Fighter: Dean Winchester (REVAMPED VERSION)

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Finally, Nadia and the boys had a lead. Luther Garland was the key to curing Dean. All they had to do was find his body, burn the bones, and call it a case closed.

With only a few hours of daylight left, and knowing Dean was in no condition to contribute, Nadia suited up to accompany Sam to the sheriff's office.

They hoped to find a file on Garland that included a detailed report on what had happened to him and a list of family members who could point them to where he was buried. Worst-case scenario, he was cremated, and they'd have to come up with another plan.

Nadia was ready, but Dean was a different story. He'd spent the entire drive sitting in the back seat, clutching the edge of his seat with a death grip, his eyes wide with fear as if Sam was driving recklessly.

Sam caught his brother's expression in the rearview mirror and couldn't help but shake his head, a mix of annoyance and concern. He wasn't used to seeing Dean this way—scared, even to the point of being ridiculous. It was irritating, but he appreciated that Nadia was there to display the kind of patience that Sam didn't have the luxury of.

"Maybe we should have left him at the hotel," Sam muttered, pulling into a parking spot on the street.

Nadia closed the visor and adjusted her blazer, glancing back at Dean with a raised eyebrow. "And leave him with his own thoughts? I don't think so. He's better with us. Right, Dean?" she asked, her tone gentle but still playful.

Dean wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans, his nerves almost palpable. "Oh, yeah, yeah," he said quickly, trying to sound fine. "I mean, aside from Sam's horrible driving, I'm feelin' great."

Sam rolled his eyes as he cut the engine. He could barely suppress a smile at his brother's antics.

"We won't be long," Nadia told him, already opening the door. "Stay in the car."

"Oh trust me, I will," Dean gripped the seatbelt like it might save him from the apocalypse.

Nadia turned on the radio, leaving it set to rock hits that might help calm Dean's nerves. Sam and Nadia crossed the street, and Sam shot her a sidelong glance. "How are you so patient with him?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"How could you not be?" Nadia replied with a soft sigh, adjusting her dreads in the wind. "As this sickness gets worse, Dean's going to start remembering more—and maybe even hallucinating about Hell. Or worse, he might already be doing that."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Sam stopped her in her tracks, furrowing his brow. "He said he didn't remember Hell."

Nadia scoffed, her lips curling into a skeptical smile. "You believed him?"

"I mean... I'm giving him the benefit of the doubt," Sam shrugged, though he was clearly uncertain. "But it seems like you've already come to a resolution."

"I'm not saying I'm right," Nadia answered quietly, her tone turning more serious. "But leaving a place like Hell and not remembering any second of it? That's... unlikely. At least to me. Then again, what do I know? I've never been." She paused for a moment, scanning the street ahead. "Come on, we're losing daylight."

Sam grabbed her arm gently, stopping her again. "Hold on, let's say he wasn't telling the truth. That makes him a hypocrite. He can lie to me about Hell, but I can't lie to him about Ruby? How's that fair?"

Nadia's expression shifted, her eyes hardening into a glare. She didn't need to raise her voice for the firmness in her words to come through. "Have you lost your mind?" she asked softly, but the challenge in her voice made Sam gulp.

"Are you really comparing your lie to his?" she continued, voice steady but intense. "If Dean lied about Hell, it's not because he's afraid to tell you. It's because he doesn't want to talk about it. Any normal human being would not want to relive the horrors of that place. You ever think that maybe Dean doesn't want his little brother—the one he souled his soul and went to Hell for—to know that, while he doesn't regret doing it, it's left scars on him that may never heal?"