From across the room, the sound of anger resulted in Dean grabbing violently something before walking out of the room. He didn’t say nothing, he just took the car keys and walked out of the room, closing the door aggressively behind him.

Sam stayed there with her. She saw something flicker in him, right in the center, a feeling of sheer, staggering respect. Éber rarely saw something like that in people other than Bobby and her brothers and sisters. Everyone else always looked at her like she was some stupid, dumb blind girl.

“Okay,” Sam whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Okay. The feet we can fix.”

Éber wasn’t expecting his kindness. But she should have known better, since Sam Winchester had always been the soft one. It wasn't that Dean lacked emotion; his was just a deeper, more locked-away kind, and she had never found the key. Sam gave her some clean clothes, let her shower, fixed her some food. Nothing fancy, just enough for her to feel like human again. They sat together at the small table in that shared room and he told her that Ruby had started to hunt and Ethan had a rough time without her.

But it was Bobby who suffered the most.

“The last four months, they—” Sam chose to stop. “He will be happy to see you.”

Éber stared at the table, seeing just a ghost of something in front of her. “He buried me?”

“We did,” Sam confessed. “We didn’t want Bobby to see… your body like that.”

She laid on his bed and fell deeper into sleep. But it didn’t last long, since Hell was still so fresh in her mind. Éber woke up with cold hands holding tightly her throat, dragging her across fire as her skin burned and she lost consciousness. The soft touch of the mattress wasn’t enough for her, and she slid to the floor, touching the carpet, feeling its texture. Running her hands over her skin, she stopped at her wrists, where old marks held her deepest secrets, her loneliest nights.

“Please,” Dean’s voice made her flinch. “Don’t fucking do it again.”

She closed her eyes. “This is real, right?” She spoke slowly again, trying not to lose the words floating in her head. “I’m out. Not in, not trapped.” She turned her head to the sound of steps. “They lie like that, like I’m out.”

A firm grip tightened around her wrists, both of them. “This is very real, Éber. You’re not in Hell anymore.”

“You said it before,” she confessed.

Her words hung there like a sentence. He made it so easy for her to confess her fears, it was something Éber couldn’t understand. She couldn’t read him, but could tell him her most shameful secrets. The grip on her wrists remained firmly for a moment — some kind of anchor. Then, he pulled her to him, his hands framing her face; the world narrowed to the hard line of his mouth against hers. It was all wrong angles and frantic motion, a desperate measure to end the aching between them.

It wasn’t like the first time he kissed her.

This kiss sealed something different. His hand cradled the base of her skull, his fingers tangling in her hair with possessiveness. He was breathing in ragged, open-mouthed gasps against her mouth as he pulled her with him, standing up to feel each part of her body pressed against his. His lips were rough, insistent, moving against hers with raw hunger that stole the air from her lungs. She tasted him — not the cheap beer, but the grief and the pain and all the guilt he felt in those months she was gone. He was letting her in, so she could feel everything was real.

A low, guttural sound vibrated from his chest. He was agonizing, wanting something from her he didn’t let her read in him. Every coherent thought inside her head shattered, leaving only him, only what he represented. The need to feel him was new, just like that sensation in her lower belly, throbbing through her legs. She felt his chest against her, the heat of his skin even though their clothes were still on, the possessiveness of his grip when he buried his fingers on her waist.

When he finally broke away, they were both gasping, sharing a ragged breath in the darkness.

“I missed you,” he rasped, the words a hot confession against her swollen lips. “Fuck, I missed you so damn much it felt like dying.”

To be missed like the world was ending, like death was the only option was something so powerful, and still so distant for Éber. She kissed him again, not sure what she was supposed to say. And it was charged just like before. Kissing was something she never wanted to experience. To kiss Dean was something she never knew she would need.

This kiss was even less a caress and way more a claiming, as his tongue slid against hers. Éber flinched — an involuntary recoil, coming from her habit to run from people’s touch. The moment she stiffened, he stilled. His mouth softened against hers, letting her set the pace. He waited, holding her, letting her guide them back from the edge of her fear.

It was all too much and not enough at the same time, and Éber didn’t know what do to with that. Dean broke the kiss, but didn’t pull away, his forehead resting against hers as they both fought for air.

“Wait,” he whispered against her skin. “Éber… wait.”

His hands slid up to cradle her face. Dean stroke his thumbs over her cheeks, and Éber wished she could see his face, know how he was.

“You know what comes next, right?” he asked, his gravel voice impossible soft against her senses. “You know where this is going?”

She gave him a nod. “I know sex.”

And she did. She knew it hurt, and that it left her feeling dirty. She knew how it could be invasive, how this could feel like she would want to die after. But her skin never burned like that, and she had never felt the throbbing sensation between her legs. Her lips had never begged to be kissed and she never wanted to touch someone else how she wanted for him to let her hands discover him, map him.

“You know it doesn’t have to hurt, right?” Dean whispered with conviction, his thumbs resting gently over her skin as he brushed his lips on hers. “It can be good, Éber. I can show you.”

She trembled. “Hurt is all I know.”

Even in the dark, she felt the pressure of his being on her — soft, so peaceful.

“Then let me show you something else,” he murmured.

His hands moved slowly; his forehead still pressed against hers as his hand slid down her body, his finger skimming the hem of her shirt. The calluses of his palms were a rough contrast to the softness of her skin, even with the deep scars that marked her.

“Okay?” he breathed against her mouth, the word caressing her lips.

Her shaky nod seemed to give him the permission he needed to go further, so his fingers dipped lower, tracing the waistband of her pants. He hooked a thumb there, a silent question. Éber didn’t flinch, but she held her breath. His breathless chuckled turned into a whispered ‘breathe, Éber’ before slowly, so slowly, he pushed the fabric down and slip his hand beneath it. Her lips parted; this was different from the other times. This was a grounding touch, a gentle question if he could touch her.

His touch was hot compared to the air around her.

Dean’s hand slid further down, reaching for the spot between her legs pulsating in expectation. His fingers stroked through the damp heat, and when his thumb made contact with that one hyper-sensitive nerve, Éber moaned loudly, letting her head fall back. It was a blinding weave of pleasure, sharp and shocking, and she jerked her hips involuntarily, seeking for more contact, more of whatever that was. A slow, tingled sensation erupted inside her, unspooling within her core. The flicker of heat became unsteady, rising hot with every beat of her heart.

“Stop—” Another moan escaped her lips and Dean gripped her even tightly. He didn’t stop, his fingers circling her in a delicious pattern. “I’m— I can’t—” It was a complete loss of control, and she wasn’t used to being this vulnerable.

“Shhh, I’ve got you,” he murmured into the skin of her neck, breathing as heavily as her.

His movements gained a new, frantic tempo. Éber felt the necessity spilling out of him into her, like he needed her in ways she couldn’t even imagine. The first wave broke over her, like a shock, relentless and utterly beyond her control. He smiled against her skin as she was overthrown by it, whispering how she was good, how that felt good, how he couldn’t wait to feel her, to be inside her.

She knew what orgasms were, she just had never had one.

His mouth was back on hers, so much greedier and hungrier now. He pulled her shirt over her head, exposing her chest. She resisted the urge to cover herself, to avoid the look in his eyes. Dean slid his tongue against the skin of her throat, going lower, burning her skin with his touch. His hands were everywhere, framing her body, scanning the details about her. She let him; Éber would let him do anything he wanted. Just the tough of losing his touch was incredibly painful.

He kissed the hollow of her collarbone, his voice a hot, muffled murmur against her skin. “Gonna lay you down now, okay?” As he spoke, his hands were already guiding her down toward the bed. He lowered her gently, but his grip was strong, possessive.

He moved down, taking her nipple into his hungry mouth. He flickered the hard bud with his tongue, playing with it, nibling the soft skin around it. Involuntarily, she arched her back, thrusting it deep into his mouth to receive a low, deep growl back in appreciation. Cupping the other one, he pressed it between his fingers, twisting, playing, teasing. There was pain, but a new kind of pain — the kind that ached between her legs, making Éber lift her hips to met his. He took his time, his groans of approval rumbling inside her as if they had the power to push her over the edge.

The deep kisses reached her lower bely as he crouched between her legs, taking of her pants in one, clean movement. She could her him whispering ‘Christ’ from somewhere but the only thing in her head was the pressure of his fingertips on her skin, leaving behind an impression that would never fade from her memory.

He had this hoarse, soft voice for her. “I want to be inside you, Éber. But I need you to let me,” he whispered, leaving open-mouthed kisses inside her thighs. He slid his tongue against the spot in between her legs and she twisted her head, grabbing the sheets, trying to hold on to something. His tongue traced every inch of her pussy, making pressure at the right points, sliding down to her entrance, but never penetrating her. “Tell me what you want. Tell me you want this,” he begged.

Éber reached out her hand, touching him. She ran it over the scruff of his chin, forcing her thoughts toward him. “Take me, fuck me, have me, use me. I’m yours. Everything is yours” she screamed to him, hoping that her powers would work. They weren’t master and servant anymore, but she still felt that things between them weren’t normal.

Dean groaned loudly, his hands caressing her thighs as his grip tightened around her waist. He lifted her to him, making her stand. She heard the rough fabric of his jeans, felt as he got rid of his shirt, felt his warm skin pressed against hers. His mouth covered her as he sat on the bed, guiding her hips. Dean left careless kisses over her hips until he lowered her toward him.

Éber knew this part. She expected the pain.

“Come here,” he breathed. She felt his dick against her, sliding in her folds in a gentle, controlled way. “Just like that… slow…”

It was intrusive. She felt herself clamping around him, but he didn’t move. Dean remained still, just holding her against him, his mouth kissing her skin, his tongue sliding up and down, outlining every scar she had. She felt tearing apart and the shiver that ran over her made him straighten the grip of his arm around her.

“Christ… it shouldn’t feel this good,” he moaned against her, gripping painfully at her waist. “You okay?”

She nodded eagerly. “Yes,” she whispered. Éber moved her hips, trying to find a rhythm to match his slow pace. “Yes, yes, yes…” she kept repeating as he thrusted deep in her.

He pumped inside her, hard and fast, in quick thrusts that build up the tension inside her again, making Éber moan his name as she felt her body surrender to him. Dean’s breath was short and his teeth sank in her shoulder as his nails dug in her skin. He was holding onto her just like she was on him, which just made Éber stretch more her legs, giving him more access to her. He let out a loud noise, coming from the bottom of his chest.

Dean lifted her, turning their bodies so he could pin her down against the mattress. He panted and grunted as he slid in and out of her, ever so slowly, moving his hips to hit a spot inside her that amplified the fog in her head. Éber responded, lifting her hips a little so he could go deeper inside her.

“You worth every damn sin.” He curved his body over hers, a heavy, warm weight over her, grounding Éber in that very moment, remind her that the past didn’t deserve to be remembered, that was worthy to live in the present. “Look at me,” he gasped. Dean was on the edge of the abyss, his climax settling full and deep within him as he let her in again. “At me, only at me, just at me,” he roared against her lips, spilling himself inside her as if she were a balm. Relief washed over their bodies as they finally accepted each other, exactly as they were — broken, shattered, beyond repair.

Chapter Text

Éber woke up alone.

She sat on the bed, feeling strangely happy and sad at the same time, and dressed in the clothes Sam had lent her. For a moment, Éber just stood there, a wave of shame turning upside down the few happy thoughts she had about that night. It was expected, she told herself. They were not friends, and she was a monster. All she would ever be was a monster. He was probably drunk, and let the guilt guide his actions. Avoiding her was his way to tell her it wasn’t supposed to have happened.

She didn’t need further instructions; Éber was a fast learner.

She took some money left on the table and walked out the room, not leaving a note behind — she couldn’t write, she didn’t know how to; there was no point anyway. Again, she searched for that scent and walked toward it. She was sore, her feet hurt and she was tired, but it didn’t stop her. When the sun first came out, she was already walking on the side of a highway. The scent grew stronger by nightfall, but Éber stopped for a minute at the sound of dogs barking and the scent of fresh baked cookies.

If that was a prank from Hell, it would sting later. They would torture her, not letting her forget the details.

She found a bench and sat down, closing her eyes and waiting. Maybe she wasn’t really back; maybe this was all a dream, ready to turn into the worst experience of her life. The sounds were too specific, the scents also. She was chasing Bobby for so long it couldn’t be real. Pressing her lips together, she suppressed an ugly sob. But the tears came, hot and salty, running down her face uncontrollably.

The sound of traffic and life ceased at the rustle of leaves. An unnatural silence fell over her before everything went back to its place again. She waited for the cold, clawed hands to grab her. It didn’t happen though. His presence was a different kind of weight, a burden waiting to be taken.

She heard a flick of a lighter before hearing Castiel’s voice. “Alright, Grayson. Time’s up. You done with your little… Grand Theft Auto rampage here? Can we log back into the main quest?”

She pressed her eyelids harder, the hollow feeling inside her growing. “I want to see my family,” she murmured, feeling so tired.

“We do not have time to take a trip too fatherland, Grayson. There’s this huge apocalyptic-level problem right here with us and you—"

She turned to him, reaching in the direction of the voice. Hoping it was him, she held him by his jaw, pulling him closer. The emptiness absorbed her, pulling her toward a place where she felt deprived of all her senses. But she didn’t let him go.

“I go home,” she said through gritted teeth. “You want my help… you get me home, angel.”

She expected him to turn at this point, to attack her, but he just let out a chuckled before lighting up another cigarette.

“You sure live up to your reputation,” he conceded, spinning away from her grasp. “I suppose I can make you an offer… I mean, if you promise to help me after.”

“I’m a slave again?” she asked.

It took him a minute to respond. “Haven’t you always been one? What difference would it make then?”

She hated to admit it, but he was right. Not once in her life had Éber been free. She was Saddler’s pet, then John’s whore, only to end up in Dean’s lap like a puppet. She had been jumping from one leash to another, never once being entirely herself. She wasn’t born to be free. This time, mythological beings wanted her, a new kind of threat that felt better than the demons in Hell.

“What I have to do?”

He blew a puff of smoke at her. “Saving people… or at least, the ones who don’t die shortly after. Hunting things — the ones you can find,” he mocked. “I’m sure you heard the motto before.”

Éber groaned. “You’re a horrible angel.”

“Some would say, yeah.” He gripped her shoulder before pulling her with him through a tunnel. It was suffocating, twisted her body in so many different ways that Éber felt like her bones would break. Then she hit the gravel, falling to her knees and fighting the need to throw up. “Home sweet home, Grayson.”

She held her stomach, planting one hand on the floor. “You could do it before?”

“I mean, yeah,” he confirmed.

“Idjit,” she hissed.

He was gone before she could say anything else. She sank back to sit on her heels, letting her senses feel her surroundings. It was home, but felt cold. There was a dark thing above her, a swirling gloom that seemed to prevent anything from entering that place. It was bad, though. The feelings around her were mostly angry; everyone seemed ready to start a fight. Stumbling, she stood up, walking slowly toward the house. Ghostly lines shaped what was supposed to be Bobby’s house, but its edges were blurred with a horrible darkness.

The first person she felt was Ethan.

She followed the grief in him, the way he was mourning her still. He was surrounded by motor oil, stale coffee and his own wild-tingled scent. She had learned to associate it to safety, to home, especially because of the way Ethan become a version of Bobby even though they didn’t share any blood. There was this calm, normal rhythm of an old rock song mixing with the clink of tools. He was leaning over the Bronco, concentrated in something.

Éber stood on the doorway of the old garage. “Hi, Ethan,” she said.

He stiffened, but didn’t look at her. “Great. Now the ghost knows my name. Just what I needed,” he grunted.

She frowned. “I’m not a ghost.”

Ethan let out a short, humorless laugh before picking another tool from the toolbox at his feet. His lines were flickering, as if they were being erased as they talked. “Yeah? The last one said that too. You’re all liars. Go haunt someone else. I’m busy.”

She didn’t argue. There was no point in arguing with him, he was as stubborn as Bobby when it came to believe in good things — not that she coming back was really a good thing. Sighing, she approached him, reaching out her hand to the wrench he was white-knuckling. She knew it, she could see how the blood was pressing that part of him, how other parts of his body where dead cold.

“Ghosts do that, idjit?” she asked, softly.

All his lines lightened up in hope. The wrench clattered to the floor between them. “… Éber?”

“I think… they didn’t want me there anymore,” she joked.

Without thinking, Ethan hug her, hiding his face against the curve of her neck. “I don’t care, just hug me back. Please, hug me back, sis,” he begged, his voice shaking.

She laughed. It was so Ethan to forget the consequences, but she held him tightly, letting all his sadness wash over her as he become still, just a puppet ready to do whatever she wanted. His mind was a pool of pain, and inside him, she found the desire to die. Éber cried because the only thing keeping Ethan from suicide was Bobby. She learned that he thought of it — a lot. His hunting had become more reckless, he didn’t care about what happened to him.

“Ethan, if you drank the last of the coffee, I swear to Satan—” Ruby stopped suddenly, frozen as Éber lifted her eyes to meet her. Ethan was still hugging her and she was stroking his hair, saying softly words of reassurance. “Éber?”

Éber shifted to smile to Ruby.

“Hi, Rubs.”

Ruby stumbled forward. “Ethan, let her go. You’re hurting her!”

“It’s okay,” Éber murmured, leaning away to stare at Ethan’s face. It wasn’t that dark anymore, so she whispered. “Go sleep. I will be here. You will wake up and see me.”

In silence, Ruby waited as Ethan let go of Éber and walked out of the garage. Éber knew he was lost in his mind, eyes vacant and empty. He would feel terrible after, but sleep would help. She couldn’t deny him a hug, not after everything. Ruby, always the careful one, touched her covered arms, pressing lightly her fingers as she cried in silence.

“It is you, oh my—” They hug quickly before Ruby pulled away. “How— I… We saw you dead,” she cried out.

Éber shrugged. “I’m always a weapon. Weapons can’t die.”

“I’m so happy,” she said. “Tyler! Dad!” Ruby screamed, on the top of her lungs, giving in one more time and hugging Éber. “I’m so mad at you. How could you sell your soul for that… ugh, we so gonna talk about it later.”

Ruby screamed again, even louder. The angry steps made Éber’s heart stop for a moment, anticipation crawling under her skin. It was him; she knew exactly how Bobby sounded when walking. It was a noise she learned to miss, one that had always meant security.

“What in the seven rings of hell is all the yellin’ about? I’m trying to—” All the anger, all the gruffness in him vanished as he saw her.

Ruby was still trembling beside her.

“Dad… look!” she said with joy.

He took a half-step back, not saying a word. Éber sensed his fear, and she knew he was reaching for something to protect them. She raised her hands, keeping them in the air. “I’m me,” she murmured. “I accept if you need to check, but don’t make it hurt too much.”

“No,” Ruby stepped between them. “Don’t do it, Bobby. It’s her, can’t you see it?”

“I— she’s dead,” Bobby breathed out.

“She is right here,” Rubby fights, turning to Éber to grab her by the shoulders. “Hug me. Show him.”

Éber shook her head. “No. I already hurt Ethan.”

The quiet mourn in his blood erupted, and Éber used all her strength not to sank to her knees under the waves of pain emanating from him. It smelled like whisky and salt, like fear and rage. He had held that pain inside him so tight that, once free, it filled up the entire room and gave Éber a bitter taste of what she had done with them — with all of them. She always thought that her death would solve things, but it actually made it worse.

Bobby took one step. Then another.

“Is it really you, girl?”

His final stumble ends up with him gripping her shoulders. She was expecting an attack; he still wasn’t believing it. Ruby, beside him, looked prepared to hold him if he tried something. Éber wouldn’t mind being stabbed or punched; she kind of deserved that. But his grip only tightened to a painful clasp. He was trying to understand if she was real, if she was really in that room with them.

“I found the way home, dad.”

Chapter Text

It was like he had waited for it his whole life. Sex? Sex was good, he enjoyed it way too much. Sex with her? It was overwhelming, cathartic… it was an apotheosis. He hated himself for that, but couldn’t stop staring at her, sleeping on his bed. She didn’t look peaceful — she had never looked peaceful in her sleep, so why would it change now that she had just crawled out of Hell?

Standing up, he dressed quickly and left, feeling the need to be alone.

It was too much. The touch, the noises, the aftermath… it would haunt him forever. He had taken advantage of her state, pushing her toward sex when she needed to be remembered that this was real. Instead of taking the car, he walked. Mid-stride, he stopped, thinking that she had walked for five days, to find someone — to find anyone. What a nightmare it must have been: being blind and losing the only senses that could guide her.

Runing his hands over his face, he reached the main street, turning toward a small park in the town.

Sam would be looking for him soon. They needed to get her to Bobby’s; she needed some place safe she could just rest. He told himself he would never touch her again. This was a mistake; this shouldn’t have happened.

But why did it feel so damn good then?

“The serpent finally leaves the garden. Feeling satisfied, Dean?”

Dean didn’t need to look to him. Mikhail would probably have a smug on his face. He entered Dean’s vision, dressed in casual clothes this time, but still looking like he had just walked out of a fashion magazine.

“What the hell do you want?” Dean grunted.

“For starters, maybe some self-control,” Mikhail leaned against the protective railing separating them from the small baseball field. “Our friend is not for your personal uses.”

Dean closed his eyes. “I’m off the clock. Come back when I give a shit about what you think.”

“We’re never off the clock, partner,” the man replied. It’s been four months and Dean still couldn’t understand that son of bitch. At first, he looked like a powerful demon. But the more Dean knew him, the more he understood that Mikhail was something far more dangerous than a demon. “Now that you got your… comfort, it’s time for you to hold up tour end, don’t you think?”

Dean narrowed his eyes, scanning Mikhail’s face. His hair was tied up and he had this strange mark on his face that wasn’t there the last time they’ve met. He looked fine, but something seemed off in him. “What are you talking about?”

Pushing off the railing, Mikhail stood before him. “Don’t play dumb with me, Dean, it doesn’t suit you,” he murmured. “We have a beautiful arrangement where I don’t ask questions about your obsession with her, and you don’t ask questions about where the power to fix your problems comes from. I gave you one night, consider this a down payment.”

Dean fisted his hands. “I never agreed to any of your bullshit.”

“You didn’t say no,” Mikhail pointed out. “You used my help, and accepted my power. And now, it’s my time to collect what belongs to me. My investment needs room to grow. It doesn’t need your… sentimentality.”

Clenching his jaw, Dean stared inside those empty, cold eyes. They were blue like the sky in a sunny, warm day of summer, except that they were colder than the worst winter. “What are your conditions then?”

Mikhail’s smile widened. He raised his hand to straighten the collar of Dean’s shirt. “That you walk away and never lay your bloody, filthy hands on her again.”

He had told himself already he wouldn’t touch her. Off all things, not touching her was his priority, because Dean knew exactly what would happen if he could feel her soft skin again. But knowing that Mikhail wanted him out of her life was something different; it meant that he was planning on using her.

He chuckled. “Why, for you to use her?”

“Well… you had your turn. Now it’s mine,” he winked. “I heard she is really good.”

Dean considered punching him, but last time it didn’t end well. Mikhail wasn’t affected by a punch, he was strong; his body endured his punches until Dean was tired. Then he smiled, murmuring ‘it’s my turn’ and left Dean in a hospital for a week. Why he didn’t kill him, Dean would never know.

“Don’t talk about her like that.”

Mikhail raised his hands. “In the name of the friendship we developed, I’ll respect your wish,” he mocked. “But I hope our little chat had put some senses on you.”

The horrible idea of Éber being his puppet know crossed Dean’s mind. “Why do you care so much about her?”

There was a flash of genuine, possessive warmth in his eyes. It seemed more disturbing than the mockery he usually used with Dean. “She’s the only interesting thing in this entire, tedious world. And I don’t like sharing my toys,” murmured Mikhail, wetting his lips. “So, here are your rules, Dean: do your job, maybe keep her safe this time. But do not put your hands on what’s mine. Or next time, I won’t be nearly as pleasant as I have been. And I’ll make sure you watch your brother suffering before I kill you,” he threatened. “After all, he is way more important to you than she will ever be, right?”

Chapter Text

“Tell me you didn’t,” Sam growled on the passenger seat.

The Impala’s engine was roaring and Dean hadn’t stopped, not even once, since they left the hotel. Coming back to an empty room and a panicked Sam was too much information. She had taken the money and left, leaving anything behind. He didn’t expect a note, but maybe a call. Anything; but he only received a fucking empty bed.

Sam exploded. “Damn it, Dean! She just got out from Hell! She is traumatized, she could barely tell what’s real! What were you thinking?”

Dean had been asking himself the same question. “I wasn’t thinking, okay?!” he blurted back to his brother. “Is that what you what to hear? I wasn’t thinking!”

The sound of the pouring rain filled the silence between them.

“You took advantage—”

“She was there!” Dean shot back. It was already bad that he though poorly of himself; he didn’t need his brother thinking the same. “She was there too. It just… happened.”

Sam let out a humorless chuckle. “Sex don’t just happen, Dean.” The rhythmic sound of the wipers followed Sam’s voice as a ticking time bomb. “You just shut down when she died. So… I guess it was bound to happen,” Sam murmured.

Dean white-knuckled the steering wheel, feeling everything at once. Éber’s absence, Mikhail’s words, Sam’s disappointment. What was there for him to say? He knew it would come to this point, but he just couldn’t believe that Mikhail’s promises would become real. It started with him telling Dean there was a way to bring Éber back, to save her from Hell. It ended with him understanding that Azazel’s plans to Sam hadn’t end that night. The Yellow-Eye Demon, that later became Azazel through the words of Mikhail, had this long, methodical plan for his brother, one that would lead Sam to be something Dean would have to hunt. There was only one thing he could do, and it was saving Sam from his destiny.

And Dean had taken it with both hands.

Choosing to remain in silence, Dean stuck to driving madly. Sam talked with Bobby over the phone at least three times, trying to find an explanation — how she came back, why, what brought her back, what she remembers. Sam was as clueless as Singer, and they both shared this worried tone about her fractured mind spiraling between two different realities. It made the guilt in Dean sink even deeper, as if he had, if fact, taken advantage of her.

He crossed Sioux Falls on a Friday afternoon, right before a great storm. If Dean could take the next exit and drive in the opposite direction, he would have done it. Ethan and Tyler were practicing on the yard; Tyler looked way older now than three months prior. He had long hair now and was smiling again. Once he parked the car, he just stood next to it, leaning against the Impala as a way to ground him in place. He needed to put his shit together before walking in that house and seeing her again.

“You coming?” Sam asked.

“In a minute,” Dean replied.

Sam nodded, in understanding. Dean watched his brother disappear inside the house as he just stood there. There was this heavy weight sitting on his chest. Would it be wrong if he just took the car and left? Closing his eyes, he squeezed them shut, clenching his jaw. To the sound of laugh, he pulled away from the car and walked slowly to the house. The entrance was empty, but voices were coming from the kitchen. The black girl, Bea, was alone in the study, talking angrily on the phone. She glanced up as he passed, her conversation halting for a split second, her eyes sharpening with unmasked contempt before she showed him the middle finger.

He expected that. Ruby had poisoned her about him.

In silence, he stood on the doorway, watching as they all talked loudly about her. But Éber was silent, standing next to the open window with a beer hanging loosely on her hands. She was using dark sunglasses again, and the clothes were hers. Her hair was methodically braid and she was covered from feet to neck. Almost like she had never left, Dean thought to himself, fighting back a smile.

“… she said there was this angel with her,” Ruby’s voice echoed around him, but Dean only had eyes for her. Everything around seemed to fade. “Can we really thrust it was an angel?”

They were all standing there, trying to chart her path, what brought her back. But she, as Dean noticed, was somewhere else.

“It doesn’t matter what it was,” Bobby grunted, wiping a hand over his face. “What matters is finding this thing. You don’t crawl out of the pit without something crawling back with you.”

Sam nodded. “I agree. She said his name was Castiel,” Sam shifted to look at Éber, but he didn’t see her. Not how Dean was seeing. None of them saw her trembling hands, the shaking on her posture, the way her fingers were twisting and twisting. “Your friend, Pamela, can’t she find him?”

Éber pushed herself off the wall and went to the basement. Dean wanted so bad to follow her that he just went to the opposite direction, the image of her trembling hands burned onto the back of his mind. He needed air, to get out, to get away from her before he let those dark thoughts in his head win and touched her again. He took two hurried steps into the hall and crashed into someone.

Bea stood there. She didn’t stumble black. Her eyes, sharp and intelligent, scanned him.

“In a hurry to leave the scene of the crime, Winchester?” she asked with that low, eloquent voice she had.

Dean rolled his eyes. “It was an accident. Watch your steps, freak.”

“You watch your steps, Dean, because I know exactly where you’re thinking of going,” she replied, that unpleasant smile touching her lips. “Have you forgot I can see right through your lies?”

He hated every monster Bobby had adopted, but Bea was the one he despised the most. Her psychic powers had seen everything he had done, and she wouldn’t let him forget about it. She told everyone about Éber selling her soul, that’s why Bobby was so distant with him. Still a father figure, but a hurt one.

“You done?”

She raised the corner of her lips. “Not nearly close to be done with you,” she hissed. “Stay away from my sister. Éber doesn’t need your bullshit right now.”

She pushed past him, bumping their shoulders on the way. Dean took a deep breath, fisting his hands at his sides. He fought the urge to hurt her because it would do nothing but harm in that moment.

Torn between stepping into the basement to face Éber and walking away to look for some bar where he could get waisted and fucked, he made his choice.

He turned and walked out the door.

Chapter Text

It was past midnight when Dean came back. The house was dark, except for the shed. For a moment, he just chose to stay in the car, the engine ticking as it cooled. He wasn’t waisted and he hadn’t fucked anyone — not that he had really tried. He’d had two beers and then he felt sick, the guilt turning everything sour. Most of the night, he’d just driven around, the empty roads a failed remedy to his crowded mind.

Letting out a heavy sigh, he finally locked the car. Maybe sleep would help. Maybe if he fell into temporarily oblivion, he could forget.

But passing the shed, he stooped. His feet rooted the ground, his eyes lingering on her.

The braid fell on the side of her face as she leaned over the engine bay, fixing something. A low tuned played from an old radio, and he imagined that it was only loud enough for the sound to guide her hands and paint a picture in her mind. The Bronco seemed exactly the same; Ethan had done a good job preserving it.

Running a hand over his hair and pure, agonizing despair, Dean finally moved toward the open door. It would be better if they clarified everything, if they talked alone.

But it was also a temptation.

Éber had her back to him when he entered. He moved slowly, circling the space around her. He knew he didn’t have to announce himself. She would know it was him — she always seemed to know. She didn't turn, her hands stilling on a coolant hose.

“I know,” she simply said. “We did a mistake. You can go.”

Her voice was flat, a stark contrast against the music that filled up the air around them. Have Bob Seger’s songs always been this painfully romantic? His eyes searched for something in her. He wanted her to tell him that it wasn’t, that she also wanted that. He needed to hear it for his own selfish reasons. That night felt right, but it was shrouded by Mikhail’s wrath, the darkness that orbited Sam and his own fears.

So he said the only thing that he could. “It can’t happen again.”

Éber finally turned to him. In her face, this unreadable expression was hidden behind the sunglasses. He had the sudden, violent urge to take them off, to see her eyes. “I know.”

A simple, devastating acceptance.

He swallowed hard. “I’m sorry if I—” What, took advantage of you? Raped you, like my father did?

“Dean,” she sighed, stepping back from the crate she was using to reach the Bronco’s engine. “I did it too. I chose it. It’s okay.”

She dismissed him again, turning to the toolbox. In two long strides, he closed the distance between them. His hand darted out, grabbing gently her forearm. “It’s not that I don’t—” he started, but his voice broke under the weight of everything he wanted to say. “It’s not that.”

She frowned. “It’s okay,” she said, to reassure him. “We are good.”

We’re good. The lie was a catalyst.

One look to her and he threw caution out of the window and his mouth crashed down on hers. Not a light kiss, not what he intended too. It was a consuming, desperate kiss that became too deep, too fast. And she responded with the same raw, starving urgency.

He tore those damn sunglasses from her face and tossed them over his shoulder. He walked her back against the workbench, his hands gripping her waist, and lifted her onto the cluttered surface, scattering tools in a loud, metallic clatter that neither of them heard.

I should be smarter than that. I should walk away from her.

Instead, he fisted at the hem of her sweater and lifted it, finding an old Led Zeppelin shirt stretched over those gorgeous breasts of her.

“You said—”

“Fuck what I said,” he replied, claiming her lips again.

She tasted as something sweet, prohibited. He could spend his life hearing those soft moans she let out every time he touched a sensitive spot in her body. Éber didn’t offer any resistance.

“C’mere,” he growled against her mouth, pulling her upright. He backed her against the workbench again, the wood solid against her back, as his thumb popped the button of her jeans with a single, practiced flick.

His hands were rougher now, his kisses more demanding. He needed it to be rough, to make him forget, to let him drown in her. He sensed as Éber tensed, just for a fraction. Before he could take off her pants, he let his forehead rest against hers. His voice came out raw, a whisper that sounded like a confession.

“Tell me to stop and I will. Right now.” He waited, his entire body tense. He wanted her to know that she had all the power over him. “But if you don’t… I need you to know that I’m not gonna be gentle. Not this time.”

She lifted her head, this adorable way she pursed her lips making his dick twist. “Okay.”

“Sometimes… rough can be good too,” he murmured, kissing away the frown in her face. “It’s just feeling everything at once. Tell me you’re with me. Tell me you understand.”

“I do,” she whispered. “Rough can be good.”

He laughed against her lips. Tracing a line of kisses down her body, he pushed her pants down, sitting her again on the table. With the clothes scattered on the floor around them, Dean felt his mouth water as he leaned to her. She had this salty taste on her skin, and trembled under his mouth as it made its way always up. She was pulsing for him. His tongue slid against her swollen clit and she cried out a muffled moan before fisting his hair.

It was a sinful taste; one he knew wasn’t made for him.

Her noises grew louder as her body started to trembled. Dean enjoyed watching her get there. The orgasms seemed to leave her in a state of happiness that he never saw in her face. He licked and sucked as a starved man, until her cries of pleasure became painfully louder. She was dripping all over his face and he just couldn’t have enough. He pushed one finger inside her and watched as she came with a full-body shudder. He pulled the finger out and then thrusted it back again, his eyes glued to the expression on her face.

His cock was throbbing, begging to be buried inside her. Pulling it out, he spat on his hand and stroked himself as he positioned himself between her legs.

“Relax,” he murmured as she stiffened. “Let me in, Grayson. You know you like it.”

Lifting her legs, he slid it over the skin between her clit and her entrance. He could feel her warm, trembling pussy already waiting for him. When he reached the opening, he watched, amazed, as she swallowed him. Nothing in that world would compare to the sensation of her pussy enveloping his cock like that. He growled loudly, not giving a damn shit if someone was listening to them.

Éber’s eyes were wild and wide, staring at him. The glassiness came from what she was feeling — from the way he was making her feel. She said his name, arching her back once he was fully inside her. She purred some incoherent words, most of them begging for him to move. He liked that part of her, the way she was when there was nothing in her head, only him. Sinking his fingers on her waist, pounding into her, Dean lifted her shirt, watching as her tits bounced with every thrust. He couldn’t resist kneading them and bending over just to suck her nipples greedily between his lips.

She was almost there. He could feel it, the way she was squeezing him.

So, he dragged his hand down her pussy and rubbed his thumb against her clit, watching as she shattered under him. He kept his eyes on her, engraving the image on his mind, praying silently it wouldn’t be the last time. Once she drifted back from that high, he thrusted inside her until his own pleasure became unbearable. Dean held her like she was his last tether to sanity.

They both stood there for a moment, half naked, half frozen. He was still inside her.

“You okay?” he whispered.

She nodded. “Yes,” she said, and he sensed the ‘sir’ that almost fell off her mouth.

He pulled out of her, stepping back. After putting his penis back into his pants, he helped her dress in the quiet of the shed, his hands gentle as he pulled her pants up and fastened the button. His breath was still unsteady, but his eyes were clear, and all they could see was her. He followed her moves with some kind of painful reverence. He watched as she straightened her shirt, her fingers fumbling slightly. His gaze remained locked on her as she tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, and his heart ached. In the quiet aftermath of their roughness, she looked painfully beautiful. It was so intimate he didn’t know how he would walk away from it.

“I’m fucked,” he whispered.

Éber lifted her head. “You tell me about it?”

“About what?”

“Why you are fucked,” she replied, leaning her hips against the workbench. “I can’t feel you. But in sex, you tell me things. You made something, and it’s why you want it to end.”

His blood ran cold at the thought of she knowing he traded her life back just to protect his brother. Not that he’d fully done it, but he’d done what Mikhail asked him, lured by the promise of keeping Sam off demons’ radars. His jaw tightened and he scrambled for a lie.

“Its nothing…” he managed, the word rotting in his mouth. “It’s hunter shit. My shit.”

She narrowed her eyes, pursing her lips. “Sam, right?”

Desperate to stop her questions, he cupped her face, stroking his thumbs over her cheeks. “It can wait,” he whispered, leaving small kisses on her lips. “It can all wait. Tomorrow will come anyway.” Bob Seger was still playing around them. “Let’s have this.”

She almost smiled. “You want it?”

“Damn right, I do,” he laughed.

Chapter Text

Like CCR had said, the bad moon was rising. Trouble was on its way, but it gave them a few weeks. Dean and Éber fell into a routine of their own — despite what the others thought about it. The hunt was pushed aside while they searched for an explanation for her return. During the day, their hours were filled with old books and heated discussions about whether keep Éber locked in the Scrapyard or letting her have a normal life. At night, they enjoyed their time together. Often, they met at the shed, where Dean would explain how to fix something on the car and she would whisper her secrets to him.

They had sex. A lot. He had her on the hood of the car in an abandoned parking lot outside Sioux Falls; she gave him a blowjob while they were hiding in her room. They spent hours under the stars, she riding him to insanity and he telling her about the night sky. They would use any excuse to be naked and young and carefree. Dean loved to watch her shatter under his touch, to experience Éber’s complete loss of control when he was inside her.

They did it slow, fast, rough, gentle, romantic, dirty. He couldn’t get enough of her.

In one of those nights, they sneaked out together, finding themselves in a motel room down in Lennox. He was inside her, thrusting slow into her, pinning her arms above her head. She had her black hair framing beautifully her face, and a satisfied look shone in her eyes. His thumb came across a mark on her wrist. In was new, and looked deep and swollen.

He stilled.

“You’ve hurt yourself again,” he murmured.

“Yes,” she didn’t deny.

He stared into her eyes. “Why?”

“I needed to come back.”

He propped himself up on his forearms, caging her gently, lifting his weight just enough to see her face fully in the dim light. “Hell again?”

She nodded.

Dean felt a flicker of pain in his chest. “You should’ve come to me, Éber.”

She let out a sad smile. “It was too real. It’s not easy to find the way out.”

The implication of it froze the air on his lungs. The only way out of this madness was one thing, and he wasn’t ready to lose her again — he wouldn’t bury her a second time. His grip on her tightened almost reflexively.

“Éber,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Tell me you’re not thinking about checking out for good.”

“You mean die?” she questioned quietly.

“Yeah.”

She pressed her lips together. “I do, sometimes,” she confessed. “I’m not afraid now. I know how Hell is. And Heaven can’t be bad like that.”

Dean thought of pushing it further, about making her promise she wouldn’t kill herself, but Éber kissed him, and the conversation died as they let desire consume them. It was a Wednesday morning when he woke up alone in the makeshift bed in the basement. A glance at his phone told him it was five past six. He tried to go back to sleep, but gave up not long after, heading upstairs for a cup of coffee.

The kitchen was silent, except for Bea typing on her laptop. They didn’t greet each other. But she glanced at him with this look of disapproval on her face. She knew Dean hadn’t been entirely honest with Éber, and he’d thought she’d say something, but Bea had chosen to hate him in silence.

“Why don’t you say what you gotta say,” he shifted to meet her gaze, “instead of just staring at me? Last time someone looked at me like that, I got laid.”

Bea didn’t flinch. She was still typing when she said. “Maybe that’s the problem.”

“What does that mean?” Dean’s voice hardened.

“It means,” she started, lifting her eyes to stare at him, “that you shouldn’t be fucking my sister.”

“Éber’s old enough to make her own choices. She’s not a kid.”

“Choices?” Bea stood up, the chair scraping loud in the quiet of that room. “You want to talk about choices? Let’s start with yours then, Dean. You’re a liar. You know what you did, and you still chose to lie to her.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean took a step forward, his voice dropping dangerously as he stared into two freezes dark brown eyes. “Tell me what I did. Enlighten me.”

Her voice came out quiet, and absolutely hurt. “You’re working with some thing that wants to chain her again,” Bea said, “in the same fucking way your own father did. That’s what you did.”

Dean flinched, and for a second, he couldn’t speak. He hated the fact that Bea could see his choices, but hated himself even more for hiding it from her. Every time they entered dangerous territory, he cowardly ran away.

“Cat got your tongue, Dean?” Bea mocked.

“Stop.” They both jumped at the low sound of Éber’s voice, walking between them toward the coffee pot. “Please.”

Bea moved faster. She was smaller than Éber. Her dark skin glowed in the low light of the kitchen, which only deepened the worry on her face. Despite their different complexations, both women shared the same systematic way of tying their hair, the same look of determination. Maybe they didn’t share blood, but they certainly shared character.

“He is working with this thing. You know you can’t trust him. It’s after you— it wants you,” Bea whispered. “And he gave you to it.”

Éber took a low sip. “I know.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “You know?”

She shrugged, then nodded. Dean felt the floor drop out from under him. The kitchen suddenly felt too small. Before he could form another question, Éber turned toward the back door. Under Bea’s oppressive gaze, he followed Éber without thinking. The morning outside was cold, wrapped in the sharp scent of damp earth and metal from the Scrapyard. She didn’t go far, standing just a few steps from the back porch, the mug in her hands.

Dean stopped right next to her, glancing at her face. She wasn’t wearing the sunglasses, and her eyes looked a bit foggy — the green had changed into something between evergreen and sage grey.

“You knew,” he repeated. “And you still let me touch you.”

She tilted her head slightly, blowing softly across the coffee. “I can’t feel you like that. But I said, in sex you tell me things.” She sipped the coffee. “And you are not bad. You just want to save Sam. I understand that.”

He frowned. “You know… who is it?”

“Aham,” she lifted the corner of her lips. “I knew he would come. Even before I died.”

“He promised he would keep Lilith away from Sam,” Dean explained, his voice flat. However, he felt fear inside. “Since you died, they started to come after him. Each one had a better offer, and each time Sam seemed to… want it more.” He wrenched his gaze from her and fixed it on the dawn sky. “He told me that if I did everything, you would be back and Sam would be safe. Since then, Lilith stopped looking for him. But…” Dean exhaled, “it came with conditions.”

“I won’t have a new master,” Éber whispered. “Don’t worry.”

“I’m—” Again, he turned to look at her. “I shouldn’t worry?” he rasped, his voice cracking. “What about you?”

She just sipped her coffee, as if it was her answer.

He kissed her.

It wasn’t desperate, or hungry. It was tender — a silent apology. She tasted of coffee and beautiful mornings, and he leaned in a bit more, swallowing her shaking breath. For a second, everything felt right. And then in wasn’t anymore. The air stilled; cold wrapped them right before this clean, wrong air floated around them.

A man stood not more than five feet away from them, watching with a small smile in his flat lips. Everything about him looked too ordinary — the suit, the bald hair, the yellow teeth. But the way the morning light seemed to bend around him, that was too strange to be ordinary. “Well, look at you two,” he said, spreading his hands. “Doing Heaven’s work without even knowing it.”

Both Dean and Éber body language change. One minute, they were two people kissing. In the next, they were hunters ready to fight, the mug long broken and forgotten on the floor.

“Who the hell are you?” Dean inquired.

“Zachariah,” he said, as if it was supposed to mean something. Beside Dean, Éber stiffened. “You know, I’ve been looking forward to meet you two,” he continued, taking a casual step forward. The gravel didn’t crunch under his shoes, which was odd. “I wanted to see how you too looked like together.”

Éber’s hand gripped the back of his shirt. The tug, so slight, was like a warning. That guy, whatever he was, was a dangerous thing.

“You’ve been through so much,” he said, his eyes locked on Éber. “The torture. The dying. The coming back. The… intimacy.” His smile widened. “You’re doing a beautiful job for the new dawn that’s coming, Éber Grayson. You didn’t think we would bring you back just for him, did you?” Zacharia’s eyes remained fixed on her, a malicious desire that twisted Dean’s insides. The word mine rose onto the tip of Dean’s tongue, but he swallowed it. “This is much bigger then the two of you.”

“Go to the point,” said Éber, her voice low.

“Alright, straight to it then,” he hissed. “A war’s coming. And Heaven needs soldiers. True-blooded ones. And you two… well, let’s just say your family trees have interesting roots. Cain. Abel.” He smiled. “You are the blueprint.”

Dean’s blood went cold. “What are you talking about?”

“You two” he said, pointing between them with a low chuckle, “were made for each other. And not in that silly ‘soulmate’ way you humans love to believe.” His gaze flew back to Éber — her face pale, silent, dead. “Generation after generation, every detail, every lineage… perfectly placed, every little piece, to ensure you both existed, that you both were exactly the way you are… and, of course, did what you’ve already done,” he hissed, laughing as he folded his hands over his belly.

Before Dean could speak, could process all of that, Éber’s voice cut through, cold and distant. “What you mean ‘made for each other’?”

“Oh, well, how can I put this,” he smiled, narrowing his eyes. “Uh, you’re cultivated.” He approached them, stopping right in front of Éber. Although they were the same height, Éber seemed to shrink. “Everything was carefully planned so you could produce something special for us.”

“Produce?” Dean whispered, dreading what came next.

“Heirs,” Zachariah answered, amused. “Every one of your choices, your mistakes even, they brought you to this very exact moment.” Bile was rising in Dean’s throat. “And, well, now it’s just a matter of letting nature take its course.”

The memory hit Dean like a physical blow — the shed, her skin under his hands, the heat, the carelessness. He’d wanted her knowing she was a monster. He’d wanted her anyway. The desire, the obsession, the need, the yearning… all those inexplicable things he felt for her, now crashed over the explanation it wasn’t his choice.

But I like her, he thought.

Because she was made for you, Zachariah’s voice seemed to whisper in his mind.

She’s like me, he repeated to himself.

Because she was made for you, the echo repeated back.

Dean felt the nausea, the wave of hatred, renewed and sharp.

“You know the best part?” the man went on, like he was sharing a dirty little secret. “The whole speech about being in control, defying destiny…” he said, in a dramatic flourish, “all that human nonsense… only to be arranged like a pair of puppets, made for Heaven to play with.”

Dean’s chest burned. Part of him died in that moment, watching her expression go blank. He wanted fury, denial; he wanted the woman who could destroy anything. But she didn’t move. She didn’t speak. And all he could think is that she, again, had no choice at all; that, again, she was back on a leash — that the feeling she carried for him was just another prison, it wasn’t real.

Fisting his hands, he swallowed dry. “So, you’re saying that I—” his voice broke, and he avoided looking to her, focusing only on Zachariah. “I like a monster like her because of some divine intervention?”

Her expression remained frozen — except for the eyes. Always the eyes, Dean thought.

“Why else do you think you fell for her?” hissed Zachariah, that venomous tone crawling around them. “Why else can’t you leave this… monster?” He gestured toward her, and Éber’s shoulders sank even lower.

Silence thickened.

“Don’t you just love this drama when truth comes out?” Shaking his head, he laughed. Dean wished he had the power to kill him, to force him to say it was all a lie. “But get over it, friends. Heaven is in a hurry. Let’s get a bun in that oven quickly, after all…” he said, staring at Éber again, leaning toward her. Too close, Dean’s mind echoed, and he crushed the thought with all his might. “The scars you carry are like an invitation to a new chapter, and Heaven is eager to read it.”

Then, he was gone. Not vanishing, he just wasn’t there anymore, like a thought when it disappears from your mind. Dean stared at the empty space where the man had been. Then he looked at Éber. She didn’t move, not a word escaped her lips. She was breathing, but didn’t seem to be there. Clenching his jaw, he fought the urge to scream. Spasms of pain spread through his torso; he had never wished so badly to truly hate her. He thought of running, of disappearing, but other fears haunted him, stopping him from just walking away.

When he spoke, his voice was low and rough. “Take a pregnancy test. If there’s anything growing in there, there’s still time to kill it.”

Without looking back, he marched as far away as he could.

Chapter Text

Dean was a living ghost haunting her.

It didn’t matter what she did, where she went; he would be there, his voice still echoing in her head as she remembered the way he ran from her after Zachariah told them about their bound. Gripping even tightly the steering wheel, Éber focused on the botts’s dots, the ‘thump-thump’ echoing inside the car. Éber took scattered naps, never enough to slip into unconsciousness, just enough to keep herself standing. She ate just enough so she wouldn’t pass out. She fought like she was destined to die, desiring eagerly each wound in her body. Anything to keep him off her head.

She didn’t understand that connection between them, and she could only wish that it would go away.

The whole month after he left was a nightmare — a particularly painful one, to the point where even Ruby no longer knew how to get a reaction from her.

Despite it, Ruby had sent her a few messages, especially before she had found a pregnancy test on the bathroom trash. Éber had done it purely to prove to herself that nothing would be born from her. She was hollow, empty, dry. She could never have children, could never generate anything within her womb because there was nothing there. Sadler had created her for a single purpose, and he would not allow anything to weaken her, which included the possibility of pregnancy. Bea waited the result with her, both of them sitting on the bathroom floor.

“I knew he would break your heart, that motherfucker,” she cursed.

Éber also knew that, but she chose to lie to herself. Once it was done, Bea held her hand for a minute. “If you ever feel the need to hide, you know you can call me, right?”

“Yes,” Éber whispered, but in pained her.

She chose to become a robot. Only programmed responses, only superficial conversations. If they said his name, she would immediately shut down. Ruby wanted so desperately to know what was going one that each encounter only ended in barbs and accusations. Éber was falling apart, and wouldn’t let anyone help her put her pieces back together.

Ethan called her every night, and he and Tyler would give her a full report on the next adventure of The Angry Show of Bobby Singer. She wouldn’t laugh; she would only listen, and then hang up. Nothing seemed to fill the void inside her. She wondered if that’s what meant to have your heart broken.

When Mikhail turned on the radio and "Everybody Hurts" played, she turned it off angrily. The amused, almost sadistic chuckle emanated from him, as he had been doing for the past few days. He appeared in the second day Dean was gone, and had stayed since.

“You’ve been too quiet, princess,” he said, that sweet and whiny voice that was everything but comforting. “Thinking about him again?”

She didn’t answer. She had learned that Mikhail enjoyed teasing her, and fighting back only encouraged him. It was like a turn on for him.

“I bet he’s fine,” he continued, “comfortable, certainly satisfied.”

“Mikhail,” she roared. “Shut up.”

He laughed, falling into silence for a minute. Éber knew it was dark, she could feel the night crawling outside the Bronco’s windows to torment her with memories. It wasn’t enough she had her entire life to mourn, she needed more suffering. All those nights were now a nightmare. Nothing she felt was hers, nothing in her head was personal.

She tried to forget about that. Mikhail, of course, liked to brought it up. Éber had learned he knew more than he showed, especially about her. He spoke in a soft, whispered voice about secrets that she had shoved into the dark corners of her mind, remembering her that he had advised Dean not to touch her. Once, she asked why he didn’t stop him if he knew about all of that, and Mikhail replied with satisfaction: ‘I knew it would sting more than any punishment I could give him’.

She understood that Dean and Mikhail had a deal; she felt it in him all the times they’ve been together, physically. But the fact that she never meant anything other than a product, this Dean hid very well. Whatever he showed her, all those feelings they shared through sex, that was all a lie.

Clenching her jaw, Éber opened the window to feel the cold air against her face. She could feel the sleep and the tiredness, but she didn’t want to give in to it. Soon it would be cold, and then snow would fall from the sky. She would burry herself under a pile of snow and freeze to death.

Mikhail's touch on her shoulder was unexpected, uncomfortable. He was never comforting, never gentle; he seemed to enjoy torturing her.

“Tell me Éber,” he murmured, “you think he thinks of you when he’s with another women? You think he touches them the same way he touched you?”

She pressed her lips together. “I’ll find a way to make you leave, to hurt you,” she hissed, “and you should hope it’s fast and painless.” She turned her head toward the void he was. “Because I’ll enjoy hurting you.”

Again, that laugh. “Your vocabulary sure had improved, gorgeous.” After a pause, he whispered, “I can help with that. Erase the mark he left on you. Because, you know,” his fingers brushed her hair, “if he wanted you, he would’ve stayed.” He glanced at him and his hands left her body. “I know, I know, don’t touch you… but I hate this rule.”

She was almost at the Colorado border, well above the speed limit. What if she crashed the car against something? It would hurt, but would kill her too.

“You told him to stay away,” she murmured. “And now you are here.”

He hummed in agreement. “I don’t like people touching what’s mine.”

“I’m mine,” she growled.

The telephone rang between them. She knew it was probably Castiel, it was almost time. They had met a few times since Zachariah appeared, and every time she felt divided between ignoring what he asked her and believing the Nicotine wings — Ruby had given him the nickname because she said he was always with a cigarette between his lips.

In the end, she had decided to trust her instincts, even if it might lead her to death again.

“Finally,” he complained. “You sound terrible, by the way.”

“What you want?”

Mikhail giggled. She wasn’t sure what he was, and had no idea about the extent of his powers, but judging by everything he did, he was listening to that conversation as much as she was.

“You always amaze me with your good manners,” he grumbled the sound of puff filling the line. “Got a lead. Local Morningstar Team is throwing what looks like a heavenly party. Feel like crashing in?”

That part of Éber’s life was a runaway train. For some reason, there was a frenzy among the angels over the fact that she and Dean Winchester were not together. Castiel, although he was an angel, didn't know — or didn't want to tell her — the reason for the commotion, but they were hunting her. They were a bit slow; most of them made rhythmic noises and smelled like rain and vanilla. She identified them easily, which is why she was always running from place to place.

“Is real or another lie?”

“Not their mothership, but definitely solid. Enough for us,” he sighed. “Come on, Éber. Live a little. It’ll be like Thelma and Louise, but with better outfit.”

Éber shook her head. “We see fun different, Castiel. I’m human, not strong like angels. How I can fight them?”

He took a while to answer, seeming mischievous and conspiratorial when he did. “I can give you, uh… some lessons. A tweak here, a blessing there, and you'll kick angelic asses like no one. You in or I’m going Die Hard solo?”

“I don’t understand you,” she said. “Give me the address. If we have a good plan, we can go in.”

“Fine, fine. Spoilsport,” he muttered, hanging up.

Mikhail kept his silence for too long. Once he spoke, Éber only felt annoyance. “Princess, you need to stop jumping from branch to branch after the same monkeys. You are a tool they use… but they rarely think about fixing it.”

“And you do?”

“All the time,”  he whispered.

Chapter Text

Éber felt the wind biting her bones. The rain, though light, had already left a fine layer of moisture in her hair. She kept it tightly bound, a braid so taut it pulled her scalp and kept her awake. Standing on the balcony, under the awning, Éber spent the whole night sensing the silent, angular shape of the warehouse at the end of the street through the returning echoes of distant traffic. She caught the scent of nicotine even before he entered the apartment, carrying a plastic bag that clinked with small, hard objects.

“Any news?”

“No,” she answered. She was focused on the distant metallic scent, trying to understand if that faint resonance could mean something. “If I—” she stopped, focusing her mind. “The scents and footsteps, if I counted right, they are in five.” She felt him stood beside her, the emptiness in him becoming familiar at this point. “How I can fight them? How I can kill angels?”

“Praying for the best,” Castiel retorted. He leaned against the railing, his fading figure showing her his hands hanging over the edge. She heard the flicker of his lighter and the scent of smoked deepened. He was an odd angel, always cursing and smoking. Off the little things he said sometimes, she understood that he was an exemplary soldier before something happened. He took a long, deep drag before he spoke. “Truth is, angels are very different from demons. You can’t just walk in there, spill some holy water, and expect them to drop dead. There’s this thing called divine grace… which is a lot stronger than your middling powers.”

Éber pressed her eyes shut. “Great,” she whispered.

Another suicide mission. Not really a bad idea.

“But,” Castiel continued, “a good dose of luck, some holy oil, I don’t know, a few Hail Marys… and maybe you can last five minutes.”

She took a deep breath. Castiel wasn’t exactly helpful.

The knock on the door made her turn and leave him alone. She only knew one person that could actually help them — help her, since Castiel didn’t seem bothered to give her better instructions. She opened the door for a spiked line that was spiraling non-stop.

“Heya, Ebs,” Ash greeted her, passing her on his away to the small living room. “Man, this new dig of yours is wavin’ bigger ‘go away’ flag than my last hide-hole.” He sounded impressed, just like when he was complimenting a custom car engine.

“Ethan?” she asked.

“Parkin’,” he replied, turning around.

She stood by the door, her senses scanning the corridor. Castiel had said that he left the whole building under some angelic protection sign, but Éber only sensed the void. He was so different from other angels. Those forever lines in his head were unique, since no other angel had that.

Once Ethan entered her senses, she stiffened. He had so many questions.

“Your savior has arrived,” he joked, stepping into the apartment while Éber closed the door behind them. “Heads up. Ash is riding a whole new wave of crazy.”

Éber agreed. “I feel it.”

“So,” Castiel’s voice came from the other side of the room, making Éber stare at his figure. “Gang’s all here.” He made it sound like a terminal diagnosis.

“Ash, Ethan… this is Castiel,” she introduced them. Only Ruby had seen Castiel, and her impressions were, frequently, based on whether she liked or not their style. Hearing Ethan’s thoughts could help Éber get a better grasp of what Castiel was — a friend or an enemy. “These are Ethan and Ash. Our… tactical support, I guess,” she murmured, not sure about the words Castiel had used earlier.

Ash let out a low whistle. His lines were trembling like a flame exposed to the wind. He was so impressed he couldn’t even hide his excitement. “So, this is our inside source from upstairs. Man, I’ve gotta ask you a couple hundred questions about the local metaphysics.”

Castiel sighed. “Really?” he asked Éber.

“Give the guy a break,” Ethan murmured. “As an Angel of the Lord, shouldn’t you be more… comprehensive?”

Éber turned her head toward her brother slowly. Ethan was… different. Everything in him screamed toward Castiel, leaning forward like sunflowers did when under the sun, far from the usual way his hunter self would behave. He was looking directly to Castiel, and his lines were glowing, burning with an interest Éber didn’t feel often in him.

“Got a problem, wolf boy?” Castiel hissed.

“Not at all, I’m just curious,” Ethan’s reply was way too friendly. “I mean, what is it even like, being an angel? The whole… cosmic soldier gig. Does it come with a dental plan?”

A beat of silence. Éber felt wrong for picking up the vibes between the two of them. The indifference in Castiel had suddenly retreated to become something almost nice, a change in pressure. They were both converging toward each other, a private gravity forming between them. Éber forced herself to stare at the ceiling. This was too sexual for her to keep looking at.

“My benefits were revoked upon my mutiny. The experience is…” Castiel paused, and Éber heard the flick of his tongue as he probably looked for a word less aggressive than the ones he usually spoke. “… overwhelmingly tedious. Lots of violence also.” A flare of something flickered in his form, like light going through old, dirty glass. She heard his skin as he smiled at Ethan. “I do not require dental.”

She almost sighed in relief when Ash interrupted the thickening tension growing between them. “Let’s get to business, people.” He dropped what Éber imagined was a bag over the table at his right, unzipping it. Pulling out an object that vibrated in a frequency that made Éber’s teeth grind, he said. “Meet ‘Hush Puppy’ — still workin’ on the name, fellas.” Castiel gave a steep back, shrinking into himself. “Passive, for now. Stick in to the heart of their operation — a grace conduit, server, whatever — and, bam, we have a backdoor. It’ll leak their encrypted map and feed it all to me in real-time. Once I’m in, what’s theirs is ours too.”

Castiel, although curious, didn’t not move toward that thing. It looked like it was hurting him, even a little. “You want us to plant a beacon?” he hissed. “You— in what corner of God’s forsaken creation have I stepped into? They will feel it, you stupid human. They will feel it and come like flies.” His head turned to Éber. “I knew this was a stupid idea,” he muttered, walking away.

Éber wasn’t really smart to get what Ash was talking about, but he wouldn’t have come up with a plan if it could put any of them in danger. “We can try,” she murmured.

“Oh, yeah? And serve you to them on a platter on the way?” Castiel shouted.

“So, they are after you.” She didn’t need to look at Ethan to see resignation in him. “This is too risky. You’re just going in and waving a flag saying ‘come and get me’.” His voice dropped. “It’s a suicide mission.”

She chose to remain silent. It was, after all, a kind of suicide. She would die both ways, being caught or being killed in the middle of that. Life was complicated, and her suicide attempts had been interrupted the past five times. There was always an angel ready to step in and stop her. “And you,” Ethan proceeded, stepping closer to Ash, “can you even read this… data or whatever, if they get it?”

Ash laugh echoed in Éber’s head as a reminder of simpler times. “Man, I once reverse-engineered a demon’s summoning sigil into a password. I can read it, it’s just frequency.”

She could sense that Ethan wasn’t entirely convinced about it. Ethan was too skeptical of the profound logic she always saw in Ash’s soul. But Éber didn’t survive all these years without learning to trust her own instincts.

“We do Ash’s plan,” she said. “He stay here to take care of… this part.” Éber gestured the electromagnetic frequencies only she could sense, since she didn’t know the word for what he was doing. “Ethan, you take care of the perimeter. If someone comes, you let us know. Don’t fight if they see you, just… make them go after you. You are good at it.”

Ethan let out a dry, humorless chuckle. “Not sure if that’s a compliment.”

“It can be,” Castiel teased.

Éber rolled her eyes. “Castiel and I, we go in. We do the hard part.”

For a moment long, nobody said anything. She waited for them to contest her plan, to tell her that they wouldn’t follow. Éber understood that she only wanted an excuse to be irrational and do things in the worst possible way. But Castiel stepped in.

“I’ll carry it,” he murmured. “My residual grace, what little is left, can mask it. Maybe it gives us extra time before they kill us,” he joked. But, again, his form coiled at the bottom of Ethan’s and his voice softened just a bit. “Don’t sweat, wolf boy. They won’t catch us. We’ll be in an out in less than thirty seconds.”

“Thirty seconds, uh?” Ethan retort was soft, almost fond. “You better be the fastest angel alive.”