Fighter: Dean Winchester (REVAMPED VERSION)

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Nadia's mind was a storm of thoughts, so much so that the idea of rest felt impossible. Talking to Jo had lightened the load, but she knew the complexity of her situation would only deepen if she confided in anyone else—especially Irene. Jo could accept Nadia's confession at face value because she hadn't been there for all the struggles, but others, like Irene, would only worry and likely push her back onto the meds. She doubted they'd understand that she was doing what she felt was right—not just for herself, but for the world.

It was hard for Nadia to admit, but she felt a duty now—a mission her mother had prepared her for in the most cryptic of ways. None of it made sense, but if she stayed the course, she was certain the pieces would eventually fall into place.

Around three a.m., a restless Nadia finally rolled out of bed to use the bathroom. Her movements were sluggish, the weariness of her mind and body pulling her down, but as she dragged her feet back down the hall toward her room, something caught her eye. The string hanging from the attic door—shorter now that she was older, easily within reach. She hesitated. It had been years since she'd last climbed up there. Maybe, just maybe, it was time.

With a deep breath, Nadia yanked the string, catching the ladder before it could crash to the floor and disturb the silence of the house. The attic had always been her sanctuary, her place of comfort, and a spot where she'd spent countless hours with Vanessa. The memories flooded back, bringing with them both a sense of nostalgia and bittersweet loss.

The attic wasn't dark or creepy like most people might imagine. Thanks to a stained-glass butterfly nightlight Vanessa had gifted her when she was two, the whole space was bathed in a soft, warm glow. It never turned off, never needed batteries, not even the sun. It hung on the wall, its light casting a peaceful ambiance, making the protection symbols on the walls look more whimsical than eerie.

In the corner stood a small desk, still cluttered with old drawings and coloring supplies. Nearby was her snack basket—still filled with Ben's favorites, as it always had been. He often used the attic as a hideaway to clean his knives or read up on lore.

Her chest box sat in the corner, its contents a reminder of her childhood—a collection of old toys and stuffed animals she couldn't part with, even after redesigning her room in a grunge style.

As she sifted through the old drawings, a familiar presence made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

Her eyes flickered upward, and she couldn't help but smile. She knew exactly who it was. Lately, she had been getting better at sensing the people around her, even without looking.

"Looking for me, stud?" she called out, her voice teasing as she turned to face the figure emerging from the shadows.

Dean cleared his throat, trying to hide the smile that tugged at his lips. "If we're gonna do this whole friend thing, you have to stop saying things like that."

Nadia waved him over, her grin widening. "Right. Sorry. I just like seeing you sweat." She raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing up?"

"Midnight munchies," he replied, rubbing his stomach as it gave a loud rumble.

"There are some snacks over there," Nadia pointed to the basket, watching him eagerly make his way to it. He grabbed two candy bars, ripping one open and taking an obnoxiously loud bite as he joined her on the floor.

"What are these?" Dean asked, inspecting the old drawings scattered in front of them.

"They're some drawings I did when I was a kid," Nadia replied, her gaze lingering on each one. She traced her finger over a particularly worn sheet.

Dean leaned in closer, his eyes scanning the pictures. "What's wrong?"

"They're bringing back memories. Like this one." Nadia pointed to a stick figure with poorly drawn wings. "My imaginary fairy-friend."