Embedded Files
Some battles don’t end when the monster hits the ground. Sometimes they follow you home, into quiet libraries, restless dreams, and the uneasy silence between heartbeats. As Nellie struggles with power that no longer feels entirely her own, Jack stays beside her searching for answers buried in old lore and older mistakes. Because when the line between control and chaos starts to blur, the real question isn’t how to win the fight. It’s how far you’re willing to go to stop yourself.
Word Count: 28.6k (in theory could have made this two chapters but didn’t)
TW: canon-typical violence. use of mild language
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Deep beneath the earth, where the cavern once held ritual light and chanting voices, silence has taken root. The collapse left the chamber half-broken. Stone pillars lean at unnatural angles. Rubble blankets sections of the floor. The old pathways that once led deeper into the cavern are choked with fallen rock. At the center of what remains a shattered stone altar lies tilted among debris. Beside it sits the dark pool, still, black as oil. A figure stands near the edge of the water, her hood lowered and her robes clinging unnaturally to her body. Black liquid drips slowly from her fingers and sleeves, falling soundlessly onto the stone floor. Her face is calm, but her hands tremble slightly with restrained fury. Behind her, footsteps echo softly against the stone. Eleanor moves differently than she did in life. Too smooth. Too deliberate. Like she isn’t quite bound by the same gravity as everything else in the cavern. She stops beside Solene. The pool reflects them both; one dripping, one almost floating.
The witch doesn’t turn. “What happened at the nexus?” Her voice is low, controlled, but anger coils beneath every word. “That ritual should have been simple. The seer was bound. The circle prepared. And yet here I remain.” She finally turns her head slightly. “I know that wasn’t entirely her doing.”
The woman studies the broken altar for a moment before answering. “It was part of the plan. You failed because you allowed yourself to become greedy.”
“I had her.”
“You had the ritual,” she corrects. “And you rushed it. The girl is not just a vessel to be cut open and drained. She is the key to something much larger.”
“I needed my body restored.”
“And you will have it. But not that way.”
“Why her? There are countless psychics walking the earth. We could harvest another. You know that.”
Eleanor smiles faintly, no warmth in it. “You could, but none of them would survive the process. A conduit must reflect my delicate balance. Most psychics fail immediately. Their alignment tears them apart. But the girl is different.”
Solene’s eyes narrow. “She favors grace,” she mutters.
“Yes, but only slightly.” Her gaze drifts upward toward the unseen world above. “She lives closer to equilibrium than any psychic we have observed.”
“And tonight, you pushed her closer. You influenced the ritual.”
“I adjusted the balance.”
“The girl’s power surged.”
“Her restraint fractured and now she stands nearer the center than she ever has before.”
Solene’s rage simmers beneath the surface. “You used my ritual as a test.”
Eleanor’s voice stays calm. “What happened at the lodge was not a failure.”
“I remain half-formed.”
“You remain useful.” She walks slowly around the edge of the pool. “The girl fought. She pushed herself further than she ever has. And that was necessary.”
The witch studies her now. “What exactly did you do?”
She finally looks at her. “The moment she touched the nexus, I found a foothold in her frequency. She is psychic. Psychics like her resonates on a particular spectrum. Grace. Corruption. Or somewhere between. When the ritual destabilized, and she drew from the nexus to fight you, I stepped closer.”
Solene’s dripping fingers tighten. “You entered her mind.”
“Not fully. Not yet.” She gestures toward the collapsed cavern around them. “But she tore something open tonight. The nexus she used fed directly through this cavern’s veins. When she forced that power outward, it fractured the damaged lines already running beneath this place, widening the breach.”
The witch finally asks the obvious. “You mean your influence.”
Eleanor nods slowly. “More of it can reach the surface now.”
“And the girl?”
“She carries the echo of that moment. I touched the edge of her mind. It is enough for now.”
“You’re certain?”
“She burned through power tonight she has never accessed before. She tasted imbalance. And that makes her easier to shift. With time… influence… pressure… She will drift toward neutrality. And when she does, she becomes the conduit.”
Solene glances toward the collapsed ceiling far above. “So, we hunt her again.”
“No.” The woman’s answer is immediate. “Not yet. While she rests, I will continue adjusting the balance.”
• • •
Morning comes slowly. Gray light filters through thin motel curtains, the kind that never quite keep the sun out no matter how hard they try. Nellie sits on the edge of the bed, carefully pulling on her jacket over the fresh bandage at her side. The movement still hurts. But not the sharp, tearing pain from yesterday. Just soreness. Her head still feels thick too, the lingering weight of psychic overexertion pressing faintly behind her eyes. But she’s upright, that counts for something.
Sam stands near the small motel table, watching her the way someone watches a cracked glass they’re not sure will hold water. “You don’t have to push it.”
“I’m not.” She tests her balance once more before straightening fully. “My abilities have already done most of the healing. It won’t tear unless I start doing cartwheels.”
He crosses his arms. “That’s not reassuring.”
She gives him a dry look. “I promise to sit in the car and be useless while you drive.”
He studies her a second longer, then exhales. “Fine.”
She smiles faintly. Victory.
Outside, the morning air is cool and crisp. The mountains loom faintly in the distance behind them. Jack finishes loading the last of the bags into the Impala’s trunk. Isaac stands beside his truck, arms crossed, watching the horizon the way hunters do even when there’s nothing left to hunt.
Nellie walks toward him slowly, her steps steady now. “Thanks,” she says.
He looks down at her. “For what?”
“For coming out here. Helping us clean up the mess.”
He grunts faintly. “You did most of that yourself.”
She doesn’t argue. Instead, she nods toward his truck. “I figured you were heading out.”
He glances between the Impala and the long road leading away from the mountains, then he shakes his head. “Nah. I’m following you.”
Her brow lifts. “Why?”
He gestures vaguely toward her torso. “Because you just got carved open by a coven leader and nearly bled out in a ballroom. Just because the hunt’s over doesn’t mean I stop being careful.”
She opens her mouth then closes it again, because she knows he’s not wrong.
He continues. “So, I’ll tail you back to Kansas. Make sure nothing decides to follow.”
She exhales through her nose, half amused, half grateful. “You’re paranoid.”
He smirks faintly. “Still alive, though.”
Sam calls from the driver’s seat of the Impala. “Mount up.”
• • •
Bozeman comes into view late morning. The quiet hum of a town that has absolutely no idea a coven just tried to tear open a nexus an hour away. They meet Edward Vale at the same café as before. Nellie insists on going in herself. Sam argues. She wins. Mostly because she’s already walking toward the door before he finishes the sentence.
Inside, the man stands when he sees her approach. “Miss Branscomb.”
She gives him a small smile as she places the keys on the table. “All yours.”
His brows lift slightly. “That was quick.”
She shrugs lightly, careful not to shift her torso too much. “Nothing that we couldn’t handle.” Then, she adds casually, “You might want to have someone give the east ballroom a… very thorough cleaning.”
He studies her for a moment. He notices things — he’s the kind of man who built his life noticing details — but whatever he sees in her expression convinces him not to ask. Instead, he nods. “I’ll see to it.”
She thanks him again, exchanges a few polite words, then heads back outside before her uncle can come looking for her.
The highway stretches long and open as they leave Bozeman behind, mountains slowly shrinking in the rearview mirror. She had climbed into the backseat with exaggerated care and drops onto the bench with a satisfied sigh. “Five-star accommodations,” she announces.
Sam glances at her in the rearview mirror. “Oh yeah?”
“Absolutely.” She gestures lazily around the car. “Private transportation. Chauffeur.” She points at him. “Room service.” She points at Jack in the passenger seat.
He turns slightly in his seat. “Room service?”
“You get me gas station food. That qualifies.”
He laughs softly. “Pretty low bar.”
“Listen,” she mutters, shifting slightly against the seat, “don’t ruin the fantasy.”
Both men exchange a glance or relief. Sarcasm means she’s feeling better or at least trying to.
Eventually the talking fades. The road hums beneath the tires. The afternoon sun warms the car. Nellie stretches carefully along the backseat, using her jacket as a pillow.
“Wake me if something explodes,” she mumbles.
Sam chuckles quietly. “Go to sleep.”
She closes her eyes. The steady motion of the Impala rocks gently beneath her. Voices drift from the front seat as her uncle and Jack talk quietly about the route back, about stopping for food later. Normal conversation and road noise. But as she drifts closer to sleep, something shifts.
The voices blur slightly, stretch. Sam’s words smear together for a second. Jack’s voice echoes strangely, like it’s traveling through water. She frowns faintly, half awake, half asleep. Probably just exhaustion. Her brain still recovering from the psychic surge. She exhales slowly, shrugging it off, and let’s sleep take her.
• • •
The bunker finally comes into view late in the afternoon the next day. The familiar stretch of Kansas road, the unremarkable patch of land hiding one of the most secure supernatural fortresses in the country. Sam slows the Impala as they approach the concealed entrance. Behind them, Isaac’s truck rolls to a stop as well.
In the backseat, Nellie pushes herself upright with a soft groan. “Home sweet bunker.” Her voice is tired, but lighter.
He glances at her in the mirror. “You okay?”
She nods. “Sore. Headache. But alive.”
Jack twists in his seat to look at her. “That’s a pretty good day in hunting terms.”
She smirks faintly. “Exactly.”
The garage door rumbles open, and the car rolls down into the familiar concrete corridor.
The moment the engine cuts, she exhales deeply. The tension she’s been carrying since the lodge finally loosens.
“We’re home.” She climbs out carefully, testing her balance.
The bunker air feels cool and steady compared to the mountain air they left behind. Isaac pulls his truck in behind them and steps out. He studies the girl for a moment. No wobble. No strange behavior. Just the same stubborn hunter.
He nods slightly, satisfied. “Looks like the ride didn’t break you.”
Nellie grins. “Give it another couple hunts.”
He huffs. Then his expression settles into something more serious. “If anything else pops up, you call me.”
She nods. “I will.”
“And I mean it.”
“I know.”
He gives her shoulder a brief squeeze, rough but unmistakably protective. Then he turns to Jack, the pause longer. The young man waits.
He finally sticks out his hand. “Kid.”
Jack shakes it. “Isaac.”
The older hunter eyes him a moment, still assessing, still not fully decided. “Take care of her,” he mutters.
“I will.”
Isaac grunts, the closest thing to approval he’s likely to give right now. He climbs back into his truck. With a final wave toward Sam, he pulls out of the bunker and disappears up the ramp. The space feels quieter once the engine fades away.
The Winchester glances between the two younger hunters. “Let me swap cars and head home.”
Nellie steps forward before he can move. She wraps him in a careful hug, mindful of her side. “Thank you.”
He frowns slightly. “For what?”
“For coming,” she says simply. “You didn’t have to.”
He squeezes her shoulder. “Yes, I did.”
Jack nods beside her. “It was good hunting with you again.”
Sam smiles faintly at that. “Yeah. It was.” He glances between them one last time. “You two get some rest.”
She mock-salutes. “Yes, sir.”
He shakes his head with a small laugh before heading toward his car.
The bunker settles into a quiet after the garage door closes that feels earned. Not the uneasy quiet of waiting for the next hunt to fall through the cracks of the hunter forums. Not the tense silence of a case gone cold. Just stillness. The kind that settles deep into the concrete walls and the old pipes that run through the place.
Jack makes the call before she can pretend she’s ready to jump back out on the road. “We’re resting.”
She looks up from her unpacked duffel. “We just rested.”
“You got stabbed.”
“That was two days ago.”
“You got stabbed by a coven leader during a ritual that nearly brought her back to life.”
She opens her mouth, then closes it again. “…two days,” she mutters.
He nods once. “Two days.”
• • •
The next couple of days move slower than usual in the bunker. Nellie pretends she isn’t recovering. Jack pretends he believes her. Most mornings she ends up in the library or at the map table, the Nightshade case file open as she adds more notes to it. Her handwriting starts neat and deliberate as she documents what happened at the lodge. By the second hour of writing her script starts drifting sideways, mostly because her head still aches when she pushes too long.
He notices. So, he quietly takes over other things. Cooking, for one. Which still surprises her sometimes. She leans against the counter one afternoon watching him move around the kitchen like he’s done this his whole life.
“You’ve gotten good at this.”
He glances over his shoulder while stirring something on the stove. “I’ve been practicing.”
“You used to nearly poison us.”
“That happened once.”
“You made eggs that tasted like rubber.”
“They were slightly overcooked.”
She smirks. But when he slides a plate across the table a few minutes later, she takes a bite without complaint. Because it’s actually good and she’s not about to admit that too loudly.
Evenings are easier. Less research, less thinking, more distractions. Which leads to Jack reminding her of something she promised him weeks ago.
“You know, I still haven’t seen Jurassic Park.”
Nellie looks up from the couch. “…you’re kidding.”
He shrugs.
Her eyes widen like he just confessed to never seeing the sun. “Okay. That’s unacceptable.”
Within twenty minutes the Dean Cave is fully converted into a movie theater. Lights dimmed, blankets pulled from random storage closets, and popcorn that he actually manages to make without burning.
She settles into the couch carefully, one arm resting protectively against her side. She gestures dramatically toward the screen. “Today you experience real cinema.”
He chuckles. “Isn’t it just dinosaurs.”
“It’s the dinosaurs.”
The movie starts. She spends half the time watching him instead of the screen, waiting for his reactions. The first brachiosaurus reveal. The T-Rex attack. The kitchen raptors.
He leans forward during that last one. “Okay that’s actually terrifying.”
She nods smugly. “See? Culture.”
They end up watching all three original films in one day. Nellie loudly declares the newer ones “nonexistent and a personal insult to filmmaking.” Jack finds that extremely funny. And for a little while, the bunker feels normal again. Just two hunters on a couch arguing about dinosaurs and film rankings while the bunker hums quietly around them. And she almost manages to forget about the moment in that ballroom when something inside her answered back.
• • •
The first hunt back is small. A ghost haunting an old farmhouse outside Salina. Salt. Research. Burn the bones. Textbook. Jack notices something halfway through the investigation. Nellie’s different. Not weaker. Not distracted. Just easier. She moves through the case like she always used to, reading the environment, organizing the plan, pacing the investigation with quiet confidence. There’s no tension in her shoulders. No pause before stepping into a room. No lingering glance over her shoulder like she expects something unnatural to be standing there. After the bones burn and the spirit finally settles, they sit on the hood of the Impala while the flames die down in the distance.
He nudges her with his elbow. “You look relieved.”
“You know what’s nice?”
“What?”
“No witches.”
He chuckles. “Fair.”
She leans back against the windshield. “I’m serious. Give me ghosts. Give me vengeful spirits. Hell, I’ll take a ghoul.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Careful what you wish for.”
“At least they’re predictable.” She gestures vaguely toward the road. “Salt, iron, fire. Done.”
He studies her for a moment. “You’re avoiding saying it.”
“Saying what?”
“That witches are the worst.”
She sighs. “Witches are the worst.”
The next few hunts come quickly. A werewolf in Missouri. A poltergeist in Nebraska. A shapeshifter case that ends with him chasing it through a motel parking lot while she shouts sarcastic commentary from the driver’s seat. Each one reinforces the same thing: normal hunting, research, strategy, execution. No rituals. No nexus energy. No whispers of covens. And slowly, she relaxes.
• • •
The diner smells like burnt coffee and fried grease. Which, according to Nellie, makes it a perfect place to do research during a hunt. Jack isn’t entirely convinced, but the booth is comfortable and the waitress keeps refilling their mugs without asking, so he’s not complaining. Outside, the evening sky is turning purple over a small Kansas town that has no idea something supernatural is stalking its streets. Between them on the table sit a couple of open notebooks, Nellie’s phone, and a folded napkin she’s been using to sketch out possible lore connections.
He points to the napkin. “So, if the attacks follow this pattern,” he says, tracing the marks she drew, “then it’s probably not random. The victims are all tied to the same property line from the old town records.”
She takes a bite of her burger while he talks.
He continues. “And if that’s true, then whatever we’re dealing with could be tied to the original landowner. Which means we should probably look into—” His voice distorts. Not loudly or dramatically. Just wrong. Like someone dragged his words through water.
She pauses mid-chew, her brow furrowing. His mouth is still moving, but the sound coming out doesn’t quite line up. The words stretch strangely, echoing in a way that makes no sense inside a crowded diner. Then it snaps back to normal.
“…which would explain the territorial pattern.”
She blinks.
He notices immediately. “What?”
She shakes her head slightly, like she’s trying to reset something. “Nothing.”
“You just froze.”
She sets the burger down slowly. “What did you just say?”
He tilts his head. “…about the property line?”
“No, the last part.”
“The territorial pattern?”
She squints at him. “Yeah. That. Sorry, I zoned out for a second.”
He repeats what he said, slower this time. She listens carefully. This time the words sound normal. No distortion. No strange echo. Just Jack talking in a greasy diner booth.
She nods. “Yeah, okay. That makes sense.”
He leans back slightly, studying her. “You okay?”
She shrugs and picks her burger back up. “Yeah.” She takes another bite. “Probably just tired.”
They go back to discussing the case, scribbling notes and comparing bits of lore between bites of diner food. She pushes the moment out of her mind. She’s been tired before and sometimes your brain just needs a second to catch up. Even if, somewhere deep in the back of her mind, something feels just slightly off.
• • •
The bunker settles into that familiar evening quiet. The kind that only comes after a long day of nothing particularly dramatic happening. The lights hum softly overhead, and somewhere down the hall an old pipe clicks like it’s settling into sleep. Nellie’s room is one of the few places that actually looks lived in. Bookshelves filled with her personal collection. A couple of old movie posters. A stack of DVDs on her desk, a couple of notebooks open beside them. Her duffel half-unpacked near the closet. A flannel tossed over the back of a chair. Jack sits cross-legged on the floor near the bed, a thick book resting in his hands. Nellie leans back against the headboard, a pillow tucked against her ribs more out of habit now than actual pain.
He flips another page. “I didn’t realize Shakespeare wrote so many insults.”
She smirks lazily. “Oh yeah. The man was savage.”
He reads from the page. “‘Thou art as fat as butter.’”
“Classic.”
He squints at the text again. “Did people actually talk like this?”
“Not really. But it makes arguments sound classy.”
He considers that. “So instead of yelling you could just—”
A familiar voice cuts through the room. “Kid, if hunters talked like that during a fight, we’d all be dead.”
Nellie’s head snaps toward the door, her face lighting up instantly. “Dad.”
Dean leans against the doorframe like he’s been there the whole time, arms crossed, looking amused. Jack still jumps a little when he appears. Not dramatically. But enough that the Winchester notices.
“Still getting used to the ghost entrance thing, huh?”
He straightens slightly. “A little.”
Dean grins. “You’ll get there.” He steps into the room, glancing around at the books and papers scattered across Nellie’s desk. “Looks like someone’s been doing homework.”
She shrugs. “Jack wanted to expand his cultural education.”
He raises an eyebrow at the book in the young man’s hands. “Shakespeare?”
Jack nods. “Nellie said it’s important.”
He chuckles. “Well, yeah. Shakespeare teaches you two things. How to insult someone creatively and how to dramatically monologue before you die.”
She points at him. “Exactly.”
Jack flips another page thoughtfully. “I didn’t realize literature was so violent.”
Dean laughs under his breath. “Buddy, wait till she gets you into Greek tragedies.”
She waves that off. “One step at a time.”
He finally shifts his attention fully to her, his expression softening just a little. “How you doing, Nells?”
She shrugs. “I’m good.”
He narrows his eyes slightly. “Really.”
She sighs. “Okay, I’m a little tired.”
“That’s because you got stabbed.”
“That was weeks ago.”
“And you fought a coven.”
She gestures vaguely. “Details.”
He studies her a second longer, then his gaze slides to Jack. The tone changes slightly.
Still friendly, but more serious. “You. You still makin’ sure she doesn’t push too hard?”
Jack nods immediately. “I’ve been trying.”
She groans. “Oh, come on.”
Dean ignores her. “She’s got a bad habit of pretending she’s fine when she’s not.”
“So, I’ve noticed.”
She crosses her arms. “I can hear you both.”
He smirks. “Good. Then you heard the part where you’re supposed to take it easy.”
She rolls her eyes dramatically. “Great. Now I have two people monitoring my health.”
Jack lifts the book slightly. “Technically Shakespeare started it.”
Dean leans back against the wall, amused. “Just don’t start quoting it during hunts.”
She laughs. “Actually, that would be hilarious.”
He shakes his head. “You two are a menace.” But the smile on his face says he’s proud of them both.
• • •
The next few hunts are the kind hunters prefer. Clear monster. Clear solution. Clear ending. A vampire nest outside Wichita goes down after a quick recon and a clean ambush. A spirit haunting an abandoned school in Missouri gets salted and burned before midnight. Nothing strange or ritualistic. Nothing even remotely witch related.
At first, the only difference Jack notices is small. Little things. Nellie moves faster during a fight with the vampire nest than usual. Not sloppy or reckless. Just sharper. She dodges one vampire’s swing and slams it into the wall with enough force to crack drywall before driving a blade through its chest. He pauses for a split second afterward, not because she did something wrong, just because the strength behind the hit looked bigger than usual.
A week later they’re hunting a shapeshifter in Oklahoma. During the chase through a warehouse, she tackles the creature before he can even line up a shot. The impact sends both of them crashing into a stack of crates. The shifter hits the floor hard, hard enough that the concrete cracks slightly beneath its shoulder. She pins the creature long enough for him to finish the job. When it’s over, she pushes herself up, brushing dust off her jacket.
“What?”
“That was… aggressive.”
She smirks. “It was a shapeshifter.”
“Still.”
She shrugs. “Guess I’m getting stronger.”
He accepts that explanation… mostly.
But the pattern continues. Slowly. Subtly. During another hunt, Nellie kicks a ghoul hard enough to send it sliding across a tiled hallway. During a salt-and-burn job she punches through a rotting door without even realizing she didn’t bother trying the handle first. Her fighting style shifts too. Still controlled. Still tactical. But when she moves now there’s a sharper edge to it. A fierceness. Something a little closer to the way hunters like Isaac fight.
One night after a hunt, Jack watches her wipe blood from a blade before sliding it back into its sheath. “You’ve been hitting harder lately.”
She shrugs casually. “More practice.”
“Maybe.”
She tosses the rag into the trunk. “Or maybe I’m just done letting things get close enough to hurt me.”
The most recent hunt was supposed to be simple. A ghoul. A couple of grave disturbances outside a quiet Kansas town. One farm dog gone missing. A sheriff’s report that mentioned something moving in the cemetery after dark. Classic. Textbook. They track it to an abandoned grain warehouse a mile outside town. The place smells like rust and rot. Moonlight filters through broken panels in the roof, thin beams cutting across dust and old machinery. Jack sweeps his flashlight slowly across the floor. Fresh tracks heading deeper inside.
“It’s here,” he murmurs.
Nellie nods, already moving past him. Her senses are open. Not fully, she doesn’t like doing that unless she has to, but enough to feel the subtle wrongness that follows a creature like a ghoul. The air vibrates faintly. Like a low hum under the floorboards.
“Back corner,” she whispers.
He follows her lead. They move through the maze of rusted equipment and broken pallets until the ghoul launches from the dark. It moves faster than expected. Too fast. It comes at her from the side, claws out, teeth bared. He lifts his weapon, but she reacts first. Her hand snaps outward. The air shudders. The ghoul slams sideways into a metal support beam with a bone-cracking impact. It hits the ground snarling, already scrambling back up. She doesn’t wait. Her eyes sharpen. The hum in the air around her intensifies as she pushes her abilities outward again. It lunges and she throws it back, harder this time. Its body smashes into a rusted grain hopper with enough force to bend the metal.
He pauses. Not because she used her abilities. He’s seen that before. But because of how much power she just threw behind it. The ghoul crawls out of the wreckage, furious. It charges again. She steps forward instead of back. Her hand lifts. It jerks violently mid-stride like it’s been yanked by an invisible chain. It hits the concrete hard. Then lifts again.
“Nell—”
She throws the creature across the warehouse. The ghoul crashes through a stack of wooden pallets and slams into the far wall. It twitches, barely moving now. The fight should be over. But she moves again, her breathing heavier now. Her eyes fixed on the ghoul. Her hand clenches. Its body jerks off the floor again, its spine bending wrong. There’s a sharp, wet crack.
Jack steps forward. “Nellie.”
No response. Her focus is absolute. The hum in the room deepens. The ghoul hits the ground again. Still. The pressure spikes. The creature’s bones snap again with a sickening crunch.
He grabs her shoulder. “Nell!”
The word echoes through the warehouse. The hum stops instantly. The ghoul drops. The silence that follows feels heavy. Nellie stands frozen for a moment. The adrenaline fades and she finally looks. It lies twisted on the concrete, its limbs bent wrong, the chest collapsed. It’s been dead for several seconds. Maybe longer.
She whispers without looking at him. “I didn’t realize it stopped moving.” Her voice sounds distant, like she’s trying to convince herself. She looks around the warehouse again, taking in the damage. The twisted metal, the shattered pallets, the broken body on the floor. Her expression shifts slowly. Confusion, then shock. Then something darker. Fear.
He steps closer. “You okay?”
She doesn’t answer right away. When she does, the words come quietly. “I think I lost control.”
He doesn’t contradict her, because he felt it too. He exhales slowly. “We’re not staying in the motel tonight. We’re going back to the bunker.”
She doesn’t argue. “Okay.”
They burn the ghoul quickly, neither of them saying much during the cleanup. The dread sits between them like a third presence. When they step outside, the night air feels colder. The Impala waits under a flickering streetlight. Nellie walks toward the driver’s side. She reaches into her pocket, then pauses. Her hands are shaking. She stares at them for a moment. Then tosses the keys toward Jack. He catches them automatically.
“You drive,” she says.
He blinks. That alone surprises him. She never lets anyone drive the Impala. Ever. But when he looks at her face, pale and eyes still unsettled, he doesn’t question it. “Okay.” He walks around to the driver’s side and slides behind the wheel.
The Impala eats the miles in long stretches of highway darkness, the headlights cutting tunnels through the night. Occasionally, he glances over at her. She hasn’t moved much.
Her hands are folded together in her lap like she’s trying to hold them still. The tremor hasn’t completely stopped.
When the bunker finally comes into view, it’s well past midnight. He pulls the Impala into the garage and shuts off the engine. The silence settles immediately. She doesn’t get out right away. She just sits there for a moment, staring forward at nothing. He watches her for a second before quietly opening the door and stepping out. Eventually she follows. They unload the gear without much conversation.
When they step inside, the familiar quiet of the place wraps around them like it always does. Usually that makes her relax. Tonight, it doesn’t seem to. She stands near one of the library tables like she isn’t sure what to do with herself.
“Hey,” he says gently. “You should take a shower. Get cleaned up. I’ll take care of the gear.”
She looks down at her hands like she just remembered they’re still stained from the hunt. “… Yeah. Okay.”
Her gives her a small reassuring smile and heads for the armory with the duffels. It takes him a while to clean and re-rack everything. Weapons wiped down. Ammo checked. Salt bags replaced. When he finally finishes and shuts the armory locker, he steps back into the bunker halls. He expects the place to be quiet. Instead, he hears pages turning, fast. He follows the sound back into the library and stops in the doorway. Nellie is sitting at one of the long research tables, several books open around her. Two more are stacked beside her elbow. A notebook sits in front of her filled with hurried scribbles. Her hair is still messy. Her clothes are the same ones from the hunt. She never took the shower.
He leans against the doorframe. “You skipped the shower.”
She doesn’t look up. “I know.”
Another page turns.
He walks closer. “What are you doing?”
“Research.” Her voice is tight and focused.
He looks at the books spread across the table. Psychic studies, occult physiology, and a few of the older handwritten volumes. He pulls out the chair across from her and sits. “You wanna talk about what happened?”
She pauses, her hand stops moving over the page. For a moment he thinks she might answer. Instead, she exhales quietly. “I don’t know what happened. And I don’t want it to happen again.”
“You’re not dangerous, Nellie.”
She gives a small humorless laugh. “Jack, I crushed a ghoul’s ribcage after it was already dead.” She rubs a hand over her face. “I felt it snap. And I didn’t stop.”
Silence settles over the table for a moment.
He finally says carefully, “Maybe we should call Sam.”
Her head snaps up instantly. “No.”
“He’d want to know.”
“I know.”
“Then—”
“No.” Her voice sharpens. “He already got dragged into the Nightshade mess. He has a wife. A kid. A life outside hunting. If I’m… unstable, I don’t want him involved. I can fix this myself.”
Jack studies her for a long moment. Because the determination in her voice isn’t stubbornness, it’s fear. Not fear of herself. Fear of hurting the people she loves. He leans forward slightly. “Nellie. You don’t have to do this alone.”
Her hand tightens around the edge of the page. She doesn’t answer. She flips another page, scanning it too quickly to really be reading with that laser-focused determination she gets when she’s decided something already and is just trying to make the world catch up.
“So, what are you looking for?” he finally asks.
“Something to suppress my abilities,” Nellie answers bluntly.
“Is that wise?”
Her hand pauses. “I’ve done it before. I can do it again.”
He leans forward a little. “What do you mean?”
She exhales slowly and leans back in the chair. “Before I knew I was possessed by Ruby, I locked my abilities down. I knew something was wrong. I didn’t know what yet, but I could feel it. So I put everything into stasis.”
He watches her carefully. “You shut your powers off.”
“Basically.”
“How?”
She shrugs faintly. “A mix of sigils and psychic restraint.” She flips to another page of notes. “It’s not permanent. Just… containment.”
“You’re talking about suppressing a part of yourself.”
She doesn’t argue. “Yeah.”
He folds his arms. “That’s still dangerous.”
She finally looks at him. “I don’t want to risk doing the same thing that I did to the ghoul to someone who isn’t a monster. I don’t want to risk doing that to you.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“You don’t know that.” Her voice isn’t defensive, just factual. “If something’s wrong with my abilities, if they’re… escalating… I’m not going to wait until it hurts someone. So I shut them down until we figure out what’s going on.”
He studies her. “You’re sure this isn’t overreacting?”
She gives a tired half-smile. “Jack, I’m a psychic hunter. Overreacting is the job description.”
He doesn’t smile back. “Do you think this is connected to the coven?”
The question hangs between them.
She looks down at the open texts again. “I don’t know. But I’m not ruling it out.”
Jack leans back in his chair. “How long would the suppression last?”
She shrugs. “Until I release it.”
“And if something supernatural happens?”
“Then I’ll unlock them.”
“And if you can’t?”
She doesn’t answer immediately. “Then you call Sam.”
Jack doesn’t like that answer. Not at all. But he can see the stubborn resolve settling into her shoulders. She’s already made the decision. And right now there’s no talking her out of it.
Nellie stills. “I found it.” She turns the old journal toward herself, comparing the page to the notes she’d scribbled earlier. Her brow tightens in concentration as she checks the sequence again, then she nods once to herself. “That’s it.”
He leans forward a little. “You’re sure?”
She exhales slowly. “As sure as I can be.”
That’s not the most comforting answer.
She begins gathering a few items from around the table. A small iron stylus, a piece of chalk, and strip of parchment from one of the Men of Letters ritual kits.
He watches her arrange them carefully on the table surface. “You’re certain this won’t hurt you?”
“It didn’t last time.”
“That’s not exactly reassuring.”
She shrugs lightly. “It worked.”
The chalk taps quietly against the parchment as she completes the final symbol. She slides her chair back and moves to the open floor space between the library tables. The floor is smooth concrete, good for sigils. She kneels, the chalk moving steadily as she draws a small circle. Inside it she recreates the sequence she found in the journal. The runes look delicate, almost harmless. She sits cross-legged inside the chalk lines, her fingers hovering over the symbols for a moment. Then she closes her eyes.
The first sign comes as a slight tremor in the air. A faint ripple, barely noticeable, but Jack has been around Nellie’s abilities enough to recognize it. She’s reaching inward, not outward. Pulling something back. Her breathing steadies as her fingers trace the sigils one by one, each touch sending a faint pulse through the room like distant thunder behind thick walls. She whispers the final line under her breath. The sigils on the parchment glow faintly, then fades. The pressure in the room collapses. The bunker goes completely still. She stays motionless for a few seconds longer, then her shoulders sag. She opens her eyes.
He stands halfway out of his chair. “Did it work?”
She sits there for a moment, testing, then slowly nods. “Yeah.” Her voice sounds quieter somehow, like the hum that usually lives behind her presence has gone silent.
He exhales. “You okay?”
She pushes herself to her feet slowly. “A little tired.” She steps out of the chalk circle and brushes her hands together. “It’s like putting a lid on a boiling pot.”
He studies her carefully. “You sure the lid’s staying on?”
She gives him a tired smile. “It’s locked.” Then she glances at the books still scattered across the table. “Now we just figure out why the pot was boiling in the first place.” Silence fills the library for a couple moments before she turns back to him. “Jack.”
“Yeah?”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
She folds her arms loosely, leaning back against the edge of the research table.
Her gaze doesn’t leave his. “If something goes wrong,” she says carefully, “I need you to be ready to step in.”
He frowns slightly. “What do you mean by step in?”
Her answer comes too calmly. “You need to be ready to fight me.”
The words land like a stone in the quiet library.
He stares at her. “Nellie—”
“And if it gets bad enough,” she continues, “you may have to shoot me.”
His chair scrapes against the floor as he stands. “Don’t say that.”
She doesn’t flinch. “Jack.”
“No,” he repeats, shaking his head. “You’re not going to get that bad.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes I do.”
“You don’t.” Her voice stays steady. Too steady. “I crushed a ghoul like it was a soda can.”
“That was a fight.”
“That was more than a fight.” Her gaze softens slightly. “I need to know you’ll do the right thing.”
He exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. “You’re asking me to promise I’d kill you.”
“I’m asking you to stop me if I become something dangerous.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
Her voice drops a little quieter. “It is if it comes down to it.”
He shakes his head again. “I don’t think that’s going to happen.”
“Neither do I. But you want the promise anyway. I’ve seen what happens when hunters hesitate.” Her eyes flicker toward the bunker floor for a moment. Then back to him. “If I lose control… if something gets inside my head… if whatever this is gets worse… I don’t want to hurt the people I care about.”
Jack doesn’t speak. Because he understands exactly why she’s asking. It’s the same reason hunters always carry a silver knife. Same reason they make backup plans. Just in case. But hearing her say it still twists something in his chest. “You’re not a monster,” he says quietly.
“I know.”
“But you’re talking like you are.”
“I’m talking like a hunter.”
Silence fills the room again.
He looks away for a moment, staring at the stacks of books on the table. “You really want this promise.”
Nellie nods once. “Yes.”
His jaw tightens slightly. “… I hate this.”
“I know.”
“And I don’t ever want to hurt you.”
“I know that too.”
He breathes out slowly. Then finally says, “If something truly goes wrong… if you’re not you anymore…” The words are hard to say. “I’ll stop you.”
Her shoulders relax slightly. “Thank you.”
But the relief on her face only makes Jack feel worse. Because promises like that hunters don’t make them unless they’re afraid they might actually have to keep them.
She finally exhales slowly and leans back against the edge of the table again, rubbing her hands together like she’s trying to warm them. “Well,” she mutters after a moment, trying to force some normalcy back into her voice, “that was a very depressing conversation.”
He huffs a small breath through his nose. “Yeah.”
Silence settles again. Then she straightens slightly, her tone shifts back toward practical. “I’m not leaving the bunker for now. Not until we figure out what the hell that was tonight. This place is warded, sealed, and sitting on top of more supernatural security than most small countries. If something goes wrong… this is the safest place for it to happen.”
Jack hears the unspoken part. Safest for everyone else.
Nellie crosses her arms loosely. “You’re still free to go on hunts. You don’t need to stay cooped up down here just because I’m having a crisis. You’re a good hunter. There’s plenty of stuff out there that still needs dealing with.”
He doesn’t answer right away.
She notices. “You don’t have to babysit me.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
That makes her raise an eyebrow.
He leans back in his chair. “I’d rather stay.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
“Jack—”
“I don’t want you sitting down here alone.” The words come out simple, matter of fact.
Not dramatic or heroic. Just honest.
She looks at him for a moment longer than usual. “You’re not worried I’ll explode or something?”
He shrugs slightly. “I’m a little worried about that.”
That earns the faintest ghost of a smile from her. For once, she doesn’t have a sarcastic comeback ready. She just nods slowly. “… Thank you.”
He gives a small shrug like it’s nothing. “It’s what friends do. We hunt together. We live in the same bunker. I’ve seen your entire movie collection.”
“That last one is the real commitment.”
“Exactly.” He leans forward and closes one of the books. “We’ll figure this out.”
She gives him a thankful smile. Then glances down at herself after a moment and makes a face. “Oh. Right. I should probably take that shower now before I permanently fuse to this smell.”
He snorts softly. “That would be unfortunate.”
“For everyone involved.” She pushes herself away from the table and stretches her shoulders slightly, testing the stiffness in her body. Before she heads for the door, she pauses. “Hey. Thanks for driving us back.”
He shrugs a little. “You were the one who let me.”
She huffs a quiet laugh. “Yeah, well… don’t get used to it.”
“I won’t.” He tilts his head slightly. “It was nice though.”
She squints at him suspiciously. “Nice?”
“Driving the Impala.”
She immediately narrows her eyes. “That sentence feels illegal.”
He smiles faintly. “I know you’re just as protective of it as Dean was.”
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
“No promises.”
She shakes her head, but the ghost of a smile stays on her face as she turns toward the hall.
“Shower,” she mutters. “Before the bunker files a complaint.”
Jack listens to her footsteps fade down the hallway toward the living quarters. The library grows quiet again. The bunker’s low electrical hum fills the space. For the first time in hours, he is completely alone with his thoughts. He sits there for a long moment, staring at the books still spread across the table, the chalk circle still faintly visible on the floor, the promise he just made. Finally, he exhales slowly and leans back in his chair. “Dean… where are you when we need you?”
• • •
Morning in the bunker arrives quietly. There aren’t many windows down here, little to no sunlight creeping across the floors to mark the start of the day. Just the slow change in routine, the hum of the lights feeling a little less harsh, the air a little cooler, the stillness that comes with early hours before anyone else is awake. Jack wakes before Nellie. He lies there for a moment in the narrow bunker bed, staring up at the concrete ceiling. The events of the night before replay in his head whether he wants them to or not. Eventually he exhales and sits up. Sleep clearly isn’t coming back. A few minutes later he’s in the kitchen. The coffee machine gurgles to life, one of the few modern additions the bunker residents had allowed themselves. The smell of dark roast slowly fills the space as he leans against the counter, waiting for it to finish. He pours himself a mug and heads toward the library. He sets his coffee down on the research table then starts pulling books. Anything that seems even remotely relevant. By the time he finishes, the table looks almost as cluttered as it had the night before. He flips open the first book and starts reading.
Hours pass quietly. The bunker hums around him as he works through pages of dense research notes and old field reports. Most of it isn’t encouraging. He scribbles a few notes onto a legal pad he’s pulled from one of the drawers. It is slowly filling with notes, messy lines connecting references between books, small arrows linking ideas together the way hunters do when they’re trying to build a theory from fragments. He’s so focused on the book that he doesn’t notice the soft footsteps behind him or the figure standing a few feet away.
Nellie has clearly just woken up. Her hair is still slightly damp from the shower she took the night before, now pushed messily out of her face. She’s wearing an oversized sweatshirt she probably stole from Sam and looks like she hasn’t fully arrived back in the world yet. She stands there for a moment, trying to process what he’s doing. He flips another page, still oblivious. She squints slightly at the pile of books on the table, then at the notes, then back at him. She opens her mouth to say something. He finally seems senses the presence behind him and turns his head.
He jumps. “—Whoa!” His chair jerks slightly as he startles.
She blinks at him. “… Morning.”
He exhales, recovering from the surprise. “How long have you been standing there?”
She thinks about it. “… I’m not sure.”
“You could have said something.”
“I was thinking about it.” Her voice still carries the slow, fuzzy tone of someone not fully awake yet. “What are you doing?”
He glances down at the open texts. “Research.”
“For?”
“You.”
That wakes her up a little. She steps closer to the table and scans the book titles. Psychic studies, witchcraft texts, occult physiology. Her brow furrows slightly. “You don’t have to do that.”
He shrugs lightly. “I want to.”
She reaches out and lightly taps one of the books. “I can do it myself.”
“You will.” He closes the book he’s holding and leans back slightly in his chair. “Once you return to the land of the living.”
She squints at him. “I am awake.”
“Barely.” He gestures toward the hallway. “The coffee should still be hot.”
She considers that. Coffee does sound appealing. Her brain feels like it’s still booting up. “Fine.” She turns and begins slowly walking toward the kitchen. Her steps are unhurried, still waking up.
The kitchen is quiet, the coffee pot is still warm like he promised. She pours herself a mug and leans against the counter for a moment, letting the heat seep into her hands while her brain slowly tries to catch up with the rest of her body. She takes a long sip of coffee. That helps a little. Eventually she drifts back toward the library, mug in hand.
Jack is still exactly where she left him, writing something down on the legal pad when he notices movement across the table. Nellie lowers herself into the chair across from him and takes another slow sip of coffee.
He watches her for a moment, then shakes his head slightly. “I don’t understand how you do it.”
She squints at him over the rim of the mug. “Do what?”
“On hunts you’re up before me, already dressed, already planning the day.” He gestures vaguely toward her current state. “But the second we’re not actively fighting monsters you move like a zombie.”
She blinks at him slowly. “First of all,” she says, voice still rough with sleep, “that’s offensive to zombies. Second, hunts require adrenaline.”
“And caffeine.”
“Mostly adrenaline.”
She gestures vaguely toward the bunker halls. “This place is basically a concrete cave.”
“You love this cave.”
“I do, but caves are not known for encouraging alertness.”
“So what you’re saying is the bunker makes you lazy.”
Her eyes narrow. “Careful.”
“I’m just observing.”
“Observe quieter.”
He grins faintly. “You’re proving my point.”
She takes another long sip of coffee then mutters, “If you ever want to drive Baby again, I suggest you stop talking.”
He raises his hands slightly in surrender. “Fair.”
She finally starts looking at the books spread across the table. “What’ve you got so far?”
He slides the legal pad toward her. “Nothing conclusive yet.”
She scans the notes. Psychic feedback loops, leyline amplification, and witchcraft ritual resonance. Her brow furrows slightly. “You started deep.”
“Figured I’d work backwards.”
She nods slowly then glances up at him. “You know most hunters would’ve just waited for me to wake up.”
He shrugs lightly. “Most hunters don’t live in a bunker full of books like this.”
“That’s fair.”
“And most hunters don’t have you as a partner.”
She shakes her head lightly. “Careful. If you keep saying nice things like that I might think you’re plotting something.”
He smiles faintly. “Just trying to solve a problem.”
She taps the edge of the notebook as she takes a sip of coffee. “Let’s see if the Men of Letters accidentally wrote something useful for once.”
The two of them lean over the table again, settling into the quiet rhythm of research. Pages turning. Pens scratching across paper. The occasional soft clink of Nellie setting her coffee mug down. Stacks of books slowly spread across the table like a paper battlefield. Men of Letters archives, occult journals, hunter notes, old witchcraft volumes that smell like dust and iron. Jack has fallen fully into hunter research mode. Legal pad filling with notes, arrows linking ideas, question marks where things don’t quite line up. Nellie watches him work for a moment while pretending to read a page. He’s focused, determined, helping.
She flips another page slowly, eyes skimming a section on psychic restraint methods. Then she looks up. “Hey.”
He glances up from the notebook. “Yeah?”
She taps the edge of the book thoughtfully. “While you were… you know…” She points upward vaguely toward the bunker ceiling. “… whatever you were.”
He raises an eyebrow. “That’s one way to describe it.”
She shrugs. “Did you ever hear of something called Aetheris?”
He leans back slightly in his chair. “There are a lot of cosmic beings,” he says slowly. “Some of them are obscure. Some exist on the edges of creation. Some were forgotten long before humans started writing things down.”
She tilts her head. “So that’s a maybe?”
He shakes his head slightly. “Right now it’s more like… I don’t know. My angelic side is what gave me the knowledge, so no divine archive access anymore. Just this one.” He taps the pile of dusty books.
“Great downgrade.”
“I did see the name in the Nightshade file though. Did you ever find anything solid about Aetheris?”
She exhales slowly. “That’s the frustrating part.” She rotates one of the books toward him and taps a passage she’d marked earlier. “The things I could find barely even believe she exists. Most records treat her like a myth. Like some cosmic boogeyman.”
He glances up. “But you heard her.”
She nods slowly. “Yeah.”
“You’re sure it wasn’t just the coven manipulating you?”
She shakes her head. “No. I heard her. She wasn’t like anything else I’ve ever encountered.”
He tilts his head slightly. “Did she sound human?”
She thinks about it then shakes her head. “No. She sounded… older than that.”
“Did you hear her this time?”
“No. Not this time.”
“You’re sure?”
“I would know. That thing doesn’t exactly whisper.”
They return to their books for a few more minutes, before Jack speaks again. “You mentioned something at the motel.”
Nellie glances at him. “What?”
“You said the witches were drawing power from the leylines at the crossroads. But you also said there was something else.”
She leans back slightly in her chair, staring at the ceiling for a second, trying to recall the feeling. “Yeah, it felt like there was another frequency mixed in with the typical energy.”
“Different how?”
“That’s the problem. I couldn’t identify it.”
He looks surprised. “You usually can.”
“I know.” She taps her finger lightly against the table. “My guess is that it was Solene. She was the matron of the coven. Witches drawing power from their leader isn’t exactly unusual.” But something about her tone suggests she isn’t fully convinced by that explanation.
He notices. “You don’t sound sure.”
She shrugs faintly. “It’s the only explanation I have right now.”
• • •
That evening, the bunker is quiet again. A full day of research had turned up plenty of theories, but nothing solid. No clear cause. No obvious solution. Just more questions. Nellie eventually gives up on the library and retreats to her room. She sits cross-legged on her bed with her handheld CD player, Creedence Clearwater Revival already ready to go. So when the familiar shift in the air happens, she jumps.
“God, Dad!”
Dean leans against the doorframe, grinning. “Wow,” he says. “Usually, you feel me coming. That psychic early warning system looks like it’s on the fritz.”
She turns off the music slowly. “…Yeah.”
The grin fades from his face almost instantly. He straightens a little. “What’s going on?”
She exhales quietly and closes the book. “I had to lock down my abilities.”
His expression changes immediately. The humor vanishes, the protective father look replaces it in a heartbeat. “You what?”
“I put them into stasis.”
“Why?” His tone isn’t angry, just sharp with concern.
She shifts slightly on the bed. “Because something’s wrong.”
He steps closer to her. “How wrong?”
She hesitates. “I’ve been getting worse on hunts.”
“Worse how?”
She stares down at the book in her hands. “I’ve been getting… aggressive. When I’m in a fight, something happens. I go on autopilot. I finish the hunt, but I don’t stop when I should.”
She exhales slowly. “What happened?”
She tells him about the warehouse, the ghoul, and the moment she realized the creature had already been dead and still kept going. Dean listens without interrupting. By the time she finishes, the room feels heavier.
“That’s why I shut the abilities down. I don’t trust myself right now.”
He runs a hand over the back of his neck. “You’re saying the powers are pushing you.”
“Something is. We don’t know what yet.”
He glances toward the hallway that leads to the library. “Find anything?”
“Not really.”
He sighs. Then asks the obvious question. “Sam know about this?”
Nellie immediately shakes her head. “No.”
His eyes narrow slightly. “Nellie.”
She holds up a hand before he can continue. “I know what you’re going to say.”
“Then you know you should’ve told him.”
“I’m not dragging him back into hunter drama every time something goes sideways.”
He folds his arms. “He’d want to know.”
“I know.”
“Then why—”
“Because of Eileen and Dean. He left hunting for a reason.”
“And you think this is protecting him.”
“I think it’s giving him the life he deserves.”
He sighs quietly. “You sound too damn much like me, kiddo.”
She raises an eyebrow. “That’s concerning.”
Dean chuckles softly. He steps a little closer. “You scared?”
Nellie doesn’t answer right away. Then she nods once. “…A little.”
“Hey. You’ve beaten worse things than this.”
She gives a weak smile. “Yeah.”
He drifts a little farther into the room, leaning casually against the wall. “Alright,” he says, slipping into familiar hunter-mode thinking. “If something’s messing with your powers, we start with the usual suspects.”
She nods slightly, pulling her legs up on the bed and resting her back against the headboard.
“Leyline exposure?” he offers.
“Thought about that.”
“Residual witchcraft from the coven?”
“Possible.”
He scratches at the back of his neck. “Psychic feedback? You said you went pretty hard at that nexus.”
“Jack found some Men of Letters notes about that,” she says.
“How about curses? Ritual backlash? Something cosmic still sniffing around you because of that whole ‘conduit’ mess?”
She nods slowly. “All on the list.”
He gestures loosely. “See? Already narrowing it down.”
But while he’s talking, something shifts. Her focus drifts slightly. Not intentionally. Her dad’s voice starts to sound strange, like it’s coming through water. She blinks.
He keeps talking, pacing slightly now. “…so if it is leyline contamination, the bunker’s probably the safest place you could—”
The words stretch. Warp. His voice distorts into something low and warped, syllables bending out of shape. She frowns slightly. His figure seems to ripple at the edges. Like heat waves rising off asphalt. Or like she’s looking at him through a warped lens. Which is extra strange, because he’s already a spirit. His outline flickers faintly in ways she’s used to seeing. But now the edges of him seem… wrong. Pulled. Unstable.
“Nellie?”
The sound reaches her dimly, like someone speaking through a long tunnel. She blinks again. His mouth moves, but she can’t process the words. The distortion deepens.
“Nell.” Now the voice cuts through slightly sharper, but she still can’t quite grab it. Her mind feels like it’s trying to tune a radio station that keeps slipping out of signal.
“Nellie.” This time the sound snaps into place, suddenly clear.
She blinks hard. He is standing right in front of her now. His expression has shifted completely into full Winchester dad mode.
“Nells.”
She straightens slightly. “Sorry—”
He crouches down slightly to look her in the eye. “What just happened?”
She rubs a hand across her forehead. “I…”
He studies her carefully. “You just checked out.”
“I know.”
“You didn’t hear me calling you.”
She exhales slowly. “Yeah.”
Dean’s expression tightens. “That wasn’t normal zoning out.”
Nellie shakes her head slightly. “No.” She hesitates. “It’s been happening.”
“Since the lodge?”
“Yeah. Sometimes I just… zone out, like my brain is not processing what people are saying.”
He frowns. “Anyone else notice?”
“Jack’s seen it.”
“And you didn’t think that was worth mentioning to me?”
“I thought I was just tired.”
He shakes his head. “Sweetheart.”
She sighs quietly. “I know.”
He stands again, pacing a short line in the room the way he always used to when thinking. “That’s not normal.”
“No.”
“That’s not psychic burnout either.”
“I didn’t think so.”
“That’s not you zoning out. That sounds like something interfering.”
She leans back slightly against the headboard. “That’s what I was afraid of.”
He crosses his arms again, mind clearly running through possibilities now, and paces slowly the way he always does when he’s thinking through a hunt. He finally stops and looks back at her. “Go get Jack.”
She blinks. “What?”
“We’re not doing this piecemeal. If something’s messing with you, we figure it out as a team.”
Nellie hesitates for only a moment before nodding. She slips out of the room and heads down the hall. Jack is still in the library, hunched over another stack of books and scribbling notes when she appears in the doorway. He looks up.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.” She leans against the frame. “Dean’s here. He wants to talk to both of us.”
He closes the book in front of him. “That sounds ominous.”
“Welcome back to Winchester family meetings.”
He stands and follows her down the hall. When they step into Nellie’s room, Dean is leaning against the desk with his arms crossed. The moment he sees Jack he gives a short nod. “Hey kid.”
He nods back politely. “Dean.”
Nellie sits back down on the bed while Jack takes the chair near the desk.
He gets right to the point. “She told me a little about what has happened recently. Now, I want to hear from your side of things.”
Jack exhales quietly. “On hunts, she’s still controlled most of the time. But sometimes when the fight really starts…” He searches for the right words. “…it’s like a switch flips. She gets faster, stronger, aggressive even.”
Dean nods once. He already suspected as much.
“She always pulls back once she realizes. But in the moment…” He trails off.
He understands. Jack notices the change in Dean’s posture then. He’s seen him worried before. On hunts. When monsters were involved. But this is different. This is quieter. Heavier. Protective. The way a father looks at something threatening his child.
He rubs his jaw thoughtfully before speaking again. “Alright.” He starts pacing again. “If voices are distorting and she’s zoning out, we’re probably looking at some kind of interference. Psychic, magical, or cosmic.”
Nellie leans back slightly. “That was our thinking too.”
He points toward the bunker ceiling. “You’ve got one of the largest supernatural research archives on the planet sitting above your heads. Use it.”
Jack nods. “We have been. We already went through the basic psychic texts.”
“Then start cross-referencing witchcraft with psychic theory. Nightshade wasn’t exactly playing by normal witch rules.”
She nods slowly. “That’s fair.”
He folds his arms again. “Look for anything that messes with perception. Anything that interferes with psychic processing or tied to cosmic influence.”
She glances at Jack. “That was already on our research board.”
Dean gives a small approving nod. “Good.” Then his expression softens slightly as he looks at his daughter. “Because whatever’s happening to you, the answer’s probably already somewhere in this bunker.” For a moment he doesn’t say anything. The hunter part of him has already said its piece; lore, strategy, research angles. Now the father part takes over. “I’m going to start checking in more often.”
She tilts her head slightly. “Dad—”
“I know,” he cuts in gently. “Ghost limitations. Cosmic weirdness. I get it. But if something’s messing with you, I’m not just sitting on the sidelines. I’ll see what I can dig up on my end.”
She nods slowly. She doesn’t argue, not this time.
He gives a small approving nod. “Good.” Then he gestures vaguely toward the hallway. “Now both of you need to get some sleep.”
Jack raises an eyebrow. “We just started getting somewhere.”
“You’ll get further if your brains aren’t fried,” Dean replies. He points toward the stacks of books still sitting out in the library. “You’re going to be digging through half this bunker if you want answers.”
He exhales. “That’s fair.”
Dean turns his attention back to Nellie, the protective edge in his voice sharpens again. “And you, no more keeping things to yourself.”
She sighs quietly. “I wasn’t—”
“Yes, you were, like always. If something happens — zoning out, voices, weird psychic vibes, whatever it is — you say something.”
She nods reluctantly. “Okay.”
He softens again. “Good.” Then his gaze shifts towards the young man. “Jack.”
He sits a little straighter. “Yeah?”
Dean gestures toward Nellie. “Keep an eye on her.”
He nods immediately. “Already doing that.”
The Winchester studies him for a moment longer, then gives a small nod of approval. “Good. I’ll be back soon.”
She gives a small half-smile. “You usually are.”
Dean smirks faintly. “Don’t get dead, you two.”
“Don’t get more dead,” she replies.
• • •
The dream starts like a hunt. That’s how they sometimes start. A dark building. Something abandoned. A place that smells like rust and damp earth and something rotting just out of sight. Nellie’s boots echo across concrete. She already knows what’s here. Something supernatural. Something dangerous. Something that needs to die. The air feels charged, like it does right before a fight. That electric tension humming just beneath her skin. She hears movement. The ghoul lunges from the shadows. Everything happens fast after that, faster than thought. Her hand snaps forward. The air ripples. It slams sideways into a metal beam with a sound like a car crash. It collapses, scrambling up again. She doesn’t hesitate. She moves forward, grabbing the nearest weapon, a broken metal pipe. The creature comes at her again. She swings. The pipe connects with a sickening crack. It drops. But she doesn’t stop. The pipe rises. Falls. Again, again, and again. The sound echoes through the building. Metal striking bone. Wet. Heavy. Brutal. The creature stopped moving several hits ago, but her arms keep moving. Something inside her is still fighting. Still attacking. Still trying to win a battle that already ended. Finally, her arm freezes mid-swing. The pipe slips from her hands and clatters loudly against the concrete. The sound echoes through the empty building.
She stares down. The ghoul is twisted on the floor. Broken. Dead. Very dead. Her breath comes fast and shallow. “What…” The word barely escapes her mouth.
Then she feels it. That awful sensation of being watched. She turns slowly. Jack stands across the room. He isn’t moving. He’s just staring at her. And something in his expression makes her chest tighten. He is calm under pressure. He is steady. He is the one person she’s always known will have her back in a fight. But right now, there’s something else on his face. Uncertainty. And something deeper. Fear. Not of the monster. Of her. The look hits harder than any blow.
“Jack—”
The word barely leaves her mouth before another voice cuts through the room. Cold. Familiar. Sharp enough to cut bone.
“Like mother, like daughter.”
Nellie freezes. Every muscle in her body locks. Slowly, she turns. Eleanor stands a few feet away, leaning casually against a rusted beam like she’s been watching the whole time. Her arms are folded. Her smile is sharp. Cruel. Amused.
“Well,” she says lightly, glancing at the corpse on the floor. “That looked familiar.”
Her stomach twists. “You’re not real.”
Eleanor laughs softly. The sound is the same one Nellie remembers from childhood. The one that always came right before something bad happened. “Oh honey,” she says, pushing off the beam and slowly circling her. “You keep telling yourself that.”
The girl backs up a step. “This is a dream.”
She gestures toward the broken body on the floor. “Looks pretty real to me.”
Nellie clenches her fists. “I’m nothing like you.”
She stops in front of her, her smile widens. “No? Because from where I’m standing you look exactly like me.”
The words hit like a punch. She shakes her head. “No.”
“You always thought you were better,” Eleanor continues, her voice smooth and poisonous. “The good daughter. The hero. You run around playing hunter like that makes you different.” She steps closer. “But underneath it all? You’re just a monster pretending to be something better.”
She feels her chest tighten. “Stop.”
But the woman doesn’t stop. “You hurt things. You enjoy it. And tonight? You didn’t even know when to quit.”
“That’s not—”
“Isn’t it? You think they don’t see it?” She raises her hand slightly.
Suddenly the room shifts. Shapes appear behind her. People. Watching. Jack. Sam. Eileen. All standing just beyond the circle of light. Their faces tight. Concerned. Afraid. And then—
A smaller figure appears behind Sam. Her five-year-old cousin, Dean, clutching his dad’s hand.
Looking at her like she’s something dangerous, something he should stay away from. Her chest tightens painfully.
“See?” Eleanor whispers. “They know. You’re no better than me. Maybe worse.”
She feels the world tilt. “No.”
“You’re just like me.”
“No.”
“Just a monster pretending to be a hero.”
“NO—”
Nellie jerks awake. The ceiling snaps into focus above her. Her heart pounds like it’s trying to break through her ribs. Her breathing comes fast and uneven. For several seconds she doesn’t move, just staring at the ceiling, waiting for the feeling to fade. Usually, she’s good at this part. Usually, she can tell herself it was just a dream. Dreams lie. Dreams twist fears into stories. But tonight, the images from the warehouse won’t leave her mind.
Her hands tighten in the blankets. “…Damn it.”
Sleep is gone. So, she pushes herself upright. The halls are silent as she walks toward the library, the lights humming softly overhead. The research table is still covered in books and notes from earlier. She pulls out a chair, sits, and opens the nearest book. Because if she’s going to have nightmares about becoming a monster, she might as well spend the night figuring out why.
• • •
Morning comes quietly. Jack pours himself a mug in the kitchen and stands there for a moment, letting the warmth settle in his hands. He didn’t sleep much, but he’s had enough years of hunter life to function on little rest. Eventually he heads toward the library, coffee in hand and mind already turning over the research they started the day before.
He slows when he reaches the doorway. Nellie is sitting at the table. At first, he thinks she fell asleep there. Her head is resting on her folded arm on the tabletop, hair falling over her face, body slumped forward in a way that looks more like someone who collapsed than someone who chose to rest. But then he notices her hand moving slowly, a pen scratching weak lines across a legal pad. He steps inside quietly. The books from the night before are still spread everywhere. Her writing, but the letters on the page are barely legible; uneven, half formed, drifting off the lines like her brain checked out halfway through the sentence. She’s writing while half asleep.
He exhales softly, then walks closer. “Hey.”
She stirs slightly but doesn’t immediately lift her head.
He stops beside the table. “How long have you been up?”
There’s a pause. Then she slowly pushes herself upright, her eyes heavy with exhaustion. “A few hours,” she mutters.
He raises an eyebrow. “Few?”
She shrugs weakly. “Couldn’t sleep.”
He studies her for a moment. “Nightmare?”
She nods.
He isn’t surprised, not after everything that’s happened lately. He sets his mug down in front of her. “You need this more than I do.”
She looks down at the coffee like it’s the most generous gift anyone has ever given her. Then she gives him a tired little smile. “Thanks.” She wraps both hands around the mug and takes a slow sip, the warmth seeming to wake her up a little.
He glances at the paper she’d been writing on. “What were you working on?”
She looks down at the page. The notes are messy, half coherent. She squints at it. “…I honestly don’t know.”
He huffs a quiet laugh. “Fair.”
She rubs at one eye with the back of her hand, then takes another sip of coffee before turning back toward the scattered books. Despite the exhaustion. Despite the nightmare. Despite everything. She’s already back to trying to solve the problem.
The library settles back into that familiar quiet. Pages turn. Pens scratch across paper. Coffee mugs slowly empty. Nellie is a little more awake now, though the exhaustion still clings to her. She sits with one knee pulled into the chair, absently turning pages in a volume on psychic restraint methods while sipping her coffee.
Across from her, Jack has a fresh mug, and the Nightshade case file open again. If something from that mess is still reaching out, then the answer might be buried in something they already looked at. Hunters miss things all the time. He starts from the beginning. Again. Solene. Leylines. The conduit ritual. He flips another page. Then another. He pauses. There’s a short paragraph buried in the middle of a field report. A section he usually skims because it didn’t seem relevant to the main case at the time.
He leans forward slightly and reads it again. “…Huh.”
Across the table, she glances up from her book. “What?”
He taps the paragraph with his finger. “There’s a note here about another bunker. In Savannah, Georgia. Archives contained extensive reports on regional witchcraft activity. Secondary chamber held research documentation involving psychic subjects. Could there be anything there that helps us?”
She shakes her head before he even finishes the question. “I’m not going back there.”
He studies her for a moment. “Bad place?”
She gives him a look. “That bunker had an entire section dedicated to experimenting on psychics.”
“…Experimenting?” He knew the Men of Letters weren’t exactly kind in their writings about psychics. Some of the research he read yesterday made that clear. But experiments?
“They treated psychics like tools,” she explains quietly. “Something to dissect and study.”
His expression darkens. “That’s… messed up.”
“Welcome to old Men of Letters logic.” She shrugs slightly, though there’s tension in the movement. “That place has a lot of pain tied to it.”
He nods slowly. “Then we’re definitely not going.”
She glances down at the case file again. “But-” She gestures toward the deeper sections of the bunker. “-we brought stuff back from there.”
“You did?”
“We recovered a bunch of their research. Now it is stored in the archives.” She pushes her chair back. “We might as well move the research operation.”
“Works for me.”
The deeper archive rooms of the bunker always feel different from the library. Older. Heavier. The lights are dimmer down here, the rows of metal shelving stretching into long aisles filled with boxes that haven’t been touched in years. Some are neatly labeled with Men of Letters case numbers. Others just have faded marker scrawled across the sides. Recovered artifacts. Old journals. Half-catalogued research. A lifetime of knowledge the Men of Letters collected and then buried underground.
Nellie steps into the room first, glancing around like she’s reacquainting herself with the layout. “Okay,” she says, setting her coffee down on one of the empty worktables. “Savannah stuff should be along the back wall.”
Jack follows her in, taking in the rows of boxes. “You remember where everything is?”
She gives him a sideways look. “I reorganized half of this shit.”
“Fair point.”
She walks toward a section of shelves near the back of the room and begins scanning the labels.
He lingers near the table for a moment, looking at the sheer number of boxes stacked around them. “Wow.”
She pulls a crate halfway off a shelf and glances over her shoulder. “What?”
“There’s a lot more down here than I thought.”
“Yeah.” She slides the crate the rest of the way out. “The Men of Letters didn’t throw anything away.”
“That tracks. How about you start looking through the Savannah boxes and I’ll dig through the other stuff.”
“Good idea.” She pulls out a thick stack of folders and sets them on the table. “If the Men of Letters were doing psychic research anywhere else, it might be in some of the other archives.”
The two of them work in quiet rhythm. Boxes sit open across the floor, papers spread in loose piles as she methodically works through the Savannah files. Some of them are brittle with age, others thick with handwritten notes from Men of Letters researchers who clearly believed they were documenting something revolutionary. Most of it just makes her jaw tighten. She exhales through her nose and flips to the next folder. Then pauses. The file in her hands is thinner than the others, tucked between two larger research binders. The cover is stamped with a faded Men of Letters crest, but the title written beneath it is different from the rest. ANOMALOUS PSYCHIC PHENOMENA — UNCLASSIFIED. Her brow furrows. She pushes a few papers aside and settles cross-legged on the floor, opening it. Inside are scattered research notes, half-finished theories, and several references to psychics that didn’t fit typical categories. Her eyes scan the page quickly. Multiple abilities in a single subject, leyline amplification, frequency instability.
Her stomach tightens slightly. “Jack?”
Across the room, he looks up from the crate he’s digging through. “Yeah?”
She starts to stand, holding the paper up slightly as she walks a step toward him. “I think I found something that might—” The words catch. Her mouth moves, but something feels wrong. The sentence that should have come out smoothly instead feels like it tangles in her throat. The next word comes out slower, like she has to force it. “I… think… this… might…” The syllables feel wrong in her mouth, like she’s trying to speak through water. The words feel like nonsense as they leave her mouth. Her tongue feels heavy. She touches her throat instinctively.
He is already standing. “Nellie?” His voice reaches her, but it’s distorted. Stretched. Like someone dragged the sound through a broken speaker.
Her eyes widen. “What…?” Her voice comes out strange again. At least it feels strange.
He takes a step closer. “You okay?” But the words reach her warped, slurred, like he’s speaking another language.
She presses her fingers to her throat, then to her face. “What’s— what’s happening—” Her words feel like complete gibberish in her mouth. Panic spikes.
His expression tightens immediately. “Hey— hey— Nellie—”
The room suddenly feels overwhelming. Her breathing quickens. He moves closer, concern written all over his face.
“I think something’s—” The distortion spikes. The sound of his voice floods her head.
Her hands press against her temples. Too much. Too loud. Too confusing.
He reaches toward her.
She instinctively backs up.
“Whoa— okay— okay—” His voice still sounds wrong. Everything sounds wrong.
Her pulse hammers in her ears. For a few seconds it feels like the entire room tilts. Then, just as suddenly as it started, it stops. The distortion vanishes. The room settles.
Jack’s voice returns to normal. “Nellie?”
Nellie blinks, breathing hard. The silence hangs heavy for a moment. Her hand slowly lowers from her throat. “…I…” Her voice sounds normal again. She swallows. “That… was weird.”
He exhales slowly, relief mixing with worry. “Yeah.” He studies her carefully. “You started talking and then you looked like you were… hearing something wrong.”
She rubs her face. “It felt like I couldn’t talk.” She glances down at her hands. “And you sounded like a broken radio.”
His jaw tightens slightly. “That’s… not great.”
She huffs weakly. “No kidding.”
The tension lingers between them for a moment.
“So.” He offers a faint smile. “What did you find before the universe decided to glitch out your audio?”
She glances down at the papers again. “Oh— right.” She walks over and sets the folder on the table. “I think the Men of Letters might’ve documented something… unusual about certain psychics.”
“Unusual how?”
“They didn’t give it a confirmed classification.” Her brow furrows slightly as she reads the line again. “But they thought there might be psychics who… didn’t align with typical ability structures.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning some psychics that didn’t draw from one side of supernatural energy. But I’m not quite sure what that means exactly.”
“Well, that means that we just need to keep looking.”
The archive room grows cluttered. Open boxes sit across the floor, lids leaning against metal shelving. Stacks of old files spread across the worktable and spill onto the floor where Nellie has been sitting cross-legged most of the morning. Pages are scattered everywhere; typed reports, handwritten notes, brittle research logs that haven’t seen daylight in decades.
Nellie leans back from the stack of files in front of her, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her palm. “Okay,” she mutters, voice a little hoarse. “I need a break before my brain melts.”
Across the table, Jack looks up from the notes he’s been copying. “Yeah?”
She stretches her arms over her head, a faint crack rolling through her shoulders. “Yeah. Research fatigue.”
He nods sympathetically. “That’s real.”
She pushes herself to her feet. “I’m gonna make lunch before we both forget humans require food.”
“I won’t argue with that.”
She points a finger at him as she heads toward the door. “And you are not allowed to live off coffee while I’m gone.”
“No promises.”
The kitchen is quiet in a calming way. Soft fluorescent light hums overhead while she pulls ingredients from the fridge and cabinets. Nothing fancy, just something quick. Sandwiches, maybe some fruit, something simple enough that it doesn’t require too much thought. Her mind is still chewing on the research. She grabs a cutting board and starts slicing vegetables. The rhythmic motion is grounding. Knife. Board. Knife. Board. Then, a whisper. Faint. So faint she almost misses it. She pauses mid-cut. Her brow furrows slightly. The kitchen is empty. The bunker is quiet. She exhales and goes back to cutting. Probably nothing. Her brain is fried from research and stress. Knife. Board. Knife.
“You’re slipping, Eleanor.” The whisper is clear this time. Right behind her.
The knife jerks.
“—shit!”
The blade slips across her finger. A thin line of red appears instantly. She spins around, knife raised instinctively, adrenaline already firing. The kitchen is empty. Her breathing quickens slightly as she scans the doorway, the hallway beyond it, the corners of the room. Nothing. No one. The knife lowers slowly.
“…Great.” She mutters it to herself more than anything. Her finger stings. She walks over to the sink, running cold water over the small cut before grabbing a bandage from the drawer. As she wraps it around her finger, she shakes her head. “Get a grip. You’re not losing it.”
She tosses the bloody paper towel into the trash, picks the knife back up, and returns to the cutting board. Lunch isn’t going to make itself. And she refuses to give whatever is messing with her the satisfaction of seeing her rattle.
Back in the archive room, Jack is still at the table. The stacks of files haven’t gotten any smaller. If anything, they’ve multiplied; papers spread across the surface, notes he’s scribbled in the margins, a couple books now stacked beside the strange folder Nellie found earlier. The room is quiet. Quiet enough that the faint rustle of every page feels loud.
He leans back slightly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Okay…” he mutters to himself, flipping another page. “Psychic anomalies, leyline amplification… none of this explains—” He stops.
Something brushes the edge of his hearing. A soft sound. He looks up. The room is still. The lights hum overhead. Then it comes again. A faint whisper of sound. Like air moving through a vent.
He glances toward the ceiling vent. The bunker’s climate control doesn’t sound like that. This is softer. More like a distant breeze sliding through a narrow space. He listens. The sound continues. And then, something inside it shifts. The air doesn’t just move, it bends. Like a voice caught inside the current. Not words. Not fully. Fragments. Pieces of syllables. He catches something.
“…you…” Then silence.
He frowns. He glances toward the archive doorway. “Nellie?”
The wind-like sound drifts again. “…slip…ping…” The word breaks apart halfway through, like a radio signal cutting in and out.
He stands, his chair scraping softly against the floor. “Nellie?” He steps toward the doorway. “Are you talking to me?”
The sound fades. The room returns to complete stillness. No answer. He waits another second. Then another. Nothing. He rubs the back of his neck.
“Okay…” He grabs the file he’d been reading and closes it. “Either I’m hearing things or we both need lunch.”
He walks out of the archive room, heading toward the kitchen where Nellie said she’d be.
Because if she’s talking to him from across the bunker, he definitely didn’t understand a word of it.
• • •
There is an exhaustion that can only come from long hours of research and breathing in dust older than you. Steam from a warm shower still clings faintly to Nellie’s skin, and her damp hair hangs loose around her shoulders as she walks slowly down the hallway toward her room. The clean clothes help, the warmth of the water helped a little too, but the heaviness in her chest hasn’t gone anywhere. She closes her bedroom door behind her and leans against it for a second. The room is dim, lit only by the soft lamp beside her bed. Her bed looks inviting. But sleeping means dreaming and dreaming means hearing her mother again. She exhales shakily and sits on the edge of the bed instead, elbows on her knees, hands loosely clasped together as she stares at the floor. Her mind won’t slow down.
“You look like hell, sweetheart.”
She doesn’t even jump this time. She just lifts her head slightly.
Dean is leaning against the wall across from her bed, arms folded loosely across his chest like he’s been there the whole time. Concern softens the usual sharp edges of his expression. “Hey,” he says quietly.
She lets out a tired breath. “Hey.”
He straightens a little and steps closer. “You okay?” The question is gentle. Not probing. Not demanding. Just worried.
She hesitates. Normally she’d brush it off. Give him the usual I’m fine. But tonight, she doesn’t have the energy. “…No. I’m tired. Tired of the distortion… tired of hearing things… tired of wondering if I’m losing my mind. And I don’t want to sleep.”
He glances at her. “Nightmares?”
She nods slightly. “I don’t want to see my dead mother standing there telling me what a terrible person I am.” She finally looks up at him, uncertainty written all over her face. “Dad…”
Her voice wavers slightly. “What if she’s right?”
His heart sinks. “What?”
“What if this aggression…” She swallows. “What if that’s who I really am? What if I’m just delusional for thinking I’m not turning into her?”
The words hang in the air. He doesn’t answer immediately. Because hearing his daughter say that it hurts in a way he can’t quite describe. He leans forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees as he studies her face. Then he speaks softly. “Nellie. That voice you’re hearing? That’s not truth. That’s fear.”
She opens her mouth slightly. “But what if—”
“No.” His voice is firm now. Not angry, just certain. “You are nothing like her. You became a hunter. You spend your life saving people. You help strangers who don’t even know your name. Your mother never cared about anyone but herself. You? You care too damn much.”
She lets out a shaky breath. “And the aggression?” she asks quietly. “The fights?”
He shrugs slightly. “You’re a hunter.” A small smirk tugs at his mouth. “Sometimes that means getting a little violent with things that deserve it.”
She huffs weakly. “That’s not exactly comforting.”
“You’re not your mother. Baby, I’ve been watching you for years now. If there was even a hint you were turning into her, you think I’d be this calm about it?”
A small smile forms. “Probably not.”
“Definitely not.”
A quiet moment passes, the heaviness in the room easing slightly.
Nellie shifts slightly on the mattress. “…Dad?”
Dean pauses. “Yeah?”
She hesitates for a moment, like she’s deciding whether or not to say it. Then she asks quietly, “Could you… stay?”
His brows lift slightly. “Stay?”
She looks a little embarrassed now. “Just… sit with me. Talk or something.” Her fingers twist together loosely in her lap. “Until I fall asleep.”
For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because the request hits him straight in the chest every time she asks it. He nods immediately. “Yeah, sweetheart. Of course.”
He sits in the desk chair that she wheeled beside the bed and sits down, turning it slightly so he’s facing her. She pulls the blanket up over her legs and leans back against the pillows, still watching him like she’s making sure he’s actually there. He rests his arms loosely on his knees.
There’s a gentleness to him now. The kind that only shows up when he’s with her. “You comfortable?” he asks.
She nods. “Yeah.”
The room settles into quiet again. Then he clears his throat lightly. “So, what have you been reading lately?”
She blinks. “That’s your first question?”
“Hey.” He raises his hands defensively. “I’m making conversation.”
She huffs softly, the first real hint of humor in her expression tonight. “Alright. I’ve been rereading some classics.”
“Like what?”
“Shakespeare mostly.”
He groans quietly. “Oh come on.”
“What?”
“That stuff is brutal.”
She smiles faintly. “It’s not brutal.”
“Nells, everybody dies in those plays.”
“That’s the point.”
He leans back in the chair slightly. “Still sounds depressing.”
She rolls her eyes lightly. “You’re the one who watched horror movies for fun.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“They’ve got monsters.”
She snorts softly.
“So how’s Jack doing with the whole bunker cooking situation?”
She sighs. “He’s actually getting good.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Yeah.” She shifts slightly on the pillow. “He made a pretty solid casserole last week.”
“Alright, that’s progress.”
“And he’s finally figured out that garlic exists.”
“Whoa.”
“Yeah.”
“You know, when I was younger, Sammy tried cooking once.”
“That bad?”
“Kid, we almost burned down Bobby’s kitchen.”
She smiles faintly.
Dean continues telling small stories. Hunts. Old road trip disasters. Little things about Sam. Little things about Cas. The kind of easy conversation that doesn’t demand anything from her. This moment feels important. Like the universe finally gave him something he never got before. Comforting little girl as she tries to fall asleep after being scared of the monsters, even if they aren’t under the bed this time.
He’s halfway through telling a story about a hunt in Nebraska that involved a haunted tractor and three very confused farmers. “…and Sammy swears the thing was possessed, but I’m telling you, kid, it was just—” He stops. Something changes.
Nellie’s breathing shifts.
His head tilts slightly.
“Nells?”
She’s still lying against the pillows, but her eyes have gone unfocused again. Her lips part slightly. “I—” The word drags. like it’s being pulled through mud.
He straightens in the chair immediately. “Nellie?”
She tries again. “I— I—” The syllables break apart before they form. Her brow furrows, confusion flooding her expression. Her hand lifts slowly to her throat. Her eyes dart around the room. Except what she’s hearing clearly isn’t what his is saying. His voice must sound distorted again. Broken. She presses her fingers against the side of her head. Trying to focus. Trying to force the words out. But nothing comes right.
“N—no—” Her voice cracks.
He reaches toward her out of instinct, his hand passing straight through her shoulder. He swears quietly. “Dammit.” He can’t grab her. Can’t steady her. Can’t do anything but watch. “Nellie— hey— stay with me.”
Her breathing becomes uneven. Her hand moves to her throat again. Her mouth opens like she’s trying to say something, but the sound doesn’t come.
Dean’s voice sharpens. “Jack!” He doesn’t know if he can hear him. But he tries anyway.
Jack is halfway down the hallway when he hears it. He reaches Nellie’s room in seconds and pushes the door open. He stops short. She looks exactly like she did earlier in the archive room. Eyes wide. Breathing uneven. Hands shaking near her throat.
He rushes to the bedside. “Nellie— hey—”
The Winchester turns toward him immediately. “She can’t talk.”
He nods quickly, kneeling beside the bed. “Nellie, it’s okay —”
She tries to respond. Her mouth moves, but no words come. Her breathing gets sharper. Her eyes suddenly lock onto something above her. Something behind Jack. Something neither of them can see. On her end, Eleanor stands at the side of the bed. Too close. Her expression is calm. Almost amused.
“You’re slipping.”
She tries to push herself back into the pillows. But her mother’s hand lifts slowly and closes around her throat. Her eyes widen in terror.
On Jack and Dean’s side, she suddenly chokes.
“Nellie?”
Her hands claw at her throat. She gasps, then coughs violently. Black liquid splatters from her mouth onto the blanket.
Jack recoils slightly in shock. “What the—”
“Nellie!” Dean shouts her name, but she can’t hear him.
Her body jerks once more, then suddenly, the pressure breaks. Eleanor disappears. The room snaps back into focus. She gasps sharply. Her head falls back against the pillow. Her chest heaves as she drags in a breath. Her eyes flutter, slowly focusing again. Her breathing is still shaky. But the distortion is gone. The whispering is gone.
Jack wipes the black liquid from the corner of her mouth with her blanket, his hands careful but quick. “Nellie?”
Dean stands on the other side of the bed, jaw tight, the helpless frustration of not being able to physically help written all over him. “Sweetheart, stay with us.”
Nellie draws in a shaky breath. Then another. Her chest rises and falls unevenly as she slowly comes back to herself.
“You’re okay,” Jack says softly. “You’re okay.”
She blinks slowly, eyes beginning to focus again. But before she can respond, he hears it. That same sound. He slowly turns his head toward the doorway. The faint sound is there again. Like a thin current of wind sliding through the air.
His brow furrows. “…I heard this earlier.”
Dean stiffens. “What?”
“In the archives.”
The sound grows slightly louder.
His eyes move around the room. “It sounded like—” He stops. The wind shifts again.
Fragments of sound ripple through it. Not full words. Pieces. Like someone speaking from very far away.
“…hear…”
“…closer…”
Jack’s stomach tightens.
Dean suddenly straightens. “Oh.”
He looks at him. “You hear it too?”
“Not exactly hear.” He gestures slightly to the air around them. “But I can feel it. The pressure’s changing.”
He looks back toward the doorway. “…This isn’t good.”
Behind them, Nellie groans softly as she begins to fully come around.
Dean turns immediately. “Nells?”
Her eyes open again, sluggish and confused.
His expression hardens. Then he looks upward. “Cas!” His voice echoes through the bunker. “Cas, if you can hear me—”
The wind-like sound pulses again. Stronger.
“…now…”
“…almost…”
His clenches his jaw. “This has been going on too long.” He raises his voice again. “Cas! We need you down here.” His voice carries that rare edge of urgency.
Jack stays close beside the bed as she slowly pushes herself upright, his hand hovering near her arm in case she tips sideways again. “You okay?” he asks quietly.
She nods weakly, still catching her breath. “Yeah… I think…”
Dean isn’t paying attention to the answer. He’s pacing now, eyes fixed upward like he’s staring straight through the bunker ceiling. His patience snaps.
“Castiel, your angel ass needs to come down here right now!”
The air ripples. Then, a familiar flutter of displaced air. Castiel appears beside the bed in a faint rush of grace.
Jack exhales in relief. “Cas.”
Dean steps forward immediately, protective father mode fully engaged. “You took your damn sweet time.”
He glances between them quickly. “I came as soon as I could.” His eyes move to Nellie, at her pale face and the black liquid staining the blanket. “What has happened?”
“She’s been hearing voices, seeing things, distortion, choking, coughing up that black crap—” he gestures toward the bed. “—and it’s getting worse.”
Jack adds quietly, “She had another episode just now.”
He nods sharply. “Yeah. And something else is happening in the bunker too.”
Cas absorbs the information silently. Then he turns to her. His voice softens slightly. “Nellie.”
She looks up at him, still shaky but alert.
“I need you to tell me exactly what you are experiencing.”
She swallows. “There’s… distortion. Sometimes I can’t talk right. Voices bend. People sound wrong. Sometimes I hear whispers.”
He listens carefully. “And the visions?”
She nods slowly. “I see my mother.”
He watches her closely. Then he asks gently, “May I examine you?”
She nods. “Yeah.”
He steps closer, lifting his hand carefully toward her forehead. Soft blue light flickers faintly around his fingers as he scans her. The room falls completely silent. After several seconds, he lowers his hand. There’s a faint crease in his brow.
Jack notices immediately. “…What?”
Dean crosses his arms. “Yeah, Cas. What’s going on?”
“Is it possession?”
The angel shakes his head. “No.”
The Winchester’s expression tightens. “A curse?”
“Neither.”
Jack glances between them. “…Then what?”
Cas’ gaze returns to Nellie. “There is no foreign entity inside you. But something has attached itself to your psychic presence.”
Dean mutters under his breath. “Of course.”
“Something has threaded itself through it.”
Jack leans forward slightly. “Threaded?”
He nods again. “It is closer to influence or observation.”
“Observation?”
“These moments of distortion, they are not attacks.”
Dean raises an eyebrow. “Then what are they?”
“They are moments where something is tuning itself to her.”
Her stomach drops. “Like… listening?”
“Or attempting to communicate.”
Dean swears softly. “Fan-freakin-tastic.”
The angel turns back to her, his voice calm but serious. “Nellie. Did something occur during your encounter with the coven that may have opened your psychic channel further?”
She doesn’t hesitate. “Yes. Solene tried to complete the ritual again.”
His gaze sharpens slightly. “And you resisted?”
She nods. “But the nexus was active.”
Jack remembers. “You said you used it to fight them.”
Nellie nods slowly. “I… pulled energy from it.”
He exhales softly. “That would explain it. When you channeled the nexus, you may have widened the path something else was already trying to reach.”
Silence fills the room. She swallows and looks up at him. “Cas… Have you ever heard of a being called Aetheris?”
His brow furrows slightly. “I am unfamiliar with that name.”
Dean mutters, “Great.”
Cas continues calmly. “There are countless cosmic entities that exist beyond Heaven, Hell, and the Empty. Some are forgotten, some never interacted with angels at all. Not all angels have a catalogue every being that ever existed.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, well maybe you should’ve.”
The angel ignores the comment and looks back at Nellie. “Is this the same entity the coven attempted to make you a conduit for?”
She nods. “Yes. They tried to do the ritual about a year ago. I didn’t hear anything from Aetheris this time. But I don’t want to rule it out.”
He nods slowly. “That would be wise. If this entity exists and has discovered a way to reach you through the leyline breach…” He trails off.
Dean looks impatient. “Cas.”
The angel refocuses. “I will search Heaven’s archives.”
Jack nods. “That might be the only place with records old enough.”
“I will return once I have searched the archives.” Then his gaze lingers briefly on Nellie. “Do not leave the bunker.”
She gives a tired half-smile. “Wasn’t planning to.”
Dean steps slightly closer to the bed. “I’ll stay.”
Cas glances at him. “Very well.”
He rests a hand on the back of the chair beside his daughter. “I’m not leaving her alone with this.”
The angel nods once. Then, with a soft rush of displaced air, he disappears. The room falls quiet again.
Jack, still sitting close beside the bed, mutters under his breath, “Alright.” He cracks his knuckles slightly. “How about we take a break from existential dread and cosmic horror.”
Nellie chuckles quietly. “Tempting.”
“I’m serious,” he says. “Tea break.”
She tilts her head. “Tea?”
“Yeah.” He gestures toward the hallway. “Tea. Sit. Relax. Wait for Cas to come back with answers.”
Dean raises an eyebrow. “That’s the plan?”
He shrugs. “It’s either that or keep spiraling.”
She exhales and nods. “Tea sounds good.”
He stands up and stretches his arms. “Alright then. Kitchen.” As they step into the hallway, he glances over his shoulder at the Winchester. “I’d offer you some too, but you can’t drink it.”
Dean scoffs. “Very funny. I can still stand here and annoy you while you make it.”
He shakes his head. “Great. Ghost commentary.”
“You’re welcome.”
Nellie settles into one of the kitchen chairs, watching the two of them bicker lightly while the kettle starts to heat. It soon hums softly on the stove, steam curling lazily into the air while Jack pours hot water into three mugs, two real ones and one that she insisted on having out for her dad for humor of it all.
Dean leans against the counter beside him, arms crossed, watching with the kind of casual attention that suggests he’s enjoying himself far more than he’ll admit. “You’re putting way too much honey in that.”
Jack glances over. “You can’t even drink it.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t judge it.”
She sits at the small table nearby, elbows resting on the surface as she watches the two of them argue quietly. It’s… normal. Comfortably normal. Something she didn’t realize she needed until now.
He finishes stirring and walks over, handing her the mug. “Here.”
She takes it carefully. “Thanks.”
The Winchester gestures at his own empty mug. “Mine looks suspiciously empty.”
He deadpans. “That’s because you’re dead.”
“Rude.” He then starts telling some ridiculous story about a hunt where Sam accidentally locked himself in a meat freezer for two hours. Jack is halfway through asking follow-up questions when she freezes.
The voice cuts through the room like a knife. Clear. Cold. And unfamiliar. “You are stupid to get a silly little angel involved, seer.”
Her breath catches, the mug pausing halfway to her lips. “…Did you hear that?”
Both men stop mid-conversation.
“What?” Jack asks.
Dean straightens slightly. “What did you hear?”
She looks between them. “That voice.”
Their expressions shift immediately. Confusion, then worry.
“No,” the young man says quietly.
Then the air bends again. That same strange distortion ripples through the room. Fragments of sound slipping through the air.
“…you…”
“…seer…”
“…closer…”
Dean stiffens. “There it is.”
Nellie doesn’t hear the fragments. She hears the voice, clear and focused, speaking directly to her.
“They aren’t special like you. For you are my conduit.”
She looks down instinctively. The tea in her mug is no longer tea. The liquid has turned black and thick. It moves slightly as if alive. Her breath catches. She drops the mug.
It shatters on the floor.
“I will show you what happens when you deny your purpose.”
Jack freezes. Her pupils have swallowed her irises. Not fully black like a demon.
But wrong. Too dark. Too deep. “Nellie…?” he says carefully.
Dean immediately recognizes the shift. “Kid, don’t—”
She moves. Fast. Faster than he has ever seen her move outside a hunt. Her hand flashes to the knife block, steel scraping wood. Before he can react, she’s already lunging. The knife flashes toward his ribs. He jerks sideways on instinct, grabbing her wrist just before the blade connects.
“What are you—”
She twists violently, trying to break his grip. Her strength is alarming. Ferocious. Nothing controlled about it. He barely keeps hold of her arm as she slams into him, forcing him backward against the counter.
Dean paces helplessly nearby. “Nellie! Break out of it!”
Her head jerks toward the sound of her father’s voice, but her eyes don’t focus on him. They’re distant. Unseeing.
Jack blocks another strike as she tries to bring the knife down again. “Nellie, stop!”
She snarls, not quite her voice, not quite someone else’s. Frustration erupts from her in a layered echo. “USELESS!” The words ripple with two tones at once. Her voice cracks in anger. “Her gift is in stasis!”
He ducks, the knife scraping sparks off the metal counter. He backs toward the stove, trying not to hurt her while keeping the blade away from himself.
Dean keeps talking. “Nellie, listen to me!”
But the voice inside her pushes harder. “LET ME OUT!”
Jack glances wildly around the kitchen. He can’t grab her. He can’t restrain her without getting stabbed. She lunges again and he reacts without thinking. His hand grabs the nearest thing on the stove: a cast iron pan. He swings. CLANG. The sound echoes through the kitchen. The pan connects with the side of Nellie’s head. She collapses instantly, the knife clattering across the tile. The room goes silent.
He freezes. “…Oh shit.”
Dean stares. “Jack…”
Nellie groans.
He drops the pan and kneels beside her immediately. “Nellie?”
She pushes up slightly, then suddenly doubles over. Dark liquid splatters onto the floor as she heaves violently.
Dean grimaces. “Yeah that’s… definitely not tea.”
Jack supports her shoulders carefully as the coughing subsides. Her breathing slows.
Her eyes blink open. Normal. Green again. No black. No distortion. Just exhausted confusion. She collapses back against the floor, breathing heavily.
He exhales in relief. “Nellie?”
The Winchester kneels beside them, even though he can’t actually touch her. “You back with us?”
She drags in a shaky breath. “…Yeah.” Her voice is weak. Her eyes move slowly between them.
Jack reaches toward her carefully to help her up, but the moment his hand gets close, she flinches and backs away. He freezes. She pushes herself back across the floor a few inches, putting distance between them like he’s the one who might get hurt. Her eyes flicker to the knife on the floor. Then back to him. The guilt hits her like a wave.
“Oh my god…” Her voice cracks. “I’m so sorry.”
He shakes his head immediately. “Nell—”
Her hands tremble as she pushes herself up to her feet. “I almost stabbed you.” She can’t even look at him now.
“It wasn’t you.”
“No. You don’t know that.”
“It was that thing. The influence Cas talked about.”
She shakes her head. “It still used me.” Her breathing is starting to speed up again, panic creeping back in. “I could’ve… I almost hurt you.”
He tries to step closer again. “It’s okay.”
She stops him immediately. “Don’t.” She wipes her hands on her jeans like she’s trying to wipe the moment off her skin. “We need to lock me up.”
He blinks. “…What?”
“The dungeon.” Her voice steadies, like she’s forcing herself into hunter logic. “Until Cas comes back.”
“That’s not necessary—”
“Yes, it is.” She finally looks at him, her eyes still haunted with guilt. “I just attacked you.”
Jack opens his mouth to argue again, but Dean speaks first. “…She’s not wrong.” He hates saying it. “If something is pushing into her head, we can’t take chances.”
Nellie nods in agreement. She turns toward the hallway without another word. Jack watches her go. The weight in his chest growing heavier with every step she takes. They move through the halls slowly. The lower levels feel colder. By the time they reach the dungeon corridor, he feels sick.
He’s walked this hall before. But never like this. Never locking someone up who didn’t deserve it. She reaches the door first. She stops, then pulls it open herself. He trails behind her, wishing there was another option. But there isn’t. The door closes with a heavy metallic sound. His hand lingers on the handle for a moment before he finally turns the key and locks it. The click echoes louder than it should.
• • •
The bunker hallway is quiet in the early hours of the morning. The kind of quiet that only comes after a long night of waiting. Jack sits on the floor with his back against the wall outside the dungeon door, arms resting on his knees. He hasn’t slept. Every once in a while, he glances at the door, listening for movement on the other side. Dean stands nearby, leaning against the opposite wall. His posture looks relaxed, but the tension in his shoulders says otherwise. Neither of them has left their post. Neither of them plans to. The lights hum softly overhead.
A familiar rush of displaced air fills the hallway. Castiel stands a few feet away, coat still and eyes focused.
Dean pushes off the wall immediately. “Took you long enough.”
“I came as soon as I finished reviewing the archives. Where’s Nellie?”
He gestures to the door. “We had an incident.”
The angel’s gaze sharpens slightly. “What kind of incident?”
“She lost control for a minute.”
Jack adds quietly, “She almost stabbed me.”
Cas processes that information quickly. “And she is now…?”
“In there.” He steps forward and unlocks the dungeon door. “For everyone’s safety.”
Jack turns the lock, pulling the door open and the three of them step inside. The room inside is dim but calm. Nellie sits in one of the spare chairs near the wall, elbows resting on her knees, hands loosely clasped together. She looks up the moment they enter. Her eyes flicker briefly to him first, checking if he’s okay. Then to Cas, guilt still hanging on her expression.
“…Did you find something?”
The angel steps closer, studying her carefully. “Yes. But it required extensive searching. I believe I now understand what is happening to you.” He steps closers to her. “There are very few references to the entity you mentioned. You already know that the Empty is the afterlife for angels and demons.”
Dean nods. “Yeah. Big cosmic graveyard.”
“That is correct. But that is not its only purpose.”
Jack tilts his head slightly. “What do you mean?”
He folds his hands loosely in front of him. “The archives indicate that another entity was placed there long ago. By God himself, before the time of Creation. The records suggest that Aetheris once sought to manifest in the mortal world. Through specially chosen psychics called Aethers. Individuals were believed to be marked at birth. Psychics whose abilities exist in perfect balance between angelic grace and demonic force. Aetheris designated some psychics as potential vessels. Conduits capable of channeling her essence into the mortal plane.”
He frowns slightly. “So the coven…”
“Yes,” Cas says. “They were attempting to use Nellie as such a vessel.”
She swallows. “That part we knew.”
He nods. “But what the archives clarify is why the ritual never succeeded. Aethers must maintain perfect neutrality. An exact equilibrium between celestial and demonic influence. Human nature gravitates toward alignment. Good or evil. Light or darkness. That imbalance makes them unsuitable vessels.”
Jack glances toward Nellie. “So, no one’s ever actually succeeded.”
The angel shakes his head. “No. Every documented attempt has failed. Because of this requirement Aetheris has remained trapped in the Empty, waiting for a vessel capable of maintaining that balance.”
Dean folds his arms tighter. “…Great.”
“I believe Nellie is one of these psychics.”
Jack’s head snaps slightly toward him. “You mean—”
“Yes.” His gaze settles on her. “Nellie is an Aether.”
She stares at him. “Meaning… what?”
“It means you are the rare phenomenon the archives only speculated about. It explains why Aetheris is reaching for you. You are the closest candidate she has ever had.”
She sits very still, her voice barely above a whisper. “…But you said no Aether has ever worked.”
“That is correct. They always fall out of balance. You lean toward celestial alignment.”
“What?”
“You consistently use your abilities to protect and save others. That alignment prevents the equilibrium Aetheris requires.”
Dean exhales. “So she can’t use her.”
Cas shakes his head slowly. “Not as she currently is but she is still the closest she has ever come. Based on what I have discovered in the archives, I believe that influence may belong to Aetheris herself.”
“So, she’s already in my head,” she sighs.
“Not fully. But she is attempting to reach you. She is trying to force your balance toward neutrality. You are already unusually close to that equilibrium.”
“But didn’t you just say that I lean toward grace.”
“You do. But not entirely.”
Dean shifts slightly. “Explain that part.”
The angel glances at him briefly before answering. “Nellie’s life experiences have exposed her to significant trauma. An abusive childhood. Emotional harm. Trauma. Such experiences often push psychics toward demonic alignment. Anger. Pain. Destruction.” He looks back at her. “But you made a different choice. You broke that cycle. You chose to use her abilities to help others. To hunt evil. To save lives. That decision has anchored you closer to celestial alignment. But the trauma you endured still exists within her history.”
He finally understands. “So, she’s closer to the middle than most people.”
Castiel nods. “Yes. Closer to neutrality than any recorded Aether. She is the closest candidate the entity has ever found.”
Nellie looks down at her hands again.
He straightens slightly. “Okay, so how do we stop it?”
“I have a theory. The influence Aetheris has threaded into your frequency appears to be attempting to rebalance you. To force equilibrium.”
She swallows. “What’s your plan?”
“I believe we may be able to flush out the influence by restoring your natural alignment. In order to do that, we unlock your psychic abilities again.”
Jack immediately looks concerned. “Cas—”
The angel continues before he can finish. “Then I will attempt to form a circuit with you using angelic grace.”
Dean blinks. “A what?”
“If Nellie channels her abilities while connected to the grace, the resulting energy surge may burn the foreign influence out of her frequency.”
The young man frowns slightly. “You’re basically trying to overload the connection.”
“Yes.”
The Winchester raises an eyebrow. “That sounds risky.”
“It is.”
She exhales slowly. “Does it work?”
He hesitates, then answers honestly, “I do not know. There is no precedent for this situation. But, this may be our best opportunity to remove the influence before it strengthens further.”
She exhales slowly. “Okay. We’ll try it.”
Dean straightens slightly. “Nells, you sure?”
She gives him a tired half-smile. “When has ‘sure’ ever been part of our plans?”
“Fair point.”
She shifts forward in the chair and looks at Jack. “I need my notes. The sequence I used when I locked my abilities down are in there.”
Jack turns toward the door. “I’ll get them.”
He returns a couple minutes later with a small stack of papers and a notebook, handing them to her carefully. She takes them and spreads the pages across the small dungeon table. The same sequence she once used to suppress her abilities when she didn’t trust herself. Only now she’s reversing it. She grabs a pen and begins writing the unlocking sequence carefully on a fresh sheet. Her handwriting is steady despite the tension.
“Once the sequence is complete,” she says to Cas, “you power them with your grace.”
The angel inclines his head. “Understood.”
She finishes the final symbol and slides the page across the table. “That’s it. Once you energize those, the lock should break.”
He places his hand over the sigils. Gentle blue light blooms across the page as his grace flows into the symbols. The sigils ignite faintly with celestial energy. For a moment, nothing happens. Then Nellie inhales sharply. Her back straightens in the chair. The air around her shifts. Then she grips the edge of the table, the pressure inside her mind changing. Something suppressed begins to unfold again. Her senses surge back into place, like floodgates opening. Energy rushes through her. The familiar weight of her abilities fills her again. Her breathing quickens.
“It’s… back.”
Jack takes a small step closer. “You okay?”
She nods faintly.
But the energy keeps rising. Faster. Stronger. Too fast. Her fingers tighten around the table. Then suddenly, her eyes lose focus. The room tilts in her mind.
“Cas—” Her voice cuts off. Her body goes still and she collapses forward as her consciousness goes completely dark.
Jack steps forward, reaching for her shoulder. Castiel moves at the same time, concern sharpening his voice.
“Nellie?”
But before any of them can reach her, she moves. Her head snaps upward. Her eyes are wrong. The irises are gone again, swallowed in black. Her head tilts slightly. Then she smiles. But it isn’t her smile. When she speaks, the voice is layered, two tones at once. “Thank you,” the voice says softly, “for releasing the seer.”
Dean immediately steps forward. “Hey — HEY! Nellie, snap out of it!”
But she moves again before anyone can react. Her hand lifts and Jack is thrown backward into the stone wall with a brutal slam. Cas is hurled sideways, the impact echoes through the dungeon.
“HEY! Knock it off!”
Nellie rises slowly from the chair. The papers on the table lift and scatter around her as invisible energy churns in the air. Her head tilts toward Jack. He pushes himself off the floor, shaking off the hit.
“Nellie…” His voice is cautious. “Come on.”
But she’s already moving. She grabs the metal chair beside her and hurls it across the room.
He barely ducks as it smashes into the wall behind him.
Cas recovers and steps forward. “Nellie—”
She spins toward him instantly. Her hand snaps forward. The invisible force slams into him like a truck. He’s thrown backward into the opposite wall with a heavy crack.
Dean swears loudly. “Son of a bitch! Nell!
She’s already advancing. Her movements are sharp. Precise. Predatory. The pressure in the room builds like a storm. Jack grabs the edge of the table and flips it up just as another blast rips toward him. Wood splinters. The table smashes apart.
He scrambles back, heart pounding. “Cas!”
Nellie’s head tilts again as she watches them. The layered voice speaks again. “So fragile.”
He steadies himself. “Nellie. You gotta fight this.”
Her gaze flickers slightly, just for a second.
Dean catches it immediately. “That’s it, kid! Come on! You’re stronger than this!”
But the presence pushes harder. Her expression hardens again. The energy in the room spikes violently. Jack barely blocks another strike that slams into the metal shelving behind him. Books and tools crash to the floor.
Dean keeps talking, relentless. “Nellie! Listen to me! You beat that coven!” You beat your mother!” You’re not letting some cosmic jerk puppet you around!”
Her head jerks sharply. Her voice snaps out in that layered tone. “Silence.” Then she lunges, fists balled.
Jack barely blocks the first strike. She moves like a hunter. Fast. Precise. Ferocious. They grapple for a second before he twists away, trying not to hurt her while defending himself. She swings again. He blocks it, breath ragged.
“Nellie!”
Her hands shake again. Her eyes flicker.
Dean sees it. “That’s my girl! Fight it!”
The black in her eyes wavers. Then suddenly, Nellie doubles over. Her body jerks violently. She coughs. A thick splash of black liquid hits the dungeon floor.
Jack freezes. “Nell?”
She staggers, another cough causing more black fluid spills from her mouth. The pressure in the room disappears. Her eyes clear. She sways on her feet, hen collapses hard onto the stone floor, gasping for air.
He moves first. But before he can reach her, Dean throws an arm out across his chest, even if it goes through it.
“Whoa — whoa — hold up!”
“What are you doing? She needs—”
Castiel is already moving. “Wait. I must verify.”
Jack clenches his jaw but forces himself to stay back.
He kneels beside Nellie. She’s barely upright where she collapsed, one arm weakly bracing against the cold dungeon floor. Her breathing is ragged. Uneven. Black liquid trails from the corner of her mouth, dripping slowly down her chin. Her nose is bleeding too, thick, dark streaks sliding over her lip like a severe psychic backlash. Worse still, dark tear tracks run down both cheeks, like something inside her is leaking out.
He gently turns her face toward him. “Nellie.”
Her eyes blink slowly. The pupils are normal again.
“It is her.”
Jack immediately kneels beside her. “Nellie, hey, look at me.”
She tries, but her focus drifts. Her eyes struggle to lock onto his face. Her voice comes out slurred and weak. “J—Jack…?”
He nods quickly. “Yeah. I’m here. You’re okay.”
Her brow furrows. “Wha… happened…” The words are slow. Heavy, like she’s speaking through thick fog.
Dean kneels on the other side of her, concern written all over his face. “Nells, stay with us.”
But her head tilts slightly. She looks confused. The voices around her aren’t clear. On her side of things, everything sounds wrong. Jack’s voice stretches like warped tape. Her dad’s words echo like they’re underwater. Cas’ voice splits in two. And underneath it all, whispering. Constant and cold.
“You cannot escape me, seer.”
The voice coils through her thoughts.
Nellie winces. “Stop…”
Jack’s stomach drops. “What?”
But she isn’t answering him. She’s shaking her head weakly. “Stop… whispering…”
Dean looks up sharply. “Cas.”
The angel hears it too now. Faint. Distorted. A whisper moving through the air like wind through cracks in stone. But only fragments reach them.
“…close…”
“…mine…”
“…balance…”
“…seer…”
His expression darkens. “Aetheris.”
Nellie coughs again, another thin stream of black liquid slipping from her mouth.
She tries to focus on the men, but her eyes keep drifting. The whispers are getting louder.
“…you cannot deny…”
“…you belong…”
“…to me…”
Her breathing quickens. Her hands tremble weakly against the floor. “Make… it stop…”
Castiel watches her closely. “She needs to be lucid long enough for the circuit to form.”
Dean clenches his fists. “Cas, whatever you’re gonna do, do it fast.”
He nods once then turns back to her. “Nellie, I need you to listen carefully.”
Her eyes struggle to focus on him. “I… can’t hear…”
He places a hand gently against the side of her head. “Focus on my voice, just my voice.” He glances at Jack and Dean. “Help me keep her conscious.”
Dean gets closer and everything about him softens. His movements are slow and careful like she might shatter if he moves too fast. He lifts a hand instinctively toward her face and stops, his fingers hovering inches from her cheek. He can’t touch her. The realization still hits him every time. His hand slowly lowers, clenching into a fist before he forces it to relax again. His voice, when he speaks, is soft. “Hey, baby.”
Nellie’s eyes flutter toward the sound. They struggle to focus, drifting in and out like someone trying to stay awake underwater. “…Dad…?”
“Yeah.” His voice cracks just slightly before he steadies it. “I’m right here.”
The whispering continues in the background. Low. Coiling.
He ignores it. His focus never leaves her. His voice carries the kind of calm that comes from years of talking people through pain. “You’re doing good. Just breathe.” He leans forward a little more, wishing — just wishing — he could steady her with a hand on her shoulder. His eyes flicker briefly, pain there for half a second. “You’ve been through hell, sweetheart. More than most people ever should and you’re still here.”
Her breathing stutters. Her eyes flutter. The whispers grow sharper for a second.
“…she is weak…”
“…she will break…”
He scoffs. “Oh, shut up.” He looks directly at his daughter again. “Nellie. You hear me? You’re stronger than this thing. You always have been.”
Her gaze finally locks onto him. Just for a moment. “…trying…”
He nods quickly. “I know you are. That’s my girl. You don’t have to fight alone this time.” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “You got a weird angel, that ridiculous golden retriever of a best friend, and a very stubborn ghost of a dad. So how about you stick around for a minute, alright? Because Cas has a plan. and we’re gonna kick this thing right out of your head.”
Nellie blinks slowly. Her breathing steadies just a little. Not much, but enough.
Cas notices immediately. His voice comes quietly but with purpose. “She is stabilized enough to start. I don’t want to risk her being open too long.”
Jack helps her shift upright. She’s shaky. Her legs nearly give out the moment she tries to stand. He catches her immediately, one hand steady at her elbow, the other hovering around her back so she doesn’t fall. “Easy,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”
She leans on him for a moment longer than she probably wants to admit. Her breathing is still ragged, the whispering still twisting through her thoughts. Her head twitches slightly as she tries to ignore it.
He watches her carefully. “You still with us?”
She nods faintly. “…yeah…”
Cas steps forward. “We must begin now. This… may be painful.”
She gives a weak, crooked smile. “Seems… on brand… lately.”
Jack almost smiles despite himself.
Then the angel looks toward him. “You must step back. There can be no interference in the circuit.”
His jaw tightens. He clearly wants to stay beside her, but he nods. “…Okay.” He releases her carefully, making sure she’s balanced before stepping back.
He crosses his arms tightly across his chest like he’s physically holding himself in place. Dean joins him, watching with quiet intensity.
Cas kneels and quickly draws several Enochian sigils across the dungeon floor. The symbols glow faintly as he finishes the last stroke. “Stand here.” He gestures to one of them.
She steps onto the sigil, though her balance wobbles.
He moves to stand directly in front of her, seeing the confusion in her eyes. So instead of explaining, he shows her. He gently takes hold of her forearms. She understands immediately, lifting her own arms and griping his forearms in return. The moment their contact is secure, he closes his eyes. Blue light begins to build beneath his skin. He releases a slow breath as grace pours forward. Angelic energy surges down his arms into her.
Nellie’s reaction is immediate. Her entire body jerks. A sharp gasp tears from her throat. The grace floods through her channels like fire. She clenches her teeth. Her shoulders tremble violently as the energy pours through her. But she doesn’t let go. Instead, her eyes flare silver and using her abilities, she redirects the surge. The energy pushes back through her arms and into Cas. The circuit forms. Grace flows. Psychic power rebounds. Back and forth. Faster. Stronger.
He steadies her. His grip firm, his voice calm. “Hold the circuit.”
The energy spikes again. The glow around the angel brightens, and her psychic field flares in response. The circuit surges. Her body jerks violently, her back arching as a scream tears out of her throat. A voice screaming through her vocal cords that does not belong to her.
“NO!”
The lights flicker. A violent pulse of energy bursts outward. The circuit snaps. The connection between the two breaks with a sharp crack of energy. Her legs give out instantly.
She collapses, Cas catching her before she can hit the stone floor. He lowers her carefully down, supporting her weight as her body trembles from the aftershock. Her breathing is ragged again, but the black liquid has stopped.
Jack is already moving. He kneels beside her as Dean drops down on her other side. She blinks slowly, her eyes unfocused for a moment. Then they settle, her irises shimmering faintly with that familiar silver sheen that appears when she’s pushed her abilities too far.
He exhales in relief. “That’s a good sign.”
The Winchesters nods, scanning her face carefully. “Yeah, that’s her.”
Castiel places two fingers gently against her temple, closing his eyes, scanning. Relief softens his expression as he opens his eyes. “The foreign thread within her frequency has been purged.”
Jack lets out a long breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.
Dean leans back slightly. “Thank God. That’s my girl.”
But the angel’s expression shifts again, more serious now. “This situation is not yet resolved.”
“What do you mean?”
“Aetheris has been forced out of her influence. But the entity itself still exists.” He turns slightly, pacing once across the sigils still glowing faintly on the dungeon floor. “The Empty is normally sealed. Cosmic entities within it should not be capable of exerting influence into the mortal plane. Yet Aetheris clearly has.”
Jack thinks back through the hunt. “The coven.”
He nods. “Their ritual likely destabilized something.”
Nellie slowly lifts her head. Her voice is quiet but clearer now. “…Leylines.”
“Yes. Leylines act as conduits of supernatural energy. If a fracture formed within them…”
“Then something from the Empty could leak through,” Dean finishes.
Jack suddenly looks up. “The nexus in Montana. That place was a nexus point. The coven was doing rituals there.”
The angel shakes his head slightly. “I do not believe that location was the origin.”
He frowns. “Then what was?”
There’s a moment of silence. Then she slowly pushes herself a little more upright. “Pennsylvania.”
Dean shakes his head. “That place collapsed, remember? Whole damn chamber caved in.”
She nods slowly. “I know. But that cavern wasn’t just a ritual site. t was a nexus. The biggest one Nightshade ever used.”
Castiel’s eyes narrow slightly as he considers that. “And the location where Aetheris was originally contacted.”
She nods, her fingers flexing slightly against the floor as if she can almost feel it. “When I was there, I felt something deeper than just the coven. The leylines were… wrong.”
Dean sighs. “So, you’re saying that place is still busted.”
“I think the ritual and the collapse fractured the nexus.”
He runs a hand over the back of his neck. “Okay, we go patch the leak.”
Castiel looks at Nellie. “She must repair the fractures.”
His head snaps toward him. “Whoa, hold up.” He gestures toward his daughter, who is still clearly exhausted. “She can barely stand. She just got her brain hijacked by a cosmic nightmare. You want her walking into the middle of that thing?”
“She is the only one capable of repairing the damage,” he replies calmly. “If the nexus stays fractured, Aetheris will keep finding ways to reach you.”
He clenches his jaw. “Yeah, well I’m not real thrilled about my daughter volunteering to walk straight into the lion’s den.”
Jack glances at Nellie. He knows that look on her face. She’s already made the decision.
She exhales slowly. “If I don’t fix it, this never stops.”
Dean stares at her, frustration and fear fighting behind his eyes. “…I hate this plan. But before, anyone starts marching back into a cursed cavern, can she at least get some rest?”
The angel nods. “That would be wise. But it cannot be for long.”
He exhales. “Of course it can’t.”
“The fracture in the nexus may widen if left unattended. I would prefer not to allow Aetheris the opportunity to regain influence.”
Jack nods. “Still… she needs a little time.” He looks down at her. “You can barely stand.”
She tries to shrug it off. “I’ve been worse.”
He gives her a look. “Not buying it.”
Dean smirks faintly. “Good. Someone else calling her out besides me.”
He offers his hand, helping her carefully to her feet and steadying her as she wobbles slightly. The Winchester stands as well, hovering close like a worried shadow. Castiel follows quietly behind them as they head out of the dungeon. Before leaving the room, he pauses briefly. He traces several glowing Enochian sigils along the doorway and surrounding walls, blue light flashing softly before fading into invisible protection.
Once they are back in the living quarters, Jack helps her sit down on the edge of her bed.
Nellie is exhausted, still smeared with dried black liquid from earlier. He disappears briefly into the hallway, returning with a damp cloth. He kneels beside the bed.
“Hold still.”
She raises an eyebrow weakly. “You taking over nurse duty now?”
He smiles slightly. “Someone has to.”
Normally, she would wave him off, handle it herself. Always independent. Always stubborn. But tonight, she’s too tired to argue, so she lets him help. He gently wipes the dried black liquid from her chin and cheeks, then carefully cleans the faint streaks beneath her nose. His movements are careful. Quiet.
Dean leans against the wall nearby, watching. Something about the moment softens his expression. For someone who spent so much of her life alone, seeing his daughter with someone who actually looks out for her… It matters.
Jack finishes and tosses the cloth aside. “There. Better.”
She exhales slowly. “Thanks.”
He helps her shift back onto the bed. She sinks into the mattress like gravity finally remembered she exists. Within seconds her eyes start drooping. Dean quietly moves closer and sits in the chair beside her bed. Old habits. Watching over her, even if he can’t physically do much else.
Cas stands in the doorway, watching. After a moment he speaks. “I must return to Heaven. I will monitor the situation from there.” He looks toward her. “You should rest.”
Her voice is barely above a whisper. “I would if you guys could shut up.”
He gives a small nod, then he looks toward Jack and Dean. “If anything changes, I will return.”
Dean nods. “Appreciate it.”
With that, the angel disappears in a quiet flutter of grace.
• • •
Jack wakes with a stiff neck and a dry mouth. For a moment he doesn’t remember where he is. Then the bunker comes back into focus around him. Nellie’s room. The now empty chair by her bed. Her desk. The chair he apparently fell asleep in. He blinks and rubs his face.
“…Great.”
He stretches slightly, joints popping after sleeping upright. Then he looks toward the bed and immediately freezes. It is empty.
He straightens. “Nell?”
No answer. The room is quiet.
He stands quickly, the chair scraping softly against the floor. “Nellie?”
Still nothing.
A knot forms instantly in his stomach. He moves into the hallway. He checks the kitchen first. Empty. The library. Empty. The map room. Nothing. He moves faster now, checking room after room. Her name comes out sharper each time. Finally, he heads toward the armory. The door is half open. He pushes it the rest of the way. He scans the racks. Weapons still there. Most of them. Then he notices the missing space on the gear shelf. Her duffel is gone.
He goes still. “…No.”
He spins and runs straight toward the garage. He bursts through the door. Nellie is standing beside the Impala, her duffel already in the trunk.
He stops a few feet away, breath still quick. “What are you doing?”
She pauses. She doesn’t look surprised he found her. She just shuts the trunk. “I’m going to Pennsylvania.”
He stares at her. “You were just going to leave?”
She shrugs slightly, not meeting his eyes. “You were asleep.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
She exhales slowly. “I nearly killed you today. I’m not dragging you into that again.”
“That’s not your call.”
“This isn’t your mess, Jack.”
He blinks. Then something in him snaps. For the first time since they met, Jack pushes back hard. “Yes, it is.” The words come out sharper than usual.
Nellie blinks in surprise.
He keeps going. “We’re partners. We work together. We support each other. You don’t just disappear in the middle of the night.”
She tries to interrupt. “Jack—”
“No. I’m not sitting around the bunker waiting to see if you come back.” The words come faster now, more emotional than he usually lets himself be. “I’m not going to be the person who has to call Sam and tell him you’re dead. I’m not doing that. You’re my best friend, Nell.” The words land harder than either of them expect. “I’m not letting you go into something like this alone.”
She looks genuinely surprised now.
He gently takes the Impala keys from her hand and she doesn’t stop him. “I’m going with you.” He says it simply, like the decision is already made. “You can argue if you want. But it’s not going to change anything. I’m grabbing my gear and I’m driving. You still need rest if we’re going to fix a leyline nexus.”
She looks like she’s about to argue. The stubborn expression rises, then slowly fades.
Because she knows he’s right. She exhales quietly and nods. “…Okay.”
He gives a small, satisfied nod. “Good. I’ll be two minutes.”
She watches him go for a moment, then quietly walks around the Impala and climbs into the passenger seat.
He returns a few minutes later as promised, duffel slung over his shoulder. He loads his bag into the trunk, shuts it, then slides into the driver’s seat. The engine turns over with that familiar rumble. He shifts the car into gear and pulls the car out of the bunker garage. The doors shut behind them as they roll onto the open road. Kansas stretches out ahead, the sky moves slowly toward morning.
He glances over briefly. “You can help with navigation, but you also need to rest.”
She nods faintly. “Okay.” She still isn’t looking at him.
Silence fills the car again for a minute. Then Jack clears his throat slightly. “…Sorry.”
Nellie blinks and finally glances over. “For what?”
“I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.”
She shakes her head. “You didn’t. You were honest.”
That sits between them for a moment.
Then, after another minute, she finally turns her head and really looks at him. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Did you mean what you said?”
He looks confused. “About what?”
She fidgets slightly with the edge of her sleeve. “…About me being your best friend.”
He blinks. “Yeah.”
“You really see me that way?”
He nods again. “Of course.”
She leans back slightly, thinking. “…Why?”
He shrugs faintly. “I never really had friends.”
She raises an eyebrow slightly. “You know a lot of people.”
“Yeah. But most of them were family.” He glances at her briefly. “Sam. Dean. Cas.” “They raised me, taught me everything. I didn’t really choose them.” He quickly adds, “I mean—I love them, but I didn’t find them. They found me. You’re different.”
She tilts her head slightly. “How?”
“You chose to be around me. You didn’t have to. You shared your books with me. Taught me how to cook actual food instead of whatever I was doing before.” A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “You made me watch movies I didn’t even know existed.”
She snorts softly. “You needed cultural education.”
“Apparently.” He glances at her again. “We’ve had serious conversations and weird ones. Like the one where you tried to explain Edgar Allen Poe while we were hunting a ghost.”
She shrugs. “Timing felt right.”
He shakes his head slightly, amused. Then his voice softens. “You showed me that being good is a choice. You’ve been through a lot. You’ve got power. A lot of it. You could use it however you wanted. But you don’t. You help people. You fight monsters. You save strangers, even when it hurts you. You’re one of the most gentle people I know.”
“That might be the first time someone’s used that word for a hunter.”
“I’ve seen you with victims. With kids. With your cousin. You make them feel like someone sees them, like they matter.”
Nellie swallows quietly. “You do the same thing for me.”
Jack adds softly. “And you never expect anything in return. But you deserve it. Even if you don’t believe you do.” He glances at her again, slightly awkward now. “…Sorry if that makes things weird.”
She shakes her head quickly. “No. That doesn’t make it weird. It’s just new.”
He raises an eyebrow slightly. “How?”
She leans back in the seat. “I’ve never had someone call me their best friend before.”
He looks surprised. “You haven’t?”
She shakes her head. “I was kind of a loner most of my life. No real friends. Just surviving. You’re my first real friend. And I’m glad it’s you.”
He smiles faintly at that.
She continues quietly. “And thank you. For stepping in to help me.”
He shrugs slightly. “You’d do the same for me.”
“Sam does that,” she says softly. “But that’s what family does. You’re choosing to be here. Even though you know you could get hurt. Or worse.”
He glances at her again, then back at the road. “Yeah, I know.”
• • •
The miles roll by beneath the Impala. Kansas fades into Missouri. Missouri into Illinois. Illinois into Indiana. They drive almost straight through. Only stopping for gas and restroom breaks. And even then, they never stay long. Every stop is quick. Every movement careful. Both of them scanning their surroundings like seasoned hunters. Jack ends up driving most of the way. Not because he doesn’t trust Nellie, but every time she offers to switch, he just shakes his head.
“Rest.”
She doesn’t argue much, because she knows why he’s doing it.
When she sleeps, it’s shallow. Short bursts. Never more than twenty minutes or so. And even then, she wakes herself up. Over and over. By choice. She refuses to give Aetheris an opening. He notices, but he doesn’t comment on it. When she’s awake, she’s not resting. She’s working. A worn map is spread across her lap. The Brinley Hollow mines. The same mines from a year ago. She studies the map closely, pencil moving slowly across the paper. She circles certain veins, marks possible intersections, traces old tunnels that branch deeper into the rock. Some are labeled, but most aren’t.
“Nightshade used this one,” she murmurs quietly one time, tapping the collapsed tunnel on the map. “But that the one that caved in. There are other veins though, but none of them go directly to the cavern.”
“So, we find one that gets close.”
“That’s the plan.” She keeps marking spots, possible entrances, places where the tunnels might intersect underground. But there’s uncertainty in her movements now.
The highway stretches out endlessly in front of the Impala. Night has settled fully now, the sky dark except for the distant glow of passing towns and the steady sweep of headlights cutting through the road ahead. They’re only a couple hours from Pennsylvania. Jack grips the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the road. He’s tired, they’ve been driving all day, but he refuses to stop. Nellie needs to be ready when they reach the mines and if that means he drives until sunrise, he will. He glances over briefly. She is asleep in the passenger seat. Her head rests against the window, hair falling slightly across her face. For once in the last few days, she looks peaceful. He looks back to the road, letting out a slow breath.
“You know…”
Jack nearly swerves. His head snaps toward the rearview mirror.
“…I’m kinda surprised she let you drive Baby.”
He exhales sharply. “God, Dean!”
Dean Winchester is sitting casually in the backseat like he’s been there the whole time, arms resting across the top of the seat. He smirks. “Relax, kid. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
He recovers his grip on the wheel. “You did.”
The man shrugs. “Eh.” Then he leans forward slightly, peering between the seats. “Just remember.” His tone turns mock-serious. “If you scratch the paint…”
He sighs. “…You’ll haunt me forever?”
Dean grins. “Damn right.”
Jack shakes his head slightly, amused despite himself. “I’m being careful.”
“You better be.” He settles back in the seat. Then his expression softens as he looks toward the passenger side. “How’s she doing?”
He glances over at Nellie again. “She’s resting. But she’s nervous.”
“Yeah. Figured.”
“I’m nervous too.” He glances briefly in the mirror. “Mostly for her.”
Dean’s expression shifts. “Yeah. Me too.”
They ride in silence for a moment. He nods slightly toward the young man. “But she’s not going in alone.”
“No.”
“She’s got you.” His voice lowers. “I wish I could be there with her. Wish I could help fight. Make sure this coven never gets near her again. Make sure that Aetheris thing stays the hell away from my kid. But I can’t. And that’s…” He stops, searching for the word. “…hard.”
The guilt creeps in then. Jack can hear it.
His voice gets quieter. “I didn’t even know she existed when I was alive. Missed everything.”
Jack speaks softly. “You didn’t choose that.”
“Still feels like I should’ve been there.”
He looks at him through the mirror. “You’re here now.”
Dean meets his eyes for a moment. Then glances back at the road ahead. “…Yeah. I am.” And for the rest of the drive, he sits quietly in the backseat, watching over his daughter while she sleeps.
• • •
By the time they reach Pennsylvania, the sky is just beginning to lighten. Not full morning yet. Just that pale grey glow creeping over the horizon, the kind of light that makes everything look colder than it already is. Jack pulls the Impala onto the narrow dirt road that leads toward the old Brinley Hollow mine property. The place looks exactly how abandoned mines always do. Rusting fences, broken warning signs, trees slowly reclaiming the edges of the road.
Nellie studies the map in her lap as they roll to a stop near the old service path. “This is it.”
He shuts off the engine. The sudden silence after the long drive is almost jarring. He looks over. “You want to start with the collapsed tunnel?”
She nods. “Yeah. If the coven found a way back in from there, I want to know before we start digging around.”
They both step out of the car, the cold morning air hits them immediately. He opens the trunk and grabs his duffel. She shoulders hers. Neither of them say much. The tension of the place settles around them quickly. The path toward the mine entrance is overgrown now, but the ground still remembers where people used to walk. They move carefully down the slope toward the tunnel entrance. The mouth of the tunnel is still half collapsed from the cave-in a year ago.
He switches on his flashlight. “Careful.”
The air is colder in the tunnel. Dust coats everything. Their boots crunch quietly over loose stone as they move deeper. They don’t go far before the tunnel narrows. The collapse comes into view. A full wall of rock and debris blocks the path forward.
He studies it. “Yeah, that’s not going anywhere.”
She kneels near the rubble. “Maybe not. But someone tried.” She points to the ground.
He follows her light. Scratch marks on the stone. Broken tools. Signs that someone tried digging through but failed. There is also blood, faint but still visible on the stone floor. Runes. Several of them. He crouches beside her. “Those are recent.”
She nods slowly. She pulls the folded mine map from her bag and spreads it across a flat rock. He watches as she quickly writes several runes across the map. Then she looks up.
“Jack. Cloaking sigils. On the corners.”
He nods and grabs some chalk. Within seconds he sketches the sigils she’s taught him before. She waits until he finishes, then she kneels beside the collapsed wall. She dips her fingers into the loose cave dust, then drags one finger slowly across the runes on the map. Her other hand presses against the rock face. Her eyes close slightly. For a moment, nothing happens. Then the runes on the paper begin to glow faintly and thin lines slowly begin to spread across the map like living veins. Several already-marked mine shafts light up, but others appear too.
She studies the glowing lines carefully. Then she taps a spot on the map. “That’s the cavern.”
He follows her finger. “Which means…”
She traces a nearby line. “This tunnel.” It’s only a short distance from their current position.
An old side vein. Unmarked before, but the map clearly shows it leading deeper toward the nexus.
“So, we’ve got a way in.”
She nods. “But we need to move. The cloaking sigils will help mask us, but not completely. Whatever is down there probably knows we’re here.”
He nods towards the entrance of the tunnel. “Well, let’s not keep them waiting.”
The woods grow thicker the farther they move from the old mine road. Branches scrape quietly against their jackets as they push through the trees, heading toward the location Nellie marked on the map. The morning light barely reaches the forest floor here. Everything feels dim, muted, and wrong. After several minutes, Nellie slows. Jack notices immediately.
“You feel it?”
She nods. “Yeah.” She presses a hand briefly to her chest, steadying the pressure building in her senses. “The lines are stronger here.”
He scans the trees around them. “How close are we?”
“Not far.” But she doesn’t keep walking. Instead, she turns her head slightly. Something had moved. Just a flicker out of the corner of her eye. Her brow furrows. “…Hold on.”
He stops immediately, hunter instincts snapping into place. “What did you see?”
“Movement.”
The woods fall silent. No wind. No animals. Just the distant creak of branches somewhere deeper in the forest. For a moment it looks like maybe it was nothing. Then something shifts between the trees.
He sees it too. “Okay… That’s not normal.”
Three shapes step slowly out of the woods. They’re wrong in a way that’s hard to process at first. Not human, not creature. Constructs. Their bodies are a twisted mix of stone, branches, bone fragments, and black ritual bindings holding everything together. Faint runes glow beneath the crude joints that give them movement. They spread slightly, blocking the narrow path toward the tunnel entrance behind them.
“Well,” he sighs, “that’s new.”
She exhales quietly. “Not really.”
He glances at her. “Friends of yours?”
“Not mine.”
The constructs tilt their heads slightly. Then they charge. The hunters react instantly. Jack draws his pistol. Nellie pulls her blade free from its sheath. The first construct lunges toward him, jagged limbs swinging like broken branches. He fires twice. The bullets slam into the creature’s chest, splintering chunks of stone and wood, but it keeps coming.
“Yeah, okay,” he mutters, stepping back. “Not a bullet problem.” He ducks as one of the limbs swings toward his head.
She moves around the second construct, sliding low beneath one of its arms and slashing across the black bindings holding its joints together. Her blade slices through the ritual threads. The construct jerks violently as the magic breaks, then collapses into a pile of lifeless debris. He grabs a thick branch from the ground and jams it hard into the glowing rune core inside the first construct. The rune cracks and the creature shudders, then crumbles apart. The third construct lunges toward her. She pivots, letting it overextend before driving her blade straight into the glowing sigil carved into its chest. The rune fractures. The construct collapses with a heavy thud into a pile of broken material. Silence returns to the forest.
He lowers his weapon slowly. “Well.” He nudges one of the broken pieces with his boot. “What were those?”
She wipes her blade clean before sheathing it. “Constructs.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Like golems?”
“Sort of.” She crouches near the broken remains, examining one of the shattered runes. “The coven used them. For scouting or fighting.”
“So, if we’re seeing them…”
“…We’re close.” She looks deeper into the woods where the hidden tunnel should be. “Or at least close to something they wanted guarded. Guess we’re going the right way.”
They find the tunnel not long after the constructs. It’s almost hidden in the hillside. Half swallowed by brush and fallen branches, the entrance looks more like an animal burrow than a mine shaft at first glance. But once they push aside the undergrowth, the opening becomes clear. A narrow service vein. Old and forgotten. The entrance is barely wide enough for one person at a time.
Jack shines his flashlight inside. The beam reveals rough rock walls and a tight passage sloping downward into darkness. “…That’s cozy,” he mutters.
Nellie studies the opening. “This matches the map. I’ll go first.”
He puts a hand out, stopping her. “No.”
She looks at him. “I’ve dealt with the coven before.”
He nods. “I know, but that’s exactly why you shouldn’t be first.”
Her brow lifts slightly. “Excuse me?”
He gestures toward the tunnel. “You’re the one who can repair the nexus. If something jumps us in there, you’re the last person who should get hit first.”
She folds her arms slightly. “I can handle myself.”
“I know you can. But that’s not the point. You’re the key to stopping this. You need to stay unhurt.”
She looks like she’s about to argue again; the stubborn hunter side rising up.
He doesn’t back down.
Finally, she exhales through her nose. “…Fine. You first.” Then she points a finger at him. “But be careful.”
He smiles faintly. “I plan to.” He checks his pistol, loaded and ready, and flashlight steady in his other hand.
The air inside is immediately colder. Damp. The rock walls close in tightly around him. The passage is so narrow they have to move single file. Their footsteps echo softly in the confined space. Something that presses against her senses the farther they descend. She feels it building, like standing too close to a storm cloud filled with static. The beam from the flashlight sweeps across the walls. And that’s when they start seeing them. Runes. Carved into the rock. Some etched into the walls. Others painted across the floor in faded blood. They move forward another few yards. Then the flashlight beam suddenly opens into empty space.
Jack stops. “Hold up.”
Nellie nearly bumps into him from behind. “What?”
He tilts the flashlight ahead. “I think we’re at the opening.”
They approach slowly, carefully. The cavern opens up in front of them. It’s just like she remembers. Collapsed rock still litters parts of the cavern from the cave-in, but the chamber itself is still intact. The stone altar she shattered during the ritual sits broken in two near the center of the chamber. The dark pool nearby remains untouched, like a black mirror reflecting the cavern ceiling.
He scans the chamber slowly with the flashlight. “No movement.” But the tension in the room is thick.
She steps past him carefully, moving deeper into the cavern. The moment she enters the open space, the pressure hits her fully. Her breath catches. The leylines here are overwhelming. Energy flowing beneath the rock in tangled, fractured currents. She steadies herself.
“You okay?” Jack asks
She nods faintly. “…Yeah.” But her voice sounds distant. Her senses are stretched wide open now. Feeling every fracture in the nexus. Every break in the lines. Every ripple of something deeper.
They move slowly toward the altar and the pool. She stops near the center of the cavern, her head tilting slightly as she feels the damage beneath the ground. The fractures in the leyline network pulse like open wounds.
He watches her carefully. “What do you need me to do?”
Nellie exhales slowly. “Just stay close.”
She sets her duffel down on the ground and unzips the top. She pulls out a small cloth pouch, unties the string, and pours the contents into her hand. Several crystal fragments fall into her palm.
He leans closer to look. “Those are—”
“Labradorite.” She turns one of the broken pieces in her fingers. “It used to be a scrying stone.”
“Used to?”
She gives a small, humorless smile. “It helped me find the coven last year. Until one of the witches tricked me and I ended up walking straight into their trap. It broke when they captured me.”
He studies the pieces. “And it still works?”
“Sort of.” She spreads the shards across the stone floor near the broken altar. “Even broken, it still holds resonance. It’ll amplify my abilities.”
“For fixing the leylines.”
“Exactly.”
She kneels fully now, placing the fragments in a small circle. She takes a slow breath and places both palms flat against the stone. The moment her skin touches the ground, her abilities open fully. The cavern changes for her. The leylines beneath the rock flare into existence in her mind like glowing rivers moving through darkness. But they’re wrong. Broken. Tangled. Energy spills through the fractured nexus like water through cracked glass. She pushes deeper. Carefully threading her senses through the currents, searching for the main tear.
Jack watches the cavern while she works. His flashlight sweeps across the rubble. Across the shattered altar and the dark pool.
Behind him, Nellie’s breathing grows slower. A jagged fracture pulses deep beneath the cavern floor. She begins gathering the energy slowly, guiding it back toward the break like someone pulling threads together.
He keeps scanning the chamber. Then, a figure stepping from the shadows near the far wall of the cavern. He instantly raises his pistol. “Don’t move.”
The woman stops. The beam of his flashlight settles on her face. His stomach drops. He recognizes it from a photo. Eleanor Branscomb.
Nellie feels the shift in the air. Her eyes open. She looks up and sees her. For a moment something flashes across her face. Old instinct. Old pain. But she doesn’t move. Her hands stay planted firmly on the floor. The fragments glow faintly around her. Her focus stays on the leyline tear beneath the stone, but her voice cuts through the cavern. “Stop pretending to be my mother, Solene.”
The woman wearing Eleanor’s face tilts her head slightly. Then she smiles. The smile doesn’t belong to Eleanor. “Well done, seer.” The voice that answers is layered, not quite human.
Jack tightens his grip on the gun. “You’re Solene?”
But before the woman can answer, the dark pool behind them ripples. He swings the flashlight toward it. Something rises slowly from the black water. A second figure pulls itself onto the stone, dripping, half formed. Her body flickers between shadow and flesh, dark liquid trailing from her arms as she steps away from the pool. Her hollow eyes settle on Nellie.
“Hello again, Eleanor,” she says softly.
He stares between the two figures. “Okay. That’s not good.”
Nellie’s concentration wavers slightly for a moment. Two witches, one wearing her mother’s face and the other half-formed beside the pool. Confusion flickers across her expression. But she keeps her hands on the stone, keeps holding the leylines steady. Her voice lowers slightly. “Solene.”
The half-formed witch smiles faintly. “Yes.”
But she isn’t looking at her anymore. Her eyes slowly shift back to the woman wearing Eleanor’s face and something about it doesn’t add up. Her voice tightens. “…Then who the hell are you?”
Jack doesn’t wait for an answer. The moment Solene steps forward from the black pool, he fires. Two sharp shots crack through the cavern. The witch-killing rounds scream through the air, but both women move. Too fast. Eleanor glides sideways with unnatural speed, the bullets shattering rock where she stood. The witch twists out of the way, her half-formed body flickering between shadow and flesh as the rounds pass through empty air.
He mutters under his breath. “Of course.” He adjusts his stance, pistol still trained on them.
Behind him, Nellie stays where she is, hands still flat against the cavern floor. Even as the witches close in. Her eyes are half-closed now, focused on something far deeper than the room around her. The leylines blaze in her mind. Broken rivers of energy. She pulls at them carefully. Thread by thread. Drawing the fractured currents back toward the tear. Stone trembles faintly beneath her palms. The fragments glow brighter.
Solene watches her with a crooked smile. “You think you can mend what we opened?”
He fires again. The shot forces the witch back a step. “Stop talking,” he snaps.
But Eleanor moves toward Nellie now. Graceful. Predatory. He steps between them, firing another round. The bullet grazes her shoulder, but the wound barely slows her. He backs up a step.
“Almost done?” he calls over his shoulder.
She doesn’t answer. Her focus is absolute now. In her mind the tear in the nexus pulses like an open wound. She pulls the broken lines together. The energy resists. Then begins to fold. Just a little more… The cavern floor shudders.
He feels it. “So that’s good, right?”
Solene lunges. He dodges and slams the butt of the pistol into her shoulder, sending her staggering back toward the pool. But Eleanor moves faster. With a violent gesture of her hand, a surge of energy blasts toward Nellie. The force slams into her. Her concentration breaks. She is thrown backward across the stone floor, straight into the dark pool. The water swallows her with a heavy splash.
His heart drops. “NELLIE!”
For a second the pool goes still. Then she bursts back to the surface, gasping. Black water runs down her face as she tries to pull herself toward the edge, but the liquid beneath her moves. Solene rises from the pool behind her. Half shadow, half flesh, and dripping darkness. Her hand shoots out and grabs the girl’s arm.
“Not yet,” she whispers. Then she drags, hard, pulling her back down into the water. It drags her down like tar. Cold and heavy. The witch’s grip tightens around her arm, pulling her back toward the depths of the pool. “Your power belongs to us.”
Nellie’s lungs burn. Something inside her snaps. Her abilities surge outward. She grabs onto Solene the only way she can, psychically. Not flesh or bone, but the thing underneath. And she burns it. A raw, inhuman sound rumbles the water. Her grip loosens instantly as the psychic fire tears through her unstable form.
She rips herself free and scrambles for the edge of the pool, her fingers claw against the stone. She drags herself out, coughing violently as black water pours from her mouth. Her whole body shakes, but she pushes herself up anyway. The fragments still glow faintly where she left them. But that’s when she sees it. A blur moves behind Jack. Eleanor appears beside with unnatural speed. Her hand grabs the back of his head, yanking him upright, and a ritual dagger flashes in her other hand. The blade presses tight against his throat, a thin line of blood appears.
Her hands curl into fists. Her voice breaks into a shout. “Your fight is with me, bitch! Leave him out of this!”
Eleanor smiles. That awful smile.
Nellie spits out her next words. “Let. Him. Go. Aetheris.” The name echoes through the cavern.
For a moment there is silence. Then the woman wearing Eleanor’s face smirks wider. “Well. I was wondering when you’d figure that out.” The voice that answers is no longer trying to sound human. It carries a low, layered distortion beneath it. “Very good, seer.”
Jack feels the grip tighten on his head. His heart pounds.
Aetheris looks almost amused. “I thought using your mother’s face might encourage you to listen. But you’ve always been… stubborn.”
Solene pulls herself slowly from the dark pool behind them, still dripping shadow. Watching. Waiting.
She sighs. “You really shouldn’t have brought someone so… expendable.” Her hand slides down Jack’s arm. CRACK. The sound echoes violently through the cavern. His scream tears out before he can stop it. His arm bends at an impossible angle as the bone snaps.
“JACK!”
He collapses halfway to his knees, choking on the pain. But Aetheris isn’t done. She grabs him by the collar with effortless strength, then throws him, like he weighs nothing. He slams hard into the shattered rubble of the old stone altar. The impact knocks the air from his lungs. He crumples against the broken stone, clutching his ruined arm as pain floods through him. For a moment the cavern spins.
Nellie moves before she even thinks. “Jack!” She runs to him, dropping to her knees beside him. Her hands shake as she grabs his shoulders. “Oh God—”
His face is pale, breathing ragged. His broken arm lies twisted against the rubble.
She rises slowly, like something inside her has just shifted. For a split second she looks back at him. Fear flashes across her face. The sight of his arm twists something deep in her chest. Then she turns and faces them. Aetheris watches with mild curiosity. Solene still stands beside the pool, dripping shadow onto the stone. Neither of them move. They expect panic. Desperation. Instead, she steps forward and drops to one knee. Her palms slam flat against the cavern floor. The reaction is immediate. The leylines beneath the cavern roar to life in her mind. Energy floods into her senses like blinding sunlight. Her body shudders under the weight of it.
Behind her, Jack manages a strained breath. “…Nellie…”
But she’s already pulling, harder than she ever has before. The energy of the nexus surges through her like a storm. Her eyes flash silver. Bright. Unnatural.
Aetheris’s smile fades slightly. “Ah. There it is.”
The air in the cavern begins to hum. Stone vibrates beneath their feet. The dark pool ripples violently. Nellie rises slowly, her hands lifting from the ground. But the energy doesn’t stop. It pours through her. Wild and unrestrained. Her eyes glow like molten silver as she channels the raw force of the nexus.
“You should’ve left him alone,” she says quietly. Her voice trembles. But it isn’t fear. It’s fury.
The being studies her, fascinated. “Interesting.”
Solene steps forward. “Kill her before she—”
The sentence never finishes. A wave of psychic force slams into both women. The blast cracks stone and throws dust into the air. The witch skids backward across the cavern floor. Aetheris barely holds her ground. The broken scrying stone pieces begin to glow. Reacting. Amplifying. Nellie’s power threads through them like lightning through glass.
Jack sees it happening, even through the pain. “…Nellie… wait…”
The circle ignites with pale light. The amplification hits instantly. The cavern explodes with pressure. Her eyes blaze silver as the nexus power floods through her. Her hair lifts slightly in the charged air. Energy crackles through the stone floor beneath her feet.
The being tilts her head. Now she looks impressed. “You’re stronger than I thought.”
Nellie doesn’t answer. She just pulls more power from the leylines and aims all of it directly at them. The power hits them like a tidal wave. Solene screams. The sound is raw, furious, inhuman.
The liquid that forms her body begins to boil, the shadowy substance writhing violently as power tears through it. Her form flickers, then starts coming apart.
“No—!” she shrieks, her voice breaking into static as the dark fluid that holds her together splashes and dissolves across the stone. Her body collapses inward, boiling like tar in a fire. The rage in her voice echoes through the cavern as she disintegrates piece by piece.
Aetheris finally stops smiling. “Enough.” The illusion begins to crack. Eleanor’s face fractures like broken glass, then it peels away. The form beneath it is wrong. Dark. Vast. Something cosmic and ancient barely contained in a human silhouette. Shadow and starlight swirl beneath the surface of her shape like a night sky folding in on itself.
The cavern begins to tremble. Stone cracks and dust rains from the ceiling. The leylines erupt into visibility across the cavern floor, glowing rivers of pale energy streaking through the rock. The nexus is fully awake now. Nellie’s body shakes as she channels it. The power is almost too much for a human body to hold. The tear becomes visible, a jagged fracture in the energy of the earth. Just like Cas said.
Jack tries to push himself up from the rubble. Pain explodes through his broken arm and he collapses again with a groan. “Nell…”
She doesn’t look back. Her focus is absolute now. One hand lowers slowly. Her palm presses flat against the stone. Directly toward the fracture in the leylines. Energy pours from her into the earth. The other hand lifts. Palm up. Facing Aetheris. The power flowing through her becomes a channel. One side feeding the nexus. The other holding the cosmic being at bay.
Aetheris screams. The sound shakes the cavern. “You dare—!” She surges forward, her half-formed cosmic body stretching toward the girl like living darkness, but the force of the nexus slams into her, holding her back.
Nellie’s voice trembles under the strain. “You don’t… get to use me…”
The leylines blaze brighter. The fracture begins to close. The being fights harder. Rage echoing through the cavern as she tries to force her way towards her.
“You belong to me!”
She grits her teeth, her body shaking violently under the power she’s channeling. “No.”
The tear in the leylines starts sealing shut.
“You foolish child!” The cosmic shadow surges forward and reaches her. Her hands clamp around Nellie’s head. Cold. Weightless. Yet impossibly strong. The moment she touches her, the whispers return. A thousand voices slamming into her mind at once.
“Yes. There you are.” Her cosmic form presses closer, shadows spilling around them like living smoke. “I will finish what I started.”
Her vision floods with darkness. Her mind starts to bend under the pressure of something ancient forcing its way into her frequency again. Trying to root itself inside her. Trying to take her. “No.”
“You cannot resist forever.”
Nellie’s hand moves. Blindly. Her fingers close around one of the fragments, sparking the moment she touches it. She energizes it instantly, raw psychic force surges through the shard. Her voice breaks through clenched teeth. “Get—out—” Then she drives her hand forward. Straight into Aetheris.
The energized stone punches through the unstable corporeal form like a blade. The reaction is immediate. She screams. A cosmic, distorted howl that shakes the cavern walls. Her body convulses violently around the stone. The energy burns through her form like lightning through smoke. She writhes, her shadowed shape twisting and collapsing inward as the labradorite tears through the unstable manifestation.
“You—INSIGNIFICANT—”
She pushes harder. The energy floods through the shard. Below them, the fracture in the leylines seals, stitching together completely. The nexus stabilizes.
Aetheris convulses as the connection snaps. Her influence severed. The cosmic form begins unraveling violently, dragged backward toward the dark pool as the tear fully closes. Her scream echoes through the cavern. This time, furious, defeated. “You cannot hide forever, seer—!”
Then the darkness collapses inward and vanishes. The cavern falls silent. The leylines dim. The circle of broken stones goes dark. The world spins as she sways. Her head pounds like something is trying to break its way out of her skull. Blood trails from her nose, running over her lips and down her chin. Thin dark streaks leak from the corners of her eyes where the strain has burst vessels. Everything feels heavy. Her arms. Her chest. Even lifting her head feels like dragging a weight. But she manages it.
Across the rubble, Jack is trying to move, badly. He’s half dragging himself across the stone with one arm, the other held uselessly against his chest. “Nellie…” His voice is strained and breathless.
She blinks, trying to focus. “Jack…” The word barely comes out. The migraine spikes sharply behind her eyes. But she forces herself to move. Slowly. Painfully. She crawls toward him across the cavern floor.
He tries to sit up straighter when she reaches him. His face tightens as the broken arm shifts. “Hey—hey—don’t—”
But she is already reaching for him. Her hand hovers above his arm. Not touching. Just above the break. Her other hand drops to the stone beside them, right where one of the glowing leyline currents runs beneath the rock. Her fingers spread, hooking into the energy.
He sees what she’s doing. His eyes widen immediately. “No. Nell. Don’t—”
Her body begins to shake the moment the energy flows. Her eyes flicker silver again. Her breath catches. Her voice cracks into a sharp cry, but she doesn’t stop. The energy pours through her and into his arm. Bone grinds and shifts beneath the skin.
He gasps through clenched teeth. “Nellie, stop!”
Her whole body trembles violently now. Blood drips faster down her face. But she forces the energy through anyway. The clean break slowly pulls back together. Not fully healed, but enough. The bone knits partially, turning the shattered break into a rough fracture instead. Enough that it won’t shift anymore. Enough that he can move it. Finally, the energy cuts off. She sways hard, her eyes rolling back slightly as her body gives out.
He lunges forward despite the pain, barely catching her before she hits the floor. Panic hits his voice immediately. “Nellie—hey—stay with me.” He shakes as he steadies her against him. Her head lolls against his shoulder, her breathing shallow and uneven. Blood still trails down the side of her face. “Nellie… hey… come on…”
She doesn’t answer.
His chest tightens. He tries to stand, still holding her. Pain explodes through his arm and he nearly drops her. He can’t carry her, not like this. His eyes lift toward the cavern ceiling. “Cas!”
The word echoes through the chamber. For a moment nothing happens. Then the familiar flutter of wings fills the cavern. Castiel appears beside them.
“Jack.”
He looks up at him, relief flooding his voice. “Cas, please. Please just heal her.”
The angel kneels beside them, his expression softening immediately when he sees her. He gently brushes the blood from her cheek with the back of his fingers, but his face tightens with something like regret. “I can’t.”
Jack stares at him. “What?”
He sighs quietly. “When you restored Heaven before leaving… you placed restrictions on the angels.”
“What does that have to do with—”
“We were tasked with not interfering with Earth’s affairs.” His voice is calm, but there’s clear reluctance there. “I am already… bending that rule by coming here and by allowing Dean to visit her.”
His jaw tightens. “But she’s dying.”
Cas shakes his head gently. “No. She’s exhausted. Severely drained. But she is not dying.”
“Cas—”
He places a steady hand on Jack’s shoulder. “What I can do is help you get her out of here.” He looks down at Nellie again. For a moment there is something almost reverent in the way he studies her. “You succeeded. The fracture in the leyline has closed. The connection to the Empty is sealed. Aetheris no longer has influence here.”
The young man exhales shakily, but his eyes never leave his partner.
Cas slides one arm beneath her shoulders and another under her knees. He lifts her gently. Her head falls lightly against his shoulder as he stands. “Come. We need to get her to your car.”
Jack pushes himself to his feet, grabbing both duffel bags with his good hand. Pain still shoots through his arm with every movement. But he ignores it. His eyes stay fixed on Nellie as the angel carries her toward the tunnel. Fear still sits heavy in his chest. They may have stopped Aetheris, but right now, all he can think about is whether she is going to wake up.
• • •
The first thing Nellie notices is the sound. A steady, rhythmic beeping somewhere beside her. Her eyelids feel heavy when she tries to open them. Light pushes through slowly. White ceiling. Fluorescent lights. The smell of antiseptic. She blinks again, trying to focus. Her head still feels thick, like cotton stuffed behind her eyes. The migraine is there, but dulled, distant now. Her body feels weak, shaky, like she just ran a marathon and then got hit by a truck afterward. She shifts slightly. Something tugs at her arm. Her eyes drop. Wires. Monitoring cords taped to her skin. An IV line. Confusion hits instantly.
“…what…” Her voice comes out rough.
She pushes herself up slightly in the bed, panic creeping in before her brain can catch up. She starts pulling the cords off her chest. The monitor beside her screams in protest. BEEP—BEEP—BEEP—
The door swings open. A nurse rushes in. “Ms. Woods—”
Nellie freezes slightly at the name.
The nurse moves toward her carefully, hands raised in a calming gesture. “It’s okay. You’re safe. Please try not to pull those off.”
She looks around the room again, trying to piece together how she got here. Hospital. The cavern. Jack—
“You’re alright,” the nurse says again, guiding her gently back against the pillows. “You gave us quite a scare.”
Nellie’s breathing is still uneven.
“Don’t worry. Your brother is okay. We’ll go get him.” She presses something on the wall panel. “He’s been here the whole time.”
Her brow furrows slightly. Brother?
“Just stay right here, Ms. Woods.” She steps out into the hallway.
She stares at the door, still trying to piece everything together. A minute later it opens again and Jack steps inside. His right arm is in a cast and sling, but otherwise he looks alright. The moment he sees her sitting up, relief floods across his face.
“Jessie.”
The name lands instantly. Alias. But she didn’t care. She runs to him, hugging him like he’d disappear if she let go. He is momentarily surprised at her response, but then returns it as well as he can
“Easy,” he says gently. “We’re okay.”
The nurse helps guide her back to the cot. “There we go. Try not to give us another scare.” She glances at Jack. “You can stay with her.”
“Thank you,” he says quickly.
Once the nurse leaves and the door shuts again, the room goes quiet.
Nellie studies him. “Jessie?”
He shrugs slightly with his good shoulder. “It was the first name I thought of.” He pulls a chair closer to the bed and sits down carefully. “I told them we were hiking and fell into a collapsed mine shaft.”
She blinks slowly. “Creative.”
He smiles faintly. “I had time to practice it.”
She studies his face. “How long…”
“You’ve been out?” He leans back slightly. “Two days.”
Her eyebrows lift. “Two—”
“You scared the hell out of me,” he admits quietly.
She sinks a little deeper into the pillows. “Sorry.”
He shakes his head immediately. “Don’t.”
She looks at his cast. “Your arm…”
He flexes his fingers slightly inside the sling. “It’s okay, thanks to you.”
She winces a little. “That didn’t look like ‘okay.’”
“It would’ve been a lot worse. You fixed the break enough that they just had to set the fracture.”
She nods slowly. “…Is it really over?”
He watches her carefully, then nods. “Cas confirmed it. The fracture in the leyline closed. Aetheris’s influence is cut off from Earth. Added bonus: Solene’s gone.”
The tension in her shoulders finally loosens. A long breath leaves Nellie’s chest. “…Good.”
For a moment they both sit quietly before she adds, “Thank you.”
Jack tilts his head slightly. “For what?”
She looks down at her hands for a second. “For not giving up on me.”
“That’s what friends do. I’m just glad you’re okay and that you don’t have to deal with this anymore.”
She exhales slowly. “Yeah.” Then she groans softly and lets her head fall back against the pillow. “Now we just have to explain this to Sam and Eileen.”
He winces a little. “…Yeah.”
A voice from the corner of the room cuts in. “Easy. Just tell them Jack got into a fight with Nellie and lost badly.”
Both jump slightly. Dean is leaning casually against the wall near the window, arms crossed, looking entirely too pleased with himself. He pushes off the wall and walks over, his eyes sweeping over both of them. The relief on his face is obvious.
“Man,” he mutters. “You two look like hell.”
Jack gives a tired laugh. “That’s fair.”
“I gotta say, I’m pretty damn proud of you two. Especially you.” He points at the young man.
He blinks. “…Me?”
“Yeah, you. You stuck it out with her through cosmic nightmare witch nonsense.”
“Seemed like the right thing to do.”
“Kid, most hunters would’ve run the second someone said ‘cosmic being.’”
He considers that. “That’s fair.”
Dean looks back at his daughter again. “How you holding up?”
She shifts slightly in the bed. “Better. Tired, but better.”
Jack glances toward the door. “The hospital wants to keep her for a couple more days.”
“Good. So… what kind of fake names we working with here?”
He groans slightly. “Don’t.”
“Oh no. This is happening.” He points at Nellie. “Let me guess. Emily.”
She shakes her head. “Nope.”
Jack rubs the back of his neck. “Jessie.”
He freezes then bursts out laughing. “You named her Jessie?”
She looks smug. “I kinda like it.”
He shakes his head, still laughing. “And what’d you go with, huh?”
The young man sighs. “James.”
Dean stares at him. “James.”
He shrugs helplessly. “It was fast.”
The Winchester wipes a hand down his face. “Oh man. I’m never going to let you live that down.”
Nellie snorts. “Absolutely not.”
He finally settles back against the wall again. The joking fades a little. His tone softens. “You two did good. This job? It’s scary sometimes. Doesn’t matter how long you’ve been doing it. And yeah, sometimes you get the crap kicked outta you. But you’re still standing. That’s what counts. I’m proud of you two.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Yeah, thanks, Dean,” Jack adds.
He claps his hands. “Now, let’s talk about how you’re letting Jack drive my car now.”
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