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.

Nadia froze as she heard Tessa's voice drift upstairs, speaking to Dean.

Her first instinct was to turn away—she didn't want to eavesdrop, didn't want to invade his privacy. But curiosity tugged at her, keeping her rooted in place. She leaned lightly against the stairwell railing, her grip on the wood tightening as her mind raced.

Despite walking in on her boyfriend getting lip-serviced by a reaper, she didn't distrust him. Dean was many things—stubborn, reckless, and infuriating at times—but unfaithful wasn't one of them. No, her feelings weren't rooted in suspicion. If anything, she was curious.

What was it like for him, standing face-to-face with the reaper who once tried to guide him to the other side? How did it feel to confront someone tied to one of his darkest moments?

She hesitated for a second longer, glancing toward the stairs that led to the conversation below. She could walk away, leave him to his business. But something pulled her in.

Her conscience whispered a warning, but she ignored it. Slowly, she shifted her weight, angling her body closer to the railing. Her head tilted slightly as she focused on their voices, ears straining to catch every word.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, his tone tinged with confusion.

Nadia could hear the nervousness in Dean's voice.

"Kind of bold when my GIRLFRIEND is -"

"No, no," Tessa shakes her head, holding in a chuckle.

Dean went quiet for a second, his gaze distant as he seemed to wrestle with his thoughts.

"Who am I gonna tell?" Tessa replied, folding her arms and tilting her head at him.

Dean hesitated, his lips pressing together before he continued. "After our little, uh, experience... for that whole year, I felt like I had this... hole in my gut... like I was missing somethin'. I didn't know what. Do you know what it was?" His voice cracked slightly, and he looked at her, searching for some kind of understanding.

Tessa's expression softened slightly, her curiosity genuine.

Dean sighed. "It was you. The pain of losing my father and Sammy, it just... I wish I had gone with you for good. But I guess things are different now."

Tessa arched an eyebrow, leaning against the nearby table. "What? The angels on your shoulder?" she asked, her tone more amused than understanding.

"So, you know about that, huh?" Dean said, a faint chuckle escaping him, though there was no humor in it. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "Well, hey, don't get me wrong. I mean, most the ones I've met are dicks with wings. But still..." He trailed off, his voice quieter now, introspective.

"You know, I've done things. Horrible things. And someone upstairs still decided to give me a second chance. Now I've got this amazing woman who sees the best in me despite all my crap and—" Dean paused, his throat tightening. "It just makes me feel... I don't know."

From her spot on the stairs, Nadia's heart clenched. She didn't know what Dean expected from Tessa, but hearing him talk about her like that felt overwhelming, especially since she wasn't supposed to be listening in the first place. She glanced away, guilt creeping in.

A loud throat-clearing broke the moment. Nadia jumped, spinning around to see Sam and Cole standing in the doorway.

"You okay?" Sam asked, squinting at her. Her slightly panicked look didn't exactly inspire confidence.

"Yeah, yeah," Nadia said quickly, forcing a light chuckle as she nodded. "He ready to talk?"

Cole nodded, though he looked like he'd rather be anywhere else. His eyes darted to the floor. He was reluctant, but after Sam's assurances, he was at least willing.

The three of them headed downstairs. Nadia stayed close to Cole, offering him the occasional reassuring glance.

"Hey, guys," Sam said, grabbing Dean and Tessa's attention as they entered the room.

Tessa smiled warmly, crouching slightly to meet Cole's height. "Hey, Cole. I'm Tessa. I'm not going to hurt you." Her voice was soft, almost maternal.

Cole shifted uncomfortably but said nothing.

"It's okay, Cole," Sam said, his voice steady and encouraging. "Just tell them what you told me."

Cole licked his lips nervously, his hands fidgeting. "I saw the black smoke at my funeral," he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Nadia exchanged a quick, concerned glance with Sam and Dean.

"At the cemetery?" Dean asked, stepping closer.

Cole shook his head. "At the funeral home. It was everywhere."

Before anyone could respond, the lights began flickering erratically. A chill settled over the room as the temperature seemed to drop. Everyone stiffened, their eyes darting around as unease crept in.

Dean's eyes went to Tessa immediately. "You doing that?" he asked, his voice sharp.

"No," Tessa replied, frowning.

Dean's gaze shifted to Nadia.

"Not me either," she said, her voice low and tense. She turned, her senses sharpening as she scanned the room. "It's here. The dem—"

Before she could finish, the front door flew open with a violent crash. A thick cloud of black smoke poured in like a wave, moving unnaturally fast. The sulfuric stench hit them instantly.

"Get down!" Dean yelled, but it was too late.

The smoke engulfed the room, wrapping around them with suffocating force. Nadia braced herself, her grace flaring just slightly as a protective instinct, but it wasn't enough to stop it. Within moments, the smoke surged toward Tessa, enveloping her completely.

And then, just as quickly as it came, it was gone. The air cleared, and Tessa was nowhere to be found.

"Tessa!" Dean shouted, his voice hoarse. He moved toward the door, as if chasing the smoke would somehow bring her back.

"Everybody okay?" Nadia asked quickly, her eyes darting to Cole first.

Cole nodded, though he was pale and visibly shaken.

Dean spun around, frustration and worry etched on his face. "Well, how the hell are we supposed to fight that?" he demanded.

Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know," he admitted. "Learn some ghost moves?"

"By tonight?" Dean exclaimed, his tone incredulous.

Sam shrugged.

"Yeah, sure. I'll meet you back at Mr. Miyagi's."

Cole frowned, confused. "Who's Mr. Miyagi?"

Dean groaned, shaking his head. "You've got a lot to learn, kid."

"Please, let's turn on the TV," Ben begged, slumping forward at the table. His voice was a mix of boredom and desperation. "You can pick the movie. I don't even care what we watch at this point."

Pamela chuckled softly, leaning back in the chair she had pulled between the boys' beds. "Oh, I'm sorry. Is staying locked in a room with two corpses not exciting enough for you?" she teased, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"No, it isn't," Ben shot back, sitting upright and crossing his arms.

"Well, tough," Pamela replied, raising her eyebrows at him. "This was your idea, kid, so you will sit in silence and relish in the anxiety of how this whole thing is gonna turn out."

"I'm not anxious," Ben argued, puffing his chest slightly in a way that made him look like he was trying too hard to prove his point.

"Is that right?" Pamela tilted her head, unconvinced.

Ben nodded firmly. "Everything's gonna be fine. I can't speak for Sam and Dean, but Nadia always makes sure of it."

Pamela's smile softened, turning wistful as a flicker of sadness crossed her face.

"What?" Ben noticed the change instantly.

"Nothin', kid." She shook her head lightly but didn't quite meet his eyes—or rather, where she guessed his eyes were. "I just... I wish I still had your optimism. You know, losing your eyes really changes your perspective on life."

Her tone was casual, but the weight of her words landed hard in the quiet room. Though Pamela couldn't see his face, she could sense the way her words chipped away at Ben's hopefulness, leaving a small crack in his optimism.

Reminding herself that she was talking to a child, she straightened her posture and forced a lighter tone. "Oh, don't listen to me, Benji. You're right. It's all gonna be fine. Your sister's gonna make sure of it. She always does. Let's talk about something else. How are you these days?"

Ben sighed and shrugged. "You don't wanna know."

"Yeah, I do. Come on, kid. Tell me what's going on in your life."

He hesitated for a moment, then shrugged again. "Okay. I mean, it's better than sitting in silence. I've kind of been getting in trouble because school sucks, and kids my age are jerks."

"Acting out?" Pamela guessed, leaning forward slightly, her interest piqued.

"Yeah... like showing kids some spells and... other things," he admitted, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly.

Pamela's jaw dropped slightly as she stared in disbelief. "Oh, so you've lost your mind," she said flatly.

Ben squirmed under her blind gaze. "They think it's cool. They think I'm cool."

"Of course, they think it's cool," Pamela said, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "They don't know that stuff is real. You do!"

"I know, I know!" Ben groaned, holding his hands up defensively. "Trust me, I already got a lecture from Nadia. I'm probably gonna get another one from my parents."

Pamela leaned back in her chair, throwing her hands up in mock surrender. "You know what? You're right. I'm staying out of it. But I'll leave you with this," she said, pointing at him for emphasis. "School isn't forever. And if you're sure being a hunter is what you want, the same kids giving you crap now will be the same ones begging for your help later—probably after they sell their souls for boob jobs and job promotions."

Ben frowned at first, his nose scrunching in confusion, but then he couldn't help it—he burst into giggles. "People sell their souls for that?"

"Honey, you'd be surprised what people sell their souls for," Pamela replied with a knowing smirk. She paused for a moment, letting the humor settle, before her tone grew softer, more serious. "The point is, who gives a crap if you're liked or if you fit in? Someday, you'll be the hero of someone else's story, and that's all that matters. Alright?"

Ben nodded, her words sinking in. "Yeah," he said quietly, clearly reflecting on her advice. Then, with a small grin, he added, "Now can I watch TV?"

"Nope," Pamela said matter-of-factly, crossing her arms and tossing one leg over the other.

Ben groaned dramatically, but Pamela just smiled, content to let the silence stretch between them.

"You have to deal with Sam," Anna's voice echoed in Nadia's mind, sharp and insistent, as if the thought alone could slice through her resolve. She thought about her dream—the images of Sam twisting into something monstrous—and the way he had grabbed her last night at the cemetery.

What if Anna was right?

Even John Winchester, the boys' father, had told Dean that he might have to kill Sam.

Would death really be the only way to stop him?

Nadia's jaw tightened at the thought. Could Dean actually do it? Kill his own brother?

And if he couldn't... would she have to?

Taking down evil had never been a matter of doubt for Nadia. It was her purpose, etched into her very existence as an archangel. She never hesitated when it came to eliminating threats. But this was different. This was Sam—a man she had fought beside, trusted, and even grown to love as family.

Killing Sam could mean destroying everything she and Dean had built together.

For the first time in her existence, her purpose and her heart were at odds. Sacrificing for the greater good had always been second nature to Nadia, but now that she was a Winchester... it felt more personal. More impossible.

Taking a deep breath, Nadia shook her head and pushed the suffocating thoughts aside. Dwelling on it wouldn't help. Not now. She crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes drifting to where Cole was teaching Sam and Dean a few ghost tricks in the yard. She perched herself on the low porch wall, leaning her back against one of the wooden pillars, her leg propped up lazily.

The tension in her chest eased as an amused smile spread across her face. Watching Dean struggle with something so simple was unexpectedly comforting. It was such a Dean thing to do—attack a problem head-on, muscles straining, sheer willpower replacing any real finesse.

He was focused on a miniature windmill in the yard, his brows furrowed and his jaw tight as if he were trying to wrestle it into submission with sheer concentration.

He looked like he might crap his pants.

"It's not gonna move if you don't concentrate," Cole said matter-of-factly, his tone almost bored, like a teacher repeating instructions for the hundredth time.

"I am concentrating," Dean snapped, glancing at the kid briefly before returning his scowl to the windmill. His body stiffened again, his muscles visibly tensing, and he let out a low grunt as though sheer effort might be enough to make the thing spin.

Sam watched with furrowed eyebrows, standing behind them near the front door.

The windmill starts to move and Dean's face beams.

To his dismay, it stopped just as soon as it started.

Licking his lips, Cole takes a deep breath and focuses on the windmill. Instantly, it starts to spin. The porch swing starts to stay and the wind chimes sing.

Sam laughed a little in disbelief.

The three disappeared into the house, and Nadia was about to follow when she felt something—no, someone—familiar.

Sucking in a breath, she turned slowly, already knowing who it was before her eyes even met the figure standing at the bottom of the stairs.

There stood Anna, her posture hesitant but her eyes calm. She raised her hands in a placating gesture as if trying to reassure Nadia that she meant no harm.

"I just want to talk," Anna said softly, the sincerity in her voice unmistakable.

"Just listen, Nadia," Anna interrupted, her voice low but firm. She took a small step forward, a quiet plea in her expression. "You were right. I was human. I know what it's like to love and care about somebody deeply. I should have been more... empathetic."

Nadia swallowed, her jaw tightening as she turned her head slightly, unwilling to show too much vulnerability. "I apologize," Anna finished, her tone carrying an honesty Nadia hadn't expected.

For a moment, Nadia stood still, her thoughts racing. The sincerity in Anna's apology hit harder than she anticipated, but she wasn't ready to let her guard down. She looked away, processing the weight of Anna's words before answering, her voice quieter than usual. "Thank you for the apology, really, but... maybe you weren't... completely wrong."

Anna's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "What makes you say that?" She could sense the unease radiating off Nadia, could see it in the slight flicker of her gaze.

Nadia's tension was palpable, her normally composed demeanor giving way to something deeper, something she couldn't hide. "Nadia," Anna said gently, stepping closer. "Did something happen?"

Nadia chuckled dryly, the sound bitter on her lips. "Anna, something's always happening." She shook her head, exhaling a long breath, trying to keep her emotions in check.

"Listen, all's forgiven, okay?" She rubbed a hand over her face as if trying to erase the frustration. "I see him. Sam, I mean," she whispered his name as if it was a secret shared only between them. Her eyes flickered toward the house to make sure no one could overhear her. "Whatever happens to him... that's not my call."

"But what if you have to make the call?" Anna pressed, her voice soft but laden with concern. She saw the turmoil in Nadia's eyes and knew that the weight of what Nadia was carrying couldn't be easily shaken.

"I'll cross that bridge when I get there," Nadia said, her shoulders slumping slightly as she tried to hold herself together. She shook her head, a small sigh escaping her lips. "Right now, we need to focus on preventing the next seal from breaking." The words were matter-of-fact, but her expression betrayed the underlying anxiety she was doing her best to suppress.

A thought seemed to strike her then, and she tilted her head, her gaze sharpening on Anna.

Anna, ever perceptive, frowned. "What is it?"

Nadia hesitated, her eyes darting back toward the house before she spoke. "Nothing, it's just..." Her voice trailed off as she considered the unsettling feeling gnawing at her. "A seal is possibly about to be broken. Typically, Castiel, Uriel—some angel would have popped in by now, just to make sure we're doing what we're supposed to." Nadia's voice dropped a little, the concern clear now. "It's weird. I haven't even heard anything on angel radio."

Anna's frown deepened. "It is," she agreed, her tone quiet but filled with a sense of unease. "I haven't heard anything either."

The silence between them grew, heavy with unspoken thoughts. The world around them seemed to hold its breath as if waiting for something—anything—to happen.

Finally, Anna broke the silence, her voice soft but full of understanding. "If you need anything... you know you can reach out, right?"

Nadia nodded slowly, a small, grateful smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Yeah," she replied, her voice steady but carrying the weight of everything left unsaid. "Thanks."

It took a few hours, but once the boys were confident in their ghost abilities, they made their way to the funeral home. The air was thick with anticipation, a mix of unease and determination hanging between them.

As they neared the building, it was hard to miss. The funeral home stood in eerie silence, its dark windows reflecting the moonlight like empty eyes watching them approach. The exterior of the building was covered in blue diagrams, an intricate web of symbols and sigils painted hastily across the stone walls. The designs glowed faintly, pulsing with supernatural energy that made the hair on the back of their necks stand on end.

"This looks like New Jack City," Dean said, pointing ahead with furrowed eyebrows. He scanned the building, eyes narrowing. "Can nobody see this?"

"Maybe it's demon-invisible ink," Sam offered. "Only visible in the veil." His gaze turned to Nadia, who was studying the wall. "Or if you have the power to read it."

"Any idea what it's for?" Dean asked, glancing at Nadia.

"Not a clue," Nadia replied, her voice low with concentration. She stepped closer to the wall, her eyes scanning the symbols intently. "But I'm curious to find out."

The brothers followed her as she moved toward the back of the building, where they found the door ajar. The quiet creak of it swinging open felt like an invitation—or perhaps, a warning.

Nadia stepped forward, ready to enter, when suddenly, an invisible force slammed into her, sending her flying backward and crashing through the boys. She hit the ground with a grunt, the air knocked out of her lungs.

"What the hell?" Nadia gasped, scrambling to her feet, and dusting herself off. "What was that?"

The brothers exchanged a quick, confused glance before Sam raised an eyebrow.

"There's no way," Nadia said, trying again to walk through the threshold. But the same invisible barrier sent her sprawling onto her ass once more.

"Looks like no angels allowed," Sam muttered, reading her mind in that familiar way he could.

"Rude," Nadia scoffed, wiping dust off her clothes as she stood. "What are we gonna do now?"

Sam's expression hardened, but there was no hesitation in his voice. "Dean and I are gonna go in and fix this, and you stay put."

"But—" Nadia started to protest, her voice thick with determination.

"We got this, babe," Dean reassured her, cutting her off before she could argue further. "Keep an eye out here, alright?"

Nadia swallowed her pride and nodded, but her gaze remained hard. "Fine. Just be careful. You're dead, but you're not invincible."

Dean flashed her a playful salute. "Aye Captain." He gave Sam a small nod, and together, they disappeared through the door.

Nadia stood still for a moment, watching them go, her arms crossed over her chest. "Stay put," she muttered under her breath, mimicking Sam's earlier words with a dramatic eye roll. "Have they just met me?"

She took a breath and closed her eyes for a brief moment, sending up a quick prayer to Anna. In an instant, the redhead appeared beside her, her figure materializing out of thin air.

"The symbols," Anna explained as they walked down the alley, away from the chaos, her voice quiet but tense. "They're angel-proofing sigils."

"Yeah, I learned that the hard way," Nadia said, a slight edge to her tone. She gripped her blade tighter at the memory. "Is there any way I can get in?"

Before Anna could respond, the two stopped dead in their tracks. The sound of footsteps echoed in the alley ahead, each heavy thud growing louder. Nadia's eyes narrowed, and she motioned for Anna to stay back as the first demon appeared—tall, hulking, with a sinister grin. Then another followed. And another. Each more monstrous than the last.

"Didn't you get the memo?" the big, bald demon growled, his voice rough like gravel. "No angels allowed."

"Oh, I got the memo," Nadia replied, her voice colder than ice. She slid her blade from her sleeve, the steel gleaming under the dim light. "But I would never miss an opportunity to kill a few of you SOBs."

The demons chuckled darkly, clearly unphased, as they began closing the distance.

Anna stepped forward, her own blade materializing in her hand. She shot Nadia a resolute look. "No," she said firmly, her gaze unwavering. "I'm staying."

Nadia met her eyes, understanding the decision. A brief nod was all they shared before the fight began.

The funeral home was dark and eerily quiet as Sam and Dean stepped through the front doors. The air inside was thick, the musty scent of old wood and stale incense mixing in the silence. Every step they took seemed to echo too loudly in the stillness, the atmosphere unnerving as it weighed down on them.

They split up without saying a word, each of them heading to different corners of the first floor. The place felt abandoned, but they knew better than to trust appearances. It was too quiet—too still.

Sam was the first to break the silence, his voice low and cautious. "Nothing on this side. You?"

Dean's reply came in a grunt as he scanned the room ahead. "Nada. But something doesn't feel right."

They met in the showroom area a moment later, the room casting long, distorted shadows from the faint light of flickering candles. The soft, rhythmic glow of the candelabra illuminated a strange, ominous scene.

There, lying unconscious in the center of the room, were Tessa and another reaper, sprawled out on the cold, polished floor. The way they were positioned wasn't random. They were inside a carefully drawn square, each side connected by triangles that formed an eight-pointed star, the squiggling symbols at each of the points marking the perimeter of the ritualistic diagram.

They both stepped further into the room, their eyes scanning the dimly lit space for any clues. A heavy silence hung in the air as they took in the strange arrangement.

At the far end of the room, atop a raised platform, sat a wooden casket. It was old-fashioned—ornate, with intricate carvings, and surrounded by more flickering candles. The soft light barely managed to push back the shadows, giving the room a macabre glow.

A demon, clad in black leather and with a dark aura radiating around him, stood guard beside the casket. His back was turned to them, oblivious to the two hunters making their way toward him.

Dean exchanged a quick look with Sam. "Dude, check me out."

Before Sam could protest, Dean vanished, his form flickering out of sight with supernatural speed. Sam barely had time to blink before Dean reappeared behind the demon, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning.

"Hey, pal," he whispered, tapping the demon on the shoulder.

The demon's head whipped around, confusion and suspicion flickering in his eyes for a split second before Dean's fist landed square on his face. There was a sickening crack as the demon's head snapped back.

The demon, momentarily stunned, quickly regained his composure, shaking his head as he prepared for another attack. But just as he swung his arm in defense, he found that the Winchesters were no longer where he expected them to be.

He whipped around, his eyes scanning the room in confusion, but there was no sign of the brothers.

Then, with a swift motion, Sam appeared behind him, following his brother's earlier move like clockwork. Before the demon could react, Sam's fist connected hard with his face, knocking him off balance.

Dean was right behind him, sliding into position with a grin plastered across his face. Together, they landed blow after blow, the sounds of fists connecting with flesh echoing through the darkened room. The demon staggered back, scrambling to protect himself, but the Winchesters were relentless, pressing the attack until he was on the ground, trying to crawl away.

Dean couldn't help but smirk. "You know, this ghost thing? It's kind of rad," he quipped, his voice dripping with amusement as he eyed their trapped prey.

A second demon stepped out from the shadows, wincing in pain while dragging a long iron chain behind him. His ally takes advantage of the distraction, hopping over the casket.

The demon boxes Sam and Dean with the chains, enclosing them as if they were trapped in an unspoken boundary—like a red velvet rope at a crime scene, marking their space off from the rest of the room.

Steam rose from the demon's palm as he let go.

Sam clenched his jaw, frustration building ."It's iron," he muttered, realizing the significance.

Just as Nadia said, they may be dead but they were not invincible.

Just then, the door to the funeral home creaked open. A tall figure stepped into the room, his presence commanding and calm.

His eyes turn white as he reveals himself to be: Alastair.