Fighter: Dean Winchester (REVAMPED VERSION)

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The ten-hour drive back to Pontiac, Illinois, was smooth sailing, quiet with only the sound of tires humming against the road. The mystery of Dean's resurrection lingered in the air, heavy and unsettling. Everyone's minds were occupied, wondering what it all meant—hoping for the best, but bracing for the worst.

Especially after Nadia fainted.

Dean was sure Sam had something to do with his return, but deep down, he prayed that wasn't the case. He couldn't even begin to imagine the kind of deal Sam would've had to make to get him back. Dean had already sold his soul for Sam once and paid the price in blood and death. He wouldn't wish that burden on anyone—least of all his little brother.

Bobby felt the same way. Watching Dean die had been traumatic enough. The idea of history repeating itself with Sam was unbearable. They both knew the cost of making deals with forces beyond their control.

The moon hung high in the sky, casting a pale glow over the road. They were two hours out from Pontiac, the night air thick with the weight of their thoughts.

Dean was riding shotgun, his gaze flickering to the rearview mirror every so often. Nadia was sleeping in the backseat, her face peaceful, but there was an underlying tension in the air—something unspoken between them.

"Dean," Bobby's voice broke through the silence.

"Sorry," Dean muttered, fighting a smile as he turned his attention back to the road.

"It's all right. I get it," Bobby said with a chuckle. "You've been gone for four months. Got yourself a new body, a new lease on life. You're probably itching to put your hands back in the cookie jar."

"The cookie jar?" Dean cringed. "Really, Bobby?"

Bobby grinned, amused. "What, are you a prude now?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Never that, old man. I just..." He sighed, staring out the window for a beat. "I'm not looking to put my hand in any damn cookie jars."

Bobby raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh."

"I mean, I want to," Dean admitted with a grimace, "but... it's just bad timing. Things are too fresh, and I respect her too much to drag her into my mess."

"I'm glad to hear that," Bobby nodded, his voice more serious. "After what happened back at the house, I don't think she should be trying to put her hands in your—"

"Stop with the innuendos, Bobby," Dean cut him off, shaking his head. "I get it."

"Good," Bobby smirked. "Glad we're on the same page."

Dean shifted in his seat, then leaned back, eyes narrowing slightly as he turned his mind to something else. "What do you think that was back there anyway? And those pills she's taking?"

Bobby's expression darkened, and he glanced at Nadia in the rearview mirror to make sure she was still asleep. He took a deep breath, knowing this conversation wouldn't be easy.

"I think what happened back there is something that's been brewing for a long time," Bobby said slowly, his voice lowering with the weight of the story he was about to tell.

He exhaled sharply, his mind traveling back in time. "It wasn't even a year after Vanessa, her mother, passed away. Rufus called me one morning, said she was gone. Someone took her in the middle of the night. She was only five. Rufus is one tough son of a bitch, but I've never seen him so shaken up."

Dean leaned forward, his body tense as he hung on every word. "What'd you do?"

Bobby's gaze flickered to the rearview mirror again, his expression grim. "We were gonna call the cops, but I searched her room and found sulfur."