Fighter: Dean Winchester (REVAMPED VERSION)

αre yoυ тнere God? ιт'ѕ мe deαɴ wιɴcнeѕтer;pαrт ғoυr

"𝔄pocalypse?" Dean repeated, his expression mirroring Sam's disbelief. "The apocalypse, apocalypse? The four horsemen, pestilence, five-dollar-a-gallon-gas apocalypse?"

"That's the one," Bobby confirmed, his voice steady but heavy with the weight of the revelation. "The rise of the witnesses is a mile marker." He glanced at Nadia, noting her oddly calm demeanor. She wasn't surprised by any of this.

"Sorry," she noticed his stare and met his eyes. "I just feel like I've known this was coming. Like I've heard it before. Like someone told me."

Bobby scoffed. "I don't think the apocalypse is something you'd just forget."

Nadia shrugged, a quiet, distant look on her face. "I was born into hunting. My parents practically read me lore before bed every night. Although my mother was more into biblical lore than my dad. Albeit, knowledge is knowledge, no?"

The room fell into a heavy silence as everyone tried to wrap their heads around the gravity of what they were facing. Sam, ever the one to refocus, cleared his throat. "Okay, so, what do we do now?"

Dean, still trying to process the situation with his usual sarcasm, let out a chuckle as he dropped back into his seat. "Road trip. Grand Canyon, Star Trek Experience." He clapped his hands together. "Bunny Ranch."

"First things first," Bobby interrupted, his voice sharp. "How about we survive our friends out there?"

"Great," Dean muttered, "Any ideas aside from staying in this room until Judgment Day?"

Bobby tapped his pencil against the page in front of him. "It's a spell," he said matter-of-factly. "To send the witnesses back to rest. Should work."

Sam chuckled nervously. "Should. Great."

"If I translate it correctly," Bobby continued, his voice tinged with both caution and certainty. "I think I've got everything we need here at the house."

"Any chance you've got everything we need here in this room?" Dean asked, hopeful, glancing around at the weaponry and supplies.

Nadia let out a small laugh, her fingers twisting her dreadlocks into a tight ponytail. "You're cute," she said, eyeing Dean. It was a sign of the apocalypse—luck was the last thing they could rely on now. She turned back to Bobby. "What do we need?"

Bobby stood up and walked toward one of the many arsenals in the room. He pulled out a couple of items, turning them over in his hands. "The spell's got to be cast over an open fire," he said, his voice becoming more focused. "That's the key."

Sam smirked. "The fireplace in the library?"

"Bingo."

Dean groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration. "That's just not as appealing as a, uh, ghost-proof panic room, you know?"

Nadia shook her head. "No. It isn't."

The weight of the situation settled over them. There were few options, and every step they took felt like walking on a knife's edge. The fight was far from over. They couldn't just focus on the immediate threat; these witnesses were only a minor part of something much bigger—a much more dangerous picture.

They gathered their supplies in tense silence, arming themselves with as many salt rounds as they could carry. The urgency of the moment was clear—every move, every second counted.

Nadia finished loading Dean's shotgun with a practiced ease. "Batman," she said with a smirk, tossing the weapon to him.

Bobby handed Dean the spellbook, his expression tight with determination, leaving himself with nothing but his own trusty shotgun. He wasn't taking any chances.