Fighter: Dean Winchester (REVAMPED VERSION)

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"So, let me get this straight," Rufus's voice cut through the sterile quiet of the hospital waiting room. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, trying to process what Sam and Dean had just told him. "She's fainted like this before?"

"Yes. Sort of," Dean replied hesitantly. Both he and Sam sat rigidly across from the Turner family, the tension in the room thicker than the stifling hospital air.

"Sort of?" Irene asked sharply, her voice trembling despite her attempt to sound firm. She perched on the edge of her seat, her knuckles white from gripping the armrests.

"I mean," Dean said, scratching the back of his neck, "she fainted, but her nose didn't bleed, and she didn't pull the whole disappearing-and-reappearing bit. And she definitely didn't stay out this long before."

Rufus ran a hand down his face, exhaustion etched into every line. He hadn't stopped pacing since they'd arrived hours ago, waiting for word on Nadia's condition. "Well, what happened the first time?"

Sam took over, his tone calm but heavy. "Long story short, I had this handprint on my shoulder—left there by the angel that pulled me out of Hell. She touched it, fainted, and later admitted she heard the angel's name."

Irene gasped softly, her hand flying to her mouth.

"And she didn't tell me?" Rufus muttered, his voice low with a mix of anger and guilt. He leaned back in his seat, staring blankly at the floor as though it held the answers he desperately sought.

"I think," Sam said carefully, "she slowly realized the strange things happening to her were linked to being off her meds. She didn't want to come clean until she could figure out what it meant. Honestly, I think she was scared you guys wouldn't believe her. Especially Irene."

The mention of her name made Irene flinch.

Ben, who had been silent until now, turned to his mother with an accusatory glare. "Don't look at me like that, Ben," she snapped defensively, crossing her arms over her chest. "You weren't there when she—"

"You know she'd never hurt you on purpose!" Ben shot up from his chair, his voice cracking with emotion. "No matter how she feels about you, Nadia would lay her life on the line for you. That's just who she is!" 

"Ben—"

"Why couldn't you just hear her out?" His eyes shimmered with unshed tears. "Why can't you two get along?"

Before Irene could form a response, Ben spun on his heel and stormed out of the waiting room.

"Ben!" Irene called after him, her voice laced with regret.

"I'll get him." Dean stood up, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he walked out after the boy. 

He found Ben sitting on a cold metal bench just outside the hospital, his small frame hunched forward, hands clasped tightly in front of him. For a moment, Dean just stood there, watching the kid wrestle with emotions no twelve-year-old should have to deal with.

"This the part where you tell me to cheer up and not to worry?" Ben asked, not looking up.

"Not if you don't want me to," Dean replied, settling into the seat beside him with a sigh. "But I *will* say this—your sister's a badass. She's gonna be fine."

"I know. It's just . . ." Ben hesitated, his voice barely above a whisper. "I've never seen her like that. I've never even seen her have a cold."

"Never?"

"Never. I mean, I know she's not invincible, but . . . sometimes it feels that way. She and my dad come home with these battle scars and these cool stories, and I just . . . I guess I see them as heroes more than humans."