Fighter: Dean Winchester (REVAMPED VERSION)

yellow ғever; pαrт ғoυr

Chasing after Dean turned out to be more difficult than Nadia had anticipated. She moved quietly through the streets, careful not to spook him. She kept her distance, watching his panicked strides as he wound through the empty sidewalk. His footsteps were frantic, each one quicker than the last, his breath ragged. But it wasn't long before he realized he was being followed, and when he did, he took off with the speed of a startled animal.

Before Nadia knew it, she was sprinting after him barefoot, her heels abandoned on the sidewalk behind her. She barely noticed the chill of the night air against her skin, focused only on Dean, whose frantic escape seemed to pick up speed with every turn.

"Dean! Dean, stop!" She screamed, her voice carrying down the empty streets. She could hear the concerned murmurs of the townspeople as they looked out their windows, but she didn't have time to explain. She just had to get him to stop.

It felt like an eternity before Dean finally slowed to a stop in the town park. Both of them were panting heavily, their breath visible in the crisp October air. Nadia's legs burned from the chase, but she couldn't stop now.

"Dean!" She called again, reaching him. He was leaning against a bench, his back hunched as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders.

Nadia gulped, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. She tossed her heels onto the grass, her frustration with the situation momentarily taking over. "What did you think I was gonna do, kill you?"

Dean's eyes widened slightly, his breath shallow. The thought lingered in his eyes, the ghost of a possibility that he didn't want to acknowledge.

"It's sarcasm, Dean," Nadia clarified, a small but weary smile tugging at her lips as she joined him on the bench. Her legs were sore, and she finally allowed herself a moment of stillness.

Dean didn't move. He kept his gaze fixed on the empty park in front of them, and for a long while, neither of them spoke. Their panting gradually slowed, but the tension in the air remained thick.

"You know you'll be fine, right?" Nadia asked, trying to ease the heaviness that hung between them.

Before Nadia could even turn her head to look at him, Dean raised his hand, blocking her gaze. "Please, don't look at me."

"All right, all right," she surrendered with a sigh, turning her head to keep her gaze forward. "You're still gonna be fine."

"How do you know?" Dean asked quietly, the skepticism heavy in his voice. His pain was palpable, and Nadia felt it deep in her chest.

Nadia shrugged, her fingers brushing against the cool metal of the bench. "I just do. Look, Sam's headed back to the hotel. He's gonna call Bobby, and they'll figure this out. Trust me."

Dean nodded slowly, but there was no real conviction in his movements. His body still seemed tense, his eyes distant.

"You kissed me," he suddenly said, his voice hoarse. He had the faintest smirk on his lips, but his eyes held confusion. "I thought you said we were gonna be friends."

Nadia chuckled softly, her nerves lighting up all over again at the mention of the kiss. She wasn't sure how to explain.

 "We are. I just... I was taking on your very strong feelings in that moment. So, technically, you kissed me. You had that 'I-wanna-kiss-her-so-bad' look on your face, and I acted on it because the ghost sickness wouldn't let you. Not that you would've kissed me if you weren't sick, but—" She waved a hand in the air, suddenly feeling foolish. "You know what? It doesn't matter. It's the empathy thing. You wouldn't understand. So, let's just forget about the kiss, okay?"