Fighter: Dean Winchester (REVAMPED VERSION)

deαтн тαĸeѕ α нolιdαy;pαrт тwo

"Meow."

Nadia shot up in bed, heart racing. She blinked at the black cat perched at the foot of the bed, its golden eyes gleaming in the dim light.

Wait. This wasn't her room.

She quickly turned to the side, reaching for the familiar warmth of Dean, but the spot beside her was empty—cold, like the rest of the room. Something wasn't right. Her pulse quickened as she scanned the unfamiliar surroundings, her senses on high alert.

"Meow," the cat repeated, its tail flicking back and forth as it hopped off the bed and turned toward the door.

Nadia frowned, confusion clouding her mind. She wasn't sure if she was still dreaming or if something else was at play, but the feeling in the pit of her stomach told her she wasn't about to wake up anytime soon.

She pushed the covers off and stood, surprised to find herself fully dressed—leather jacket, boots, the whole get-up. "I'm dreaming," she muttered, as the reality of her attire hit her. But as the cat hissed, almost warning her not to disrupt whatever was unfolding, she reconsidered. "Fine," she sighed, hands on her hips, reluctantly giving in to curiosity. "You're lucky I'm intrigued."

The cat meowed once more, its piercing gaze following her as she headed for the door.

Nadia had expected a hallway. Instead, she stepped outside, only to find herself standing in the midst of a vast forest.

It was cold.

Frigidly cold.

The kind of cold that seeped into your bones and made you feel like you'd been abandoned by the warmth of the world itself. Ice coated the grass, frozen droplets clung to delicate flowers, and the trees were covered in a thick layer of frost. The sun shone brightly overhead, but it did nothing to cut through the biting air.

She shivered, rubbing her arms for warmth as she followed the cat's lead. "What the hell is going on?" she muttered under her breath.

The cat, ever unbothered, slithered through her legs as if it were a snake, a soft hiss leaving its lips. Nadia didn't know if it was meant to comfort her, but it had the opposite effect. "What are you waiting for?" she asked it, frustration creeping into her voice. "Lead the way."

And so it did.

The journey through the forest was disorienting. It felt wrong, yet oddly familiar. As she walked, a sense of déjà vu washed over her—like she had been here before, like she had walked this same path a thousand times. The memory hit her hard, a flash of Dean's grave coming to the forefront of her mind.

Then, suddenly, she was there. In a clearing.

And the scene felt so full circle, so painfully right, that Nadia's breath caught in her throat. There, on the ground, was Dean. Groveling, bloodied, broken.

"Dean?" Nadia ran to his side, her heart hammering in her chest. She turned him onto his back, her hands shaking as she took in the sight of him. His face was almost unrecognizable. His eyes were swollen shut, his jaw and lip puffy and bruised, blood dripping from his crooked nose and mouth.

"Robin!" he gasped, clinging to her despite the pain, his breaths shallow and erratic.

Nadia's voice caught in her throat. She couldn't understand why she was seeing this, why this vision had appeared to her in a dream—or was it a dream? Was it a warning? A fear she hadn't realized was there? Or was it the future?

She looked around frantically, seeking answers, but the cat had disappeared without a trace.

The air grew heavy with the cawing of a murder of crows as they flew overhead, their black wings slicing through the sky. The eerie sound made her skin crawl, but she couldn't look away from Dean.