The living room was a mess of papers, photographs, and old receipts, spread out across the coffee table like pieces of a puzzle that refused to fit together. The air was thick with the scent of burnt wood and the lingering traces of Bobby's old books. A single lamp in the corner provided the only light, casting long shadows across the room.

Ali sat cross-legged on the floor, sifting through yet another stack of documents, eyes scanning over them with an intensity that made her head throb.

Dean was leaning back on the couch, flipping through a folder half-heartedly. "This is getting us nowhere," he muttered, tossing it onto the table with a sigh.

Sam, on the other hand, was still focused, studying a map of locations where Tyler had allegedly been spotted.

The creak of floorboards announced Bobby's arrival before they saw him, carrying a pot of coffee in one hand and a set of mismatched mugs in the other. "Figured you idjits could use a break."

Dean sat up immediately. "God, yes." He took the pot and poured himself a cup before handing it off to Sam. Bobby set the mugs down and took a seat in the old armchair by the fireplace.

Ali, however, didn't even glance up, continuing to flick through the photos in front of her, lips pressed into a tight line.

Dean noticed. "Ali," he said, voice firm. "Take a break."

She ignored him, flipping to the next page.

Dean sighed, rubbing his face with his hand. "Seriously, you're gonna fry your brain if you keep staring at those all night."

Ali shook her head. "We've barely got anything. We don't even know if he's really alive." Her voice was edged with frustration. "And if he is, we don't know why he hasn't come back. Or why he's been ghosting every lead we get."

Sam took a slow sip of his coffee, eyes still on the papers in front of him. Then, something caught his attention. He frowned, reaching for a stack of photos.

"Hey… this is weird."

Dean raised a brow. "What?"

Sam shuffled through the pictures, lining them up on the table in order. "Look at this."

Ali leaned in, her irritation momentarily forgotten.

Sam tapped the photos. "These were taken at different gas stations, right? Over the past six months?"

Ali nodded. Dean glanced at the images. "Okay…?"

Sam pointed to each one in turn. "In every single picture, he's drinking a can of Dr Pepper."

Ali frowned, her brain already searching for the significance. "Dr Pepper?"

Sam nodded. "At least seven different images, different locations, but he's always holding a can of it."

Dean snorted. "What does that mean? He's thirsty?"

Ali shot him a glare. Sam shook his head. "Doesn't that seem weird to you?"

Dean shrugged. "Some people have a favourite drink."

Ali exhaled sharply, pushing away from the table and running a hand through her hair. She was getting overwhelmed. "This isn't getting us anywhere."

Dean, watching her carefully, narrowed his eyes. She was off. She'd been off since they started this. He couldn't put his finger on it, but she was holding something back.

He let it go, for now.

Sam continued studying the photos while Ali rubbed at her temples, frustration creeping into her posture. Bobby watched her with quiet concern, but he didn't say anything.

Finally, Ali pushed to her feet. "I'm gonna turn in." Her voice was tight, exhausted. "You guys keep looking if you want."

No one stopped her as she turned and made her way upstairs, disappearing into the dark hallway. Dean and Sam exchanged a glance.

"She's not telling us something," Dean muttered, drumming his fingers against his knee.

Sam sighed, looking back down at the photos. "Yeah," he agreed. "I know."

The night was heavy with silence, the only sound the faint rustling of trees in the cold wind. Inside her room, Ali moved with careful precision, slipping into her jacket and pulling her bag over one shoulder. She reached under the bed, fingers curling around the weight of The Colt, tucking it into the waistband of her jeans. Her pulse was steady, but her mind was racing.

The photos. The stupid, seemingly insignificant detail that neither Sam nor Dean had understood.

Dr Pepper.

Tyler hated Dr Pepper.

It was the kind of detail that only she would notice. A subtle, deliberate clue—one that wasn't meant for anyone but her. And that meant only one thing: Tyler was reaching out to her. Not to Sam, not to Bobby, not to Dean. Just her.

And if that was the case, then she wasn't about to sit around waiting for more breadcrumbs. She was going to follow the trail, whether they liked it or not.

She padded down the hallway, avoiding the creaky floorboards out of sheer muscle memory. Years of sneaking around Bobby's house had made her a master at silent getaways. With one last glance toward the closed bedroom doors of Sam and Dean, she slipped downstairs, holding her breath as she moved.

The cold hit her as soon as she stepped outside, but she ignored it. The garage loomed ahead, its metal door slightly ajar from earlier that day. She eased inside, her boots crunching lightly against the gravel floor.

Sliding into the driver's seat of her car, she exhaled, gripping the wheel. She could do this. She had to do this.

But then—

"Where are you heading off to?"

Her breath caught in her throat as she whirled around, her heart slamming against her ribs.

Dean.

He was sitting in the backseat, arms folded over his chest, watching her with the casual ease of someone who'd been expecting this.

Ali let out a slow breath, pressing a hand against her chest. "You scared the crap out of me."

Dean didn't move. "Yeah, well. You're sneaking out of the house with a gun tucked in your pants, so I'd say we're even."

She clenched her jaw, already knowing she'd been caught red-handed. For a second, she debated making up some excuse—anything to throw him off. But she could tell by the way he was looking at her that there was no point.

"Get out of the car," he said.

Ali stayed put for a moment, fingers tightening on the steering wheel. But Dean didn't move, didn't look away.

Finally, with an annoyed sigh, she shoved the door open and climbed out. Dean followed, shutting the door behind him, standing between her and the garage exit.

"What the hell are you thinking?" His voice was calm, but there was an edge underneath it.

"I have to do this, Dean."

"Don't give me that," he shot back. "You don't have to do anything. What you do have to do is stop acting like an idiot."

She scowled. "You don't understand—"

"You're right," he interrupted. "I don't understand. So why don't you explain it to me?"

Ali pressed her lips together, the weight of her brother's clue heavy on her mind. The truth was, she couldn't explain it to him. If she did, Dean would never let her go.

Dean studied her, his expression darkening. "This is about the Dr Pepper thing, isn't it?"

She stayed silent.

His jaw ticked. "Ali, what the hell does it mean?"

Still, she didn't answer.

Dean huffed out a breath, shaking his head. "Fine. Keep your secrets. But you're not going anywhere, and you're sure as hell not taking this with you."

He held out his hand.

She frowned. "What?"

"The Colt," he said firmly. "Hand it over."

Ali instinctively placed a hand over the gun at her waistband, stepping back slightly. "No."

"Ali." His tone dropped, all teasing gone. "I mean it."

"You gave it to me," she argued. "You can't just take it from me."

Dean raised a brow. "You really wanna test me on that?"

She exhaled harshly, but the look on his face told her he wasn't backing down.

Grumbling under her breath, she pulled the gun from her waistband and held it out. Dean took it, flipping it around in his grip before tucking it into his own jacket.

"Good girl."

She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. "This is so unfair."

Dean scoffed. "Oh, unfair? You're sneaking out in the middle of the night, alone, with no backup, no plan, and you're pissed at me?" He let out a humourless laugh. "Do you ever stop to think about what would happen if you got yourself killed?"

Ali's shoulders tensed, but she didn't respond.

Dean ran a hand down his face, frustration thick in his voice. "Look, I get it. I do. You wanna believe your brother's alive. But you don't get to do this alone. You don't just get to run off and not tell us where the hell you're going."

She clenched her jaw, looking away.

Dean exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Go back inside."

Ali scowled. "Dean—"

"No," he cut her off. "I won't tell Sam or Bobby what you did tonight if you promise not to pull this crap again."

Ali glared at him, jaw tight, but she knew she had no choice. "…Fine."

Dean nodded. "Good. Now get inside before I change my mind."

She sighed, annoyed, but turned on her heel and stalked back toward the house.

As she reached the back door, she hesitated.

She glanced over her shoulder.

"…Can I have the Colt back?"

Dean gave her a look. "Not a chance."

She huffed, pushing open the door and slipping back inside. Dean remained where he was, watching her go. Once the door clicked shut, he sighed, running a hand through his hair.

There was something she knew that she was holding back. And whatever it was, it was big.

The morning came too quickly.

Ali had barely gotten a few hours of sleep—not that she'd really slept at all. She'd spent most of the night staring at the ceiling, mind racing, thoughts tangled in frustration, doubt, and something dangerously close to hope.

Tyler is alive.

She hated how those words echoed in her head, how they clawed at the walls she had built over the years. If she let herself believe it—even for a second—it would unravel everything.

Ali trudged downstairs, her body still heavy with exhaustion. Her mind was still racing from last night, from the argument with Dean, from the weight of everything she'd learned.

She stepped into the kitchen, rubbing a hand over her face.

Sam was there, standing at the counter, pouring himself a cup of coffee. He glanced up when she entered.

"Morning," he greeted.

Ali grunted in response, moving toward the coffee pot. As she poured herself a cup, she stole a quick glance around.

"Where's Dean?"

Sam took a sip of his coffee, leaning against the counter. "He and Bobby went out early. They'll be gone for a few hours."

Ali nodded, absently stirring her coffee. She studied Sam carefully—his posture was relaxed, his expression neutral. That meant Dean hadn't told him about what happened last night.

Good.

She hesitated, then took a deep breath. "Sam… I need your help with something."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "With what?"

Ali set her cup down, meeting his gaze. "I need you to summon Ruby."

Sam's brows furrowed, his face immediately guarded. "Ali…"

"I just need to talk to her," she said quickly. "That's all. I need answers, and I think she might have them."

Sam shook his head. "I don't think she knows anything."

"Well, I need to hear that from her," Ali pressed. "And we can't do it with Dean and Bobby here. You know how they'd react."

Sam let out a long sigh, looking conflicted. "Ali—"

"Please, Sam."

He exhaled through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck. Ali could see the hesitation written all over his face—but she could also see something else.

Understanding.

Because as much as Dean and Bobby didn't trust Ruby, Sam did, at least to an extent. And he definitely understood what it was like to need answers that nobody else could give.

Finally, after a long moment, Sam gave a reluctant nod. "Alright."

Ali let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "Thank you."

They moved outside to the yard. The wind was cold against Ali's skin, but she barely noticed. Sam knelt, drawing the symbols in the dirt, his movements practiced and efficient.

Ali stood by, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, anticipation twisting in her gut.

Sam muttered the incantation under his breath, the words low and steady.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then the air shifted.

A sudden gust of wind kicked up the dirt around them. Ali braced herself, her breath hitching.

The symbols in the dirt glowed faintly before flickering out. The wind shifted again, and then, suddenly, Ruby was there.

She stood before them, her arms crossed, blonde hair tousled by the breeze, wearing an infuriating smirk.

"Well," Ruby said, cocking her head, her eyes landing on Sam first. "If it isn't my favourite Winchester. Miss me?"

Sam exhaled sharply, unimpressed. "Ruby."

Then her gaze flicked to Ali, the amusement deepening. "And you."

Ali didn't waste time. She took a step forward, her jaw tight. "You know why I called you."

Ruby raised a brow. "Do I?"

Ali crossed her arms, her fingers gripping her sleeves. "Demons talk, Ruby. And you—whether you like it or not—are still a demon."

Ruby smirked. "And yet, here you are, summoning me for answers. Again." She let out a breathy chuckle, shaking her head. "You Winchesters are so predictable."

Sam shot her a warning look. "Cut the crap, Ruby."

Ali held her ground. "I need to know about my brother."

Ruby studied her, that knowing glint still in her eyes, but there was something else there too—something calculating.

Finally, she sighed. "Look, I don't know much, alright? Just rumours, bits and pieces."

Ali narrowed her eyes. "Then start talking."

Ruby exhaled, rolling her shoulders. "Fine. I knew the demons who attacked your brother."

Ali's stomach twisted. "You knew them?"

Ruby nodded. "Oh yeah. Mean sons of bitches. But here's the thing—they weren't acting alone."

Sam frowned. "What do you mean?"

Ruby glanced at him, then back at Ali. "They were working for someone. Some other demon."

Ali's chest tightened. "Who?"

Ruby shook her head. "That part, I don't know. But I do know one thing."

Ali's grip on her arms tightened. "What?"

Ruby gave a dry chuckle, shaking her head like she almost couldn't believe it herself. "Whoever this demon was… they were scared of Tyler."

Ali's breath caught.

Sam stiffened beside her. "Scared of him?"

Ruby nodded. "Paranoid. Thought your brother had something. Some kind of weapon."

Ali felt the blood drain from her face. "The Colt."

Ruby smirked faintly. "That'd be my guess."

Ali shook her head, her thoughts racing. "That's not possible. Tyler never had the Colt."

Ruby raised a brow. "Well, guess the demons never got the memo."

Ali opened her mouth, then closed it, trying to make sense of it.

Sam took a step forward. "Ruby—do you know where Tyler is?"

Ruby sighed, and for the first time, the teasing edge in her voice faded. "No."

Ali's chest felt like it was caving in. "Are you sure?"

Ruby met her eyes, and for once, there was no deception there. "If I knew, I'd tell you."

Ali stared at her, trying to read her, but Ruby just held her gaze. She wasn't lying.

Sam exhaled, rubbing his temples. "So that's it? That's all you've got?"

Ruby tilted her head. "Hey, I never said it'd be a goldmine. But if I were you, I'd start asking why some demon was terrified of your brother. And why they thought he had the one gun in existence that could kill them."

Ali swallowed hard. "If Tyler never had the Colt, then why—" She cut herself off, her mind spinning.

Ruby gave her an almost pitying look. "That's your mystery, sweetheart."

Then, in an instant, she was gone.

The air fell still again.

Ali stood frozen, her breath coming in shallow bursts.

Tyler. The Colt. The demons.

Something wasn't adding up.

And she was going to find out what.

Dean pushed open the door to his room, rubbing a hand over his face. He was exhausted. The hunt earlier had been a bust, and all he wanted was a few hours of sleep before dealing with whatever new crisis came next.

But the second he stepped inside, his tiredness evaporated.

The room was a mess.

His duffel was overturned, clothes and weapons scattered across the floor. The drawers of his nightstand were yanked open, their contents strewn about. Even his mattress was shifted slightly, like someone had checked beneath it.

And in the middle of the wreckage stood Ali, rifling through his things with frantic energy.

Dean's blood ran hot.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Ali didn't even flinch. She just turned, her eyes burning with frustration, her hands still mid-search.

"Where is it?"

Dean's jaw tightened. "Where's what?"

Ali let out a bitter laugh, throwing one of his t-shirts onto the floor. "Don't play dumb, Dean. The Colt. Where the hell is it?"

Dean's stomach sank, but he kept his expression guarded. "Not a chance, kid."

Ali's hands balled into fists. "Give it to me."

Dean took a step forward, his voice firm. "Not happening."

Ali shook her head, her breathing shallow, her whole body thrumming with tension. "Dean, I need it."

"No," Dean snapped, his patience thinning. "You want it. Big difference."

Ali's eyes flashed. "That's bullshit and you know it."

Dean exhaled sharply, trying to rein in his frustration. "You're being reckless, Ali. If you think I'm handing over the one gun that can kill anything to someone who's running on pure emotions, you've lost your damn mind."

Ali stormed past him, heading straight for the door.

Dean turned, dread pooling in his stomach as he saw exactly where she was heading.

"Ali—"

She didn't stop. She hit the stairs and took them two at a time, heading straight for the front door, her target clear.

The Impala.

Dean's heart kicked into high gear.

"Ali, don't you dare—"

She yanked open the door, stepping onto the porch.

Dean was right behind her, practically lunging.

"If you even think about touching Baby," he warned, his voice a lethal growl, "I swear to god, I will lose my shit."

Ali spun to face him, her breath coming fast, her chest rising and falling. "Then give me the damn gun!"

Dean clenched his fists at his sides, his teeth grinding together. "That's not how this works!"

Ali let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through her hair. "God, Dean, you are so stubborn!"

"Yeah? Well, right back at you, kid!"

"Damn right I am!" she fired back, stepping closer, her face a storm of frustration and barely contained hurt. "Because unlike you, I actually give a shit about finding my brother!"

The words hit like a punch to the gut and the entire house seemed to go silent.

Dean went still, his jaw tightening, something flickering in his eyes—something hurt.

"Allison."

Bobby's voice cut through the tension like a blade.

Ali blinked, the heat of her anger faltering slightly. She turned her head, seeing Bobby standing just inside the doorway, arms crossed, his face unreadable but his eyes sharp.

Bobby rarely used her full name. Ali swallowed, her chest still heaving.

Dean just let out a short, humourless chuckle, shaking his head. "It's alright, Bobby." His voice was tight, guarded. "She didn't mean it."

Ali opened her mouth, but no words came.

Dean turned back to her, his expression unreadable. "You're hurting. I get it."

Ali looked away, her nails digging into her palms, shame creeping in beneath her anger.

Bobby exhaled, shaking his head before looking between them both. "Enough." His voice left no room for argument. "Both of you—inside. Now."

Ali didn't move at first, still feeling the adrenaline burning in her veins, still wanting to fight.

But she saw Dean's face—saw how he wasn't fighting back. How, for once, he looked tired.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and turned away, stepping back inside.

Dean followed, the air between them thick with everything left unsaid.

The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air as Ali carefully set down the steaming mugs on the kitchen table. Sam muttered a quiet thanks, taking his cup and cradling it between his hands as he continued to pour over the notes and papers spread before him. Bobby took his own with a nod of appreciation, sipping it without a word as he flipped through an old journal.

Ali hesitated, gripping the last cup in her hands. She took a slow breath, steadying herself before stepping out of the kitchen and heading toward Bobby's study.

Dean was sitting at the desk, shoulders hunched, deep in thought. Photographs of Tyler were spread out in front of him, the dim lamp casting a soft glow over the faded images. His fingers tapped absently against the wood, his brow furrowed.

Ali hesitated in the doorway, suddenly unsure. But she swallowed her doubt and stepped forward, placing the coffee on the table beside him.

Dean didn't look up. "Thanks," he muttered, his voice distracted.

Ali lingered.

"I'm sorry," she said softly.

Dean's hand stilled on the desk. He finally looked at her, his green eyes flickering with something unreadable before he nudged a chair out with his foot.

Ali took the silent invitation and sat down.

A long silence stretched between them, thick with the weight of everything unspoken. Dean took a slow sip of his coffee, waiting.

"Tyler hates Dr Pepper," Ali finally admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Dean glanced at her, interest piqued. He took another sip. "Go on."

Ali exhaled, leaning back slightly. "Me and Tyler used to have this treehouse when we were kids," she said. A small, distant smile ghosted across her lips before fading. "My dad built it for Tyler before I was born. The inside was covered in stickers."

Dean nodded, listening.

"There were hundreds of them," she continued. "Me and Tyler collected them over the years—stuck them all over the walls." Her eyes grew distant, lost in the memory. "But there was one that was my favourite."

Dean set his cup down. "Dr Pepper," he guessed.

Ali nodded. "It was this stupid little sticker, all red and faded. I don't even know why I loved it so much, but I did. Tyler thought it was funny because he hated Dr Pepper. Every time I drank one, he'd make a face." She let out a quiet breath, her fingers tracing patterns on the desk's surface.

Dean studied her for a moment. "You think Tyler wants to meet you at your old treehouse?"

Ali shook her head. "It's not there anymore," she explained. "Got torn down years ago." She took a slow breath. "But I think he's saying to meet him at our old house."

Dean processed this, rubbing a hand across his jaw before nodding. "Alright. Then we'll all head out first thing in the morning."

Ali stiffened. Guilt twisted inside her, but she forced herself to meet his gaze. "No," she said. "I have to go alone."

Dean's frown deepened instantly. "Like hell you do."

"Dean—"

"No," he cut her off firmly. "That's not happening, Ali. You are not walking into this alone. We don't even know if it's him. Hell, we don't know what we're walking into at all."

Ali clenched her jaw, her heart pounding. "I'm sorry, Dean," she whispered.

Dean's expression darkened. "Ali, don't—"

Then he wavered.

His breath hitched slightly, and he blinked, suddenly struggling to focus. He brought a hand to his temple, rubbing it as his vision blurred.

"What—" he started, his voice sluggish, his limbs heavy.

Ali took a step back, guilt twisting in her gut. "I'm sorry," she repeated.

Dean's head jerked toward her, his eyes sharp despite his fading strength. "Ali… what did you do?"

She glanced down at the coffee.

Dean's stomach dropped. His heart pounded sluggishly in his chest as realization set in.

"Ali," he slurred, trying to push himself up. The chair scraped against the floor as he staggered to his feet, but his legs barely held him. "Don't do this."

Ali turned away.

Dean forced himself to move, but his body felt like lead. He stumbled into the hallway, vision swimming.

That's when he saw Sam.

His brother was slumped on the floor, coffee spilled beside him, his long frame sprawled unnaturally.

Panic surged through Dean's veins. His legs gave out, and he caught himself against the wall, his breathing uneven.

His gaze darted toward the living room—Bobby was in his armchair, motionless, the empty coffee cup still balanced on his knee.

Ali kept walking, her footsteps echoing through the house.

Dean's fingers curled weakly against the wooden doorframe. His heart pounded, but it was sluggish, the drug dragging him down.

"Ali…" His voice was barely above a whisper now.

Ali didn't stop.

Dean tried to push himself forward, but the world tilted violently. His knees buckled, and he hit the ground hard.

The last thing he saw before his vision went black was Ali's silhouette vanishing through the doorway.

A deep, throbbing pain pulsed behind Dean's eyes as consciousness clawed its way back to him. His body felt sluggish, as if he were wading through thick tar. The world was muffled, distant, his brain slow to catch up.

Then—his senses snapped into focus.

Something was wrong.

He groaned, muscles protesting as he pushed himself upright. His vision blurred before sharpening just enough to see Sam slumped against the couch, his long limbs tangled awkwardly, a cold cup of coffee spilled beside him. Bobby was still out in his chair, his head tipped forward, breathing steady but heavy.

The sight sent a cold rush of adrenaline through Dean's veins. His gut twisted.

Then it hit him. The coffee.

"Son of a bitch," Dean rasped, rubbing his face as he forced himself onto his feet. His limbs still felt sluggish, but he shook it off. He stumbled over to Sam, grabbing his brother's shoulder and shaking him roughly.

"Sam, wake up."

Sam groaned, his face scrunching up in confusion as his eyes fluttered open. "Wha—?" He blinked sluggishly at Dean, still groggy, his brain clearly struggling to catch up.

Dean scowled, frustration curling hot in his chest. "She drugged us," he growled, voice rough. His mind raced. Ali. Damn it, Ali.

Sam forced himself upright, rubbing a hand over his face. "What?"

"The coffee." Dean's jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists. "She—" He inhaled sharply, shaking his head. "It was off. Bitter in a way I know."

Realisation dawned on Sam's face, and his expression darkened. "Dream root," he said, his voice laced with disbelief.

Dean exhaled sharply. "Yeah. That little—" He cut himself off, shoving a hand through his hair. His pulse pounded in his ears.

Bobby stirred then, muttering as he shifted in his chair. His eyes cracked open, then suddenly jerked awake. He shot a sharp look at the two brothers. "What the hell—?"

Dean turned on him, jaw tight. "Ali knocked us out."

Bobby's face hardened. "Goddamn it." His gaze flickered toward the clock. He inhaled sharply, his expression darkening. "We've been out for hours."

Dean swore under his breath. His heart pounded like a war drum. She had a damn good head start.

Not wasting a second, he turned on his heel and stormed toward the study.

"Dean, where are you—" Sam started, but Dean ignored him.

He knelt down, yanking up the loose floorboards in the corner of the room, his hands moving fast. His fingers scraped against the cool metal of The Colt, and relief flooded through him as he pulled it out.

Ali hadn't found it. But that relief was quickly drowned out by something heavier.

Worry.

Fury.

Sam had followed him. His voice was quiet, but concerned. "So she's gone in there unarmed? That doesn't make any sense."

Dean exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. "Yeah, well, nothing about this makes any damn sense," he muttered, but his voice wasn't just angry—it was laced with something rawer.

Something close to fear.

Then—a noise.

Low. Muffled. Coming from below.

Dean's eyes snapped toward Bobby, whose face was already set in a grim expression. Sam immediately went for his gun.

They didn't need to say anything. Instinct had already taken over.

Moving quickly, they headed toward the basement door. Dean led the way, movements tight, shoulders rigid with tension. His heart was pounding again, for an entirely different reason.

The steps creaked beneath their weight as they descended into the dim basement. The air was thick, stale, carrying the unmistakable scent of dust and something faintly metallic.

Then—they saw her.

Ruby.

Standing in the middle of a devil's trap, her arms crossed, her face unreadable.

Dean stilled.

His jaw clenched so hard it ached. His grip on The Colt tightened. "Oh, great." His voice was low, razor-sharp. "Just what I needed today—demonic scum in my basement."

Ruby smirked. "Good to see you too, Dean."

Dean's patience was already razor-thin, and she was pushing it closer to the edge. "What the hell are you doing here?" His voice was edged with barely contained fury.

Ruby cocked her head slightly. "Ali," she said simply. "She summoned me. And then trapped me."

Dean's scowl deepened. Damn right she did.

"Why?"

Ruby exhaled, her smirk fading slightly. "She wanted information. She's looking for Tyler. Thought I might know something useful." There was a beat as Ruby huffed. "And she wanted my knife."

Dean's stomach twisted. His grip on the Colt was white-knuckled.

"You helped her?" His voice was low, dangerous.

Ruby gave a small shrug. "Didn't have much of a choice." Her smirk returned, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "She threatened to exorcise me."

Bobby let out a low whistle. "Damn kid's got guts," he muttered.

Dean hated that he agreed.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand over his jaw, his frustration a wildfire beneath his skin. "And you just handed over your knife?"

Ruby smirked. "I like existing, Dean."

Dean ground his teeth. "Son of a—"

"Do you know where she went?" Sam asked, cutting through the tension, his voice strained with worry.

Ruby shook her head. "She didn't tell me." A pause. Then, thoughtfully, "But I got the feeling she already knew where she was going before she even called me."

Dean's breath hitched. A sinking feeling settled in his gut.

He knew exactly where she was heading.

"I know where she's going." His voice was quiet, but firm.

Sam and Bobby turned toward him.

"Where?" Sam asked.

Dean exhaled sharply, pressing a hand against his forehead before meeting their eyes.

"Home."

A heavy silence fell. Then, like a switch had flipped, the three of them moved fast.

Dean stormed up the stairs, his body running on instinct. Get to the car. Now.

Sam hesitated, glancing back at Ruby.

"She's useless," Dean snapped over his shoulder. "Let's go."

Sam exhaled sharply before dragging his boot over the devil's trap.

Ruby smirked as the invisible hold on her vanished. "See you around, Sammy," she said before disappearing.

Sam barely acknowledged it, already sprinting after Dean.

The Impala's tires screeched against the gravel as Dean floored it. His grip on the wheel was tight, his knuckles white. His pulse was roaring in his ears.

Sam and Bobby sat in silence, the weight of the situation pressing heavy over them.

Then—Dean saw it.

Something had been written in the condensation of the windshield.

Don't follow me.

His jaw clenched. He almost laughed at the irony of it.

Too bad, kid.

"We're coming for you," he muttered under his breath. He pressed harder on the gas, the Impala roaring into the night.

AN: Hope you enjoyed that chapter! Things are starting to spiral...

Next up, Ali finally gets some answers... and a whole load more questions!

Let me know what you thought xx