Fighter: Dean Winchester (REVAMPED VERSION)

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Cole's bedroom was quiet and still when Sam stepped inside. The air was heavy, carrying the faint smell of dust and old wood. The bed was neatly made, a few toys scattered on the floor—a snapshot of a life interrupted too soon. His sharp hunter instincts kicked in as his gaze swept the room, noting the cracked closet door.

Sam sighed softly, his boots creaking against the floorboards as he crossed the room. He crouched down next to the closet and leaned his back against the wall, sitting close to the door without opening it.

"Hey, Cole," he said gently. He could hear the faint shuffle of movement inside. "This all must be pretty overwhelming, huh? Pretty scary, too."

Sam glanced at the closet, imagining the young boy curled up inside. "The worst is my mom," Cole finally said, his voice cracking slightly. Sadness glimmered in his words, the weight of it settling between them like a heavy stone.

Sam nodded to himself, his expression softening. "Must be hard seeing her like this," he said, keeping his voice calm and steady.

Cole shifted, leaning to the side so he could peek out at Sam. His pale face and wide eyes looked far older than they should have, weighed down by an experience no child should endure. "She's always coming in here, talking to me, telling me how sad she is," Cole said, his voice trembling. "I knock some stuff over to let her know I'm here, but... she only gets sadder."

Sam smiled faintly, hoping to ease the tension. "Well, you might want to ease up on the flying soccer balls," he joked lightly.

Cole didn't laugh. His face darkened, his small brows furrowing as he leaned back into the shadows of the closet. "I'm not telling you where the smoke is," he said firmly, his voice resolute.

Sam pressed his lips together, his mind racing as he tried to think of the right thing to say. He rubbed his hands together, buying himself a moment before finally speaking. "Hey. What if I told you that if you helped me, you wouldn't have to leave here? Ever?"

The boy's head tilted slightly, a flicker of curiosity breaking through his guarded expression. "What about the one downstairs?"

"Tessa?" Sam said with a small shake of his head. "Oh, she wouldn't bother you. No reaper would. You could just stay here with your family for as long as you wanted."

Cole's eyebrows rose, his face lighting up with cautious hope. "You can do that?"

Sam hesitated just briefly, swallowing hard to ignore the knot tightening in his stomach. He forced a reassuring smile. "Yeah, you bet I can do that," he said, the words heavy in his mouth.

Cole narrowed his eyes, searching Sam's face for any sign of a lie. "You swear?"

Sam's chest tightened, guilt gnawing at the edges of his resolve. He could feel the lie building, but he pushed it down, shoving aside his better judgment. "I swear," he said softly.

Cole's shoulders relaxed slightly, the tension in his small frame loosening as he finally leaned back against the wall inside the closet.

Unbeknownst to him, Nadia sat silently at the top of the stairs, her sharp eyes fixed on the door to Cole's room. She'd heard the entire conversation, and while she understood why Sam had lied, it didn't sit right with her. The seal was important, and so much was at stake, but giving Cole false hope—it stung.

Her jaw tightened as she thought about the boy's future. Even if he managed to escape a reaper now, time would still catch up to him. He'd eventually become a vengeful ghost, twisted by anger and pain, and someone—whether it was them or another hunter—would have to take him down.

She sighed quietly, leaning her head back against the wall as she closed her eyes. Sam's lie wasn't malicious; it was a desperate attempt to do what he thought was right. But that didn't make it any easier to accept.