Lottie..⁽⁠⁽⁠ଘ⁠(⁠ ⁠ˊᵕ⁠ˋ⁠ ⁠)⁠ଓ⁠

“Ben, no!” You said, surging forward and grabbing onto his arm. 

He smirked up at you. “Worried about me, doll?” His voice was softer towards you but it held a teasing tone. “I’ll be fine. I’ve seen worse. Hell, I’ve been inside a lot worse fuckin’ places.”

You still had a hold of his arm. “You don’t know that. You don’t know what’s down there,” you tried to reason.

Ben gently peeled your hand off of him. “Don’t worry, doll. I’m the most durable one here.” 

With that he began to climb down the ladder. At the bottom, he found a string of mine lights and flipped them on. The hole was actually a dirt tunnel that stretched out before him. Ben disappeared from sight. 

As you raised your gaze you met Dean’s eyes. They were watching you intently, dark and unreadable, catching every single detail of how your hand had lingered on Ben’s arm—and how quickly you’d rushed to stop him.

He didn't say a word. He just held your gaze for a long, heavy second, his jaw working as he swallowed down whatever bitter comment was clawing its way up his throat. Then, with a cold, dismissive jerk of his chin, he stepped right past you toward the opening of the hatch.

“I’m going down,” Dean grunted, his voice clipped and flat as he grabbed the top rung of the ladder.

“Dean, wait—” you started, reaching out for him out of instinct, but your fingers only caught air. Again.

“Someone’s gotta make sure Rambo doesn’t blow us all to hell,” Dean cut in without looking back at you, swinging his boots onto the rungs and starting his descent into the pale, yellow glare of the tunnel lights below.

You stood at the edge, the knot in your stomach tightening so hard it made you nauseous.

A heavy, warm hand settled gently against the back of your shoulder. You turned to see Beau standing right behind you, his face etched with quiet concern. He wasn't glaring, and he wasn't posturing—he just looked at you with those steady jade eyes, offering a subtle, grounding presence amidst the storm.

“Hey,” Beau said softly, his voice a low rumble meant only for you. “Take a breath, darlin’. We’re right here.”

“He’s pissed at me,” you whispered, staring down into the glowing hole where Dean’s footsteps were fading into the dirt tunnel.

Beau let out a slow, quiet sigh, his thumb rubbing a comforting circle against your shoulder before he slowly withdrew his hand, stepping up to the ladder himself. “Dean’s hurt,” Beau corrected gently, looking down into the hole before meeting your eyes one last time. “And when men like us get hurt, we get stupid. Stay close behind me, alright? I’m right in front of you.”

Beau swung himself onto the ladder and began to climb down into the dim, earth-scented tunnel, leaving you alone on the grass for just a fraction of a second before you forced your feet to follow him down into the dark.

You followed Beau until the tunnel opened up into a medium sized “room” with dirt walls and ceiling, as if someone had just dug it out by hand. You were actually surprised it was as big as it was. On the far wall there was another tunnel, but that one wasn’t lit. Off to the right was what looked like an occult altar. There were lots of candles, bones of small animals from the looks of it, and a large, ancient looking book. There was also a pair of antlers  hung above it. They didn’t look like they were from a deer. Dean was standing there with a piece of paper in his hand. Ben was across the room trying to look down the other tunnel.  

The hanging lights illuminated the room well and as soon as you and Beau stepped in Dean turned and let out a frustrated huff. “Are you fucking stupid, Sheriff?” he snapped. “Why the hell would you bring her down here? We don’t know what the hell’s down here!”

Ben turned and glared at Beau. “The hunter is right. And you left the hatch unattended. Are you trying to get us locked in here to starve? Get her out of here. Right fucking now,” he barked, his tone possessive like Beau was risking his most prized possession. 

Beau glared right back at both of them. “Fine,” he gritted out. “We’ll be right at the top if you need us.”

He turned and led you back the way you came. As you both reached the ladder, the sunlight shone down through the opening brightly. Once you were back up top you paced around the yard near the hatch. You couldn’t calm your nerves— for both the current situation and the fact that Dean was so upset with you.

You kicked at small tufts of grass as you paced back and forth, your breathing shallow and uneven. Every time you glanced at the dark opening of the hatch, a fresh spike of anxiety shot through your chest.

Dean’s furious, snap-jawed tone was still ringing in your ears. He’d looked right through you—like you were a liability, or worse, just someone who’d stomped all over him. And Ben... Ben’s terrifying, possessive authority in that room had set every alarm off in your head, especially after the way he’d laid claim to you in the dark just hours ago.

Beau stepped out of the shadow of the large oak tree he had been leaning against in the yard, letting out a heavy, tired breath. He didn’t try to stop your frantic pacing; he just stood a few feet away, keeping a watchful eye on the surrounding tree line while giving you the space to let off steam.

“He’s not actually mad at you for coming down,” Beau said softly, his deep voice slicing through the frantic loop in your head.

You stopped in your tracks, turning to look at him. “What?”

Beau offered a faint smile, leaning back against the oak tree again and jamming his hands into his pockets. “Dean. He threw a fit at me, but it wasn’t about the hatch or safety. He lashed out because he’s bleeding on the inside, darlin’. A man like that—he doesn’t know how to handle seeing you pull toward someone else. So he turns it into anger. It’s easier for him to be pissed than to be hurt.”

Your stomach twisted into a tight, agonizing knot. “Beau, I didn’t mean to–”

“I know,” Beau interrupted gently, his jade eyes holding yours with zero judgment, only a steady, unwavering warmth. “You’re trapped in a place that doesn’t make sense, without your memories, surrounded by three men who are all trying to pull you in different directions. You’re just trying to survive the night.” He took a slow step toward you, stopping just close enough to offer comfort without crowding you. “Don’t tear yourself apart over Dean’s pride. When he comes back up, he’ll cool down eventually.”

Suddenly, the lights went out in the tunnel. You rushed over to the edge. “Dean! Ben!” you yelled into the darkness. 

Silence. 

You looked up at Beau, your eyes full of panic. Before he had a chance to respond, you heard a curse. Ben. You dropped to your knees at the top of the ladder as if getting closer to the opening would allow you to see anything in the black hole. Finally, Dean called out “We’re fine. We’re coming up.”

A few moments later, Dean emerged, with Ben right behind him. You had taken a step back to allow them to climb out of the hole. You wanted to throw your arms around both of them but Dean had already avoided your touch twice and you didn’t want to hurt him even more by hugging Ben and not him. 

I hate this place! And whoever the hell took my goddamn memories! 

You finally let out the breath you hadn’t even realized you were holding. “What happened?” you asked, looking between them. 

“Dunno,” Dean muttered, eyes not meeting yours. “Lights just went out.”

“Sun’s about to go down. Why don’t we get some dinner and pick this back up in the morning?” Beau offered. 

Ben didn’t say anything, he just slammed the hatch closed and then stalked towards the house. 

“Yeah. Dinner,” Dean said flatly and then he turned and followed Ben inside. 

You looked at Beau and he gave you a sympathetic little nod, before he held his hand out, gesturing that he’d follow you in. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dinner had been tense. Dean grabbed his plate and took it up to his room. Ben had showered and then came down and grabbed a plate and stood at the counter eating, like he couldn’t be bothered to sit at the table with you and Beau. He didn’t look mad necessarily, just on edge. 

Beau on the other hand was steady as ever. He had helped get the food together and offered conversation during dinner even though he could tell your mind was elsewhere. When you were done he took your plate from the table with his own. 

Ben didn’t say much during dinner but his eyes were sharp and always on you and Beau. You wondered if Dean had said something to him. The way Dean was acting you would have thought he caught you fucking Beau in the middle of the kitchen. That thought was short-lived. 

This is your doing. You don’t get to turn it around on him. You chastised yourself. 

You finally excused yourself and went to your bedroom. This time you locked the door and shoved a chair up against it. You didn’t want any visitors tonight. You were exhausted and your chest ached. You curled up in the heavy warm blanket and passed out almost immediately.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~

You squinted against the stripe of sunlight hitting you right in the eyes. You groaned and turned your back to the window. The clock on the nightstand read 8:17 a.m. You laid there for another ten minutes, waking up and trying not to think about Dean but you couldn’t help but wonder if he was still mad. 

You finally forced yourself to your feet. As you moved the chair away from the door you thought about how none of them had tried to come to your room last night. Not even Ben who refused to leave the night before. You were a little surprised. A locked door and a chair couldn’t have kept Ben out if he wanted in. You wondered again if Dean had said something to him about Beau’s embrace in the kitchen. 

You shook your head as if that could clear your thoughts. You padded to the bathroom, completely distracted and wrapped up in your own thoughts; your own little pity party. You opened the door and stepped in before you realized that Beau was in there. He immediately turned his head when you walked in. 

Beau’s wet hair was pushed back. He had a towel slung loosely around his hips, dipping a little lower on one side. The steam clung to his muscular chest and rigid abs. Your breath caught in your throat. After a moment you realized you were staring, mouth slightly agape. “I’m sorry!” you blurted out, turning away. 

“Well, mornin’ to you too, darlin’,” he said and you could hear the smirk in his voice. “Hey,” he said, reaching for your shoulder. “It’s okay, really.”

“No. Uh, I’m sorry,” you said again. “I’ll wait in the hall,” you said before quickly stepping out of the room before he could even reply. 

Your heart was pounding in your chest. 

God, he’s so fucking sexy. 

You shook your head and let out a small snort at yourself.

They all are. They’re the same fucking man, physically. Get a grip!

~~~~~~~~~~~~

After your shower and drying your hair, you stepped back into your bedroom, towel wrapped tightly around you. You opened the dresser and your expression turned to one of pure confusion. There was only one pair of underwear now, it was a thong with lacy sides and a satin crotch. You don’t recall seeing anything that sexy in there before. You opened the other drawers and they were all empty. No shirts, no shorts. Nothing but the single thong. 

What the hell?

You strode over to the closet and it was completely empty too except for a single dress hanging up. It was a cute little yellow sundress with small white flowers on it. The straps tied at the top of the shoulders and the bust had a cute ruching. You frowned. This closet had been full of random clothes since you woke up here. Now, instead of a tshirt the only option you had was a little dress that covered much less and would surely draw extra attention from the guys. 

Goddamn, magic house! 

You glared at the ceiling. “This isn’t funny!” you hissed outloud, hoping that whoever was behind this could hear you. 

There was no response, of course—just the quiet, uncanny hum of the house settling around you.

With a frustrated huff, you grabbed the thong and the sundress. Leaving a towel wrapped around you wasn’t an option with three overly attentive men roaming the hallways, so you didn’t really have a choice. You pulled the lacy fabric on, the smooth silk feeling entirely too delicate against your skin, before slipping the dress over your head.

You reached up to tie the thin straps over your shoulders, trying to pull them tight enough so the ruched bust felt secure, but there was no denying it: the dress fit like it had been tailor-made to highlight every curve. It clung to your waist, exposed a soft curve of cleavage, and flared out softly around your thighs, ending well above your knees. It was bright, airy, and undeniably eye-catching—a complete 180 from yesterday’s t-shirt and jeans.

You grabbed the only other thing out of the closet which was a pair of sandals that had a small white flower on the top to match the dress. They were your size. Of course they were. 

You gave the mirror a bitter glare. The “house” wasn’t just feeding you; it was stirring the damn pot.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, you opened your bedroom door and headed down the hallway toward the kitchen.

The moment your feet hit the hardwood at the bottom of the stairs, the low murmur of conversation in the kitchen cut out completely.

All three of them were in there.

Beau was leaning against the counter, a mug halfway to his lips, fully dressed now in a fitted gray shirt. His jade eyes darkened the second they landed on you, sweeping down the length of the yellow dress before snapping back up to your face. A slow, heavy beat passed before a faint, admiring smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, though he kept his mouth shut.

Ben was sitting on one of the barstools, a plate of eggs in front of him. He froze mid-chew, his dark eyes locking onto the bare stretch of your legs, then tracing up the ruched top to the exposed skin of your collarbones. A low, dark rumble vibrated in his chest as his gaze narrowed, instantly possessive. He set his fork down with an aggressive clack.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” Ben growled, his gravelly voice slicing through the thick silence.

Before you could defend yourself, Dean—who had been standing by the sink with his back turned—swiveled around. His green eyes hit you like a physical force. He choked on his coffee. For a fraction of a second, the cold, distant mask he’d been wearing since yesterday completely shattered, replaced by an intense, heated flare of pure desire that made your skin prickle. But just as fast as his reaction had appeared it vanished, his jaw set into a hard, rigid line. He looked away, turning his back to you again to stare out the kitchen window, his knuckles white against the rim of his coffee mug. Ben glared at his back. 

“The closet was cleared out,” you said quickly, feeling the heat rising all the way up your neck as you stepped into the room. “The dress and a pair of underwear were the only things left in the room. Unless one of you is playing a prank then the house did it.”

Ben let out a harsh, bitter huff, pushing himself up from the barstool and towering over the counter. “So the magic house wants you to parade around in something that barely covers your ass? Bullshit.”

“It’s not bullshit, Ben,” Beau interjected smoothly, though his voice had lost its usual laid-back ease, carrying a sharp, protective edge as he stepped slightly between Ben and your path. “You saw the groceries appear yesterday out of nowhere. Whatever’s running this place is playing games.” Beau’s eyes flicked back to you, softening just a fraction, though the tension in his broad shoulders remained coiled tight. “And I think this one is aimed at me.”

Beau’s eyes met yours. “Darlin’, that is the sundress I mentioned when we were trying to jog your memory. My favorite one that drives me crazy every time you wear it.”

Your breath hitched audibly. 

Dean turned back around again and looked a little longer this time. “Shit,” he muttered. 

Everyone’s eyes shot to him. 

“What?” Beau asked. 

Dean dragged his hand over his stubbled jaw. “That dress. It’s one you have back home. You wore it last time we went to Jody’s lakehouse,” he said, his eyes raking over you before he could stop them. 

Your mouth dropped open but before you could even think, Ben took a step forward. He was still across the kitchen but his glare lightened slightly as he looked at you closer. 

“Fuckin’ Christ. Yeah. It is.”

“It is what?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper. 

“You had one in New York too. I remember it because we got into a fight over it,” Ben muttered. 

“Because you were trying to tell me what I can and can’t wear?” you guessed, raising a brow and challenging him. 

“No.”

You waited.

Silence.

Finally you said, “Well, what then?”

His piercing green eyes locked onto yours. “Because I ripped it off of you and you had to throw it away. After I ruined you just the way you like, you had the nerve to take one look at the dress and get all pissed off at me. Didn’t talk to me for a whole fucking day over that goddamn dress,” he said, voice gravelly.

A shiver ran down your spine at the dark, raw edge in Ben’s voice, the memory—or his version of it—hanging heavily in the air between you. The sheer impossibility of what was happening made your head spin. Three completely different men from three different lives, all recognizing the exact same dress down to the threads.

Beau’s fists clenched at his side, his jaw went rigid, his eyes narrowing at Ben with a dangerous, lethal quiet that proved he wasn’t nearly as passive as he liked to pretend. Beside him, Dean let out a harsh, bitter huff, setting his coffee mug down on the counter with a heavy thud.

“Right,” Dean muttered, his voice dripping with venom as his green eyes swept over you one last time before hardening into steel. “So the house isn’t just giving us food. It’s custom-ordering psychological torture.”

“It’s trying to provoke us,” Beau said firmly, though his voice was tight as he stepped fully into your line of sight, blocking Ben’s intense, possessive stare. He kept his tone steady, looking right at you with gentle, grounded concern. “It knows what pushes our buttons, darlin’. It’s picking at the scab on purpose.”

“Provoke us or not,” Ben growled, taking a slow, heavy step around the kitchen island, his eyes locked onto Beau’s back, “I don’t give a shit. What happened in New York happened. I don’t need a magic house to remind me.”

“Back off, Ben,” Dean barked, his patience finally snapping as he stepped right into the space between Ben and Beau. His chest was heaving, the cold mask completely gone now, replaced by the sheer, volatile frustration of a man at his absolute limit. “We’ve got a hatch sitting out there in the backyard and a house that’s literally dressing her up to turn us against each other. If you want to fall for the bait like an idiot, go right ahead, but I’m not doing this today.”

“Who’s falling for bait, Winchester?” Ben sneered, completely ignoring Dean’s warning as he took another aggressive stride forward, his massive frame towering over the space. “You’re the one sulking around like a kicked dog because she didn’t run to you. And the Sheriff here?” Ben let out a dark, mocking laugh, his eyes fixing on Beau. “He’s just waiting for a turn.”

That was it. The quiet, calm front Beau had maintained all morning vanished in an instant.

Beau spun around, his jade eyes blazing with a sudden, lethal intensity. Before Ben could even finish his smirk, Beau stepped straight into his space, grabbing Ben by the front of his shirt and shoving him back against the kitchen counter with enough force to make the dishes rattle.

“Watch your fucking mouth,” Beau growled, his voice dropping into a low, terrifying rasp you’d never heard from him before.

Ben didn’t even flinch. A dark, dangerous grin spread across his face as his hands slammed onto Beau’s forearms, his knuckles going white as he gripped Beau’s wrists, his posture going rock-hard as he prepared to throw Beau clear across the room. “Touch me again, Sheriff, and I’ll break your arms.”

“Hey! Both of you, knock it the fuck off!” Dean yelled, surging forward to grab Beau’s shoulder and shove himself between the two men before a fist could connect.

“Guys, stop!” you screamed, taking a step back as the raw, suffocating violence in the room peaked.

Before Ben could hurl Beau into the island or Beau could throw a punch, a sharp, heavy metallic CLANG echoed from the back of the house—loud enough to vibrate straight through the floorboards under your feet.

The hatch in the backyard had just slammed shut. Which meant it had been reopened. 

Part 5