Fighter: Dean Winchester (REVAMPED VERSION)

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Sam parked the car in front of Lucky Chin's, the engine dying with a soft hum as he shifted into park. The air was thick with tension. Sam and Nadia exchanged a glance before they all got out of the car.

Wes, still reeling from what he had seen, lingered behind for a moment, his eyes distant, lost in thought.

"That—that kid turned over that car like—like it was nothing," Wes muttered, his voice laced with disbelief.

Nadia let out a quiet laugh, though it lacked its usual warmth. "You should've seen the teddy bear," she replied, her tone light but her mind far from amused. Wes didn't seem to hear her—his mind was too focused on the chaos he'd just witnessed.

Sam motioned toward the sidewalk, trying to push the situation forward. "Come on," he urged, his voice firm. "Fun's over. Time to pull the coin."

Wes hesitated. His eyes flicked to the ground, then back to the car, uncertainty clouding his face.

"Wes!" Nadia's voice cut through the silence, sharper this time.

Wes blinked, frustration bubbling over. "Why can't we just get what we want?!" he yelled, his voice shaking with anger and helplessness. "Why does everything have to go wrong?"

Nadia felt a pang of empathy, something in his tone reminding her of the frustrations she'd buried long ago. His pain was raw, something she recognized all too well.

But as she opened her mouth to speak, something shifted. There was an unseen force tugging at her, an ancient, undeniable pull. Her voice, when it came out, was steadier than it should have been—too steady, too calm. "Because that's just life, Wes," she said, the words slipping from her lips with an ease that didn't quite feel like her own. "And—"

Before she could finish, a dark cloud suddenly formed above them. It was unnatural, looming ominously, as if it had no business being there.

"Sam!" Nadia gasped, her words catching in her throat.

A bolt of lightning shot from the sky, striking Sam with a violent crack that split the air. He dropped to the ground instantly, lifeless.

"No, no, no!" Nadia screamed, rushing to his side. She pressed her fingers to his neck, feeling for a pulse. There was nothing. Her breath hitched in panic. "Who the hell would do this?" The words slipped out, half a question and half a curse, but as soon as she said them, a chilling image flashed in her mind—Hope's face, her expression distant and cold.

Nadia's gaze darted toward the restaurant. She saw Hope inside, standing near the wishing well, an eerie stillness about her. The pieces fell together in a rush, and Nadia's stomach twisted with dread.

"Listen to me," she said, turning on Wes with a sudden intensity. Her hands gripped his collar, pulling him closer to her. There was an undeniable pressure in her words, like they were coming from somewhere deeper than her own mind. Something inside her was working, without her even realizing it. "You are not the only person in the world suffering, and you won't be the last. You will fix this, and no, you don't have a choice."

Wes stared at her, his expression flickering with confusion, but something in her voice—the certainty, the command—seemed to make him pause. He opened his mouth to argue, but she didn't let him. "Shut up," she snapped, her voice low, colder than she intended, but it held him in place. She shoved him toward the door, her forceful grip guiding him forward. "We're going in. Now."

Wes, shaken, followed her without protest. The door of the restaurant swung open, and they stepped inside. Hope was there, standing by the wishing well, her face drawn, distant.

Wes stopped short, his breath catching as he saw her. "Hope?"

Hope turned slowly, her expression unreadable. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice soft but heavy with guilt. "I had to, didn't I? They're gonna make you wish our love away."