Fighter: Dean Winchester (REVAMPED VERSION)

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Nadia tapped her pen idly against her desk, peeking through the blinds. Her gaze landed on Dean Smith—headset on, suit jacket draped over the back of his chair, focused on his work as if the world depended on it.

"Why are you so damn cute?" she muttered under her breath, her voice barely audible even to herself. A slight blush warmed her cheeks as she watched him flip through files. "Why are you so got-damn important? You and your brother?"

Dean sipped a strange green concoction from a sleek glass bottle, his choice for lunch today. Ever since he'd started his cleanse, there was something sharper about him. His demeanor was calm, his movements precise.

She tilted her head, studying him. His tie today was golden yellow, contrasting perfectly with the navy-blue suspenders and light blue dress shirt. Nadia wasn't usually into suspenders, but damn if Dean didn't make her reconsider.

"What am I doing?" she whispered, yanking herself back into focus. "Be professional. He's your boss."

Then she paused, her lips quirking into a small smirk. "Well, technically, he's not my boss." Her curiosity got the better of her as she let her eyes wander back to him through the blinds.

"Can I help you?" something asked suddenly, Nadia catching movement in her peripheral vision.

A man stood before her desk, his awkward fidgeting immediately drawing her attention. He was tall, lanky, with dark brown hair, and wore the yellow-and-khaki IT uniform of the Sandover crew. His nervous energy practically radiated off him, like he was ready to bolt.

"Ian?" she guessed, her tone softening.

"Yes," the man said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm here to see Mr. Smith."

"You can go right in. He's expecting you." Nadia gestured toward Dean's office door, already open.

Ian nodded quickly, muttering a barely audible "thank you" as he shuffled inside. Even with the open door, he still gave it a light knock, his nervousness almost painful to watch.

Dean glanced up from his monitor, clasping his hands together as he greeted him. "Hi. Ian, is it?"

"Mhm," Ian nodded, his timid demeanor making him look like a kid caught sneaking candy.

"Yeah, come on in." Dean's tone was easygoing as he leaned forward slightly. "Yesterday you filled out a 445-T. No problem, just a few errors when we did your switch over to Vista. So I'm sure you're used to filling out the dash-R's, am I right?"

"Oh, no," Ian's voice cracked, his nerves visibly worsening.

"No, no, no," Dean reassured him, gesturing casually with his hands. "It's fine. It's fine. I just need you to redo one today so I can get the show on the road with the invoicing." He pushed a piece of paper toward him with a friendly smile.

Ian stared at the paper like it was a death sentence. "Oh my god."

Dean raised an eyebrow, his smile faltering slightly. "No, it's fine. Just refile it, and we're square."

But Ian wasn't listening. His breathing quickened, his face paling as panic overtook him. "I can't believe I did this," he muttered, his voice trembling.

Dean straightened in his chair, concern flashing across his face. "Hey, guy, come on."

"I can't believe I," Ian stammered, his eyes darting around the room like he was searching for an escape. "I can't believe I did this."

The panic hit a crescendo. "It affected profits! I—I screwed up. I—I can't—I can't—I am so sorry. I—how could I do that? I failed Sandover. I failed the company."