It wasn't hard for a man like Dean Winchester to get his way. He reminded himself of this as he crossed the state line into Canaan, Vermont. The town was quiet, picturesque, the kind of place that looked like it belonged on a postcard. Dean had a job to do—something big, something urgent. It was a matter of life and death, and he needed a favor from a man he had never met before.

Bobby Singer had warned him that Rufus Turner, his good friend, wasn't exactly a people person. But Dean wasn't worried.

A little charm, a flash of that signature smirk, maybe even an eyelash flutter—he was sure Rufus would give him what he needed, and he'd be back on the road in no time.

Canaan was small—less than a thousand people. The kind of place where everyone knew everyone, or at least they pretended to. Dean cruised through the town in the Impala, the deep rumble of the engine the only thing louder than the hum of the spring breeze. The locals, clearly curious about the shiny black muscle car that had rolled in, offered polite waves and nods. Dean appreciated it, even if it did make him feel like an outsider for a split second.

He pulled up to the Turner residence—an old, green two-story house that looked like it belonged in a different era. The kind of place that had a worn, lived-in feel to it. It was quiet—too quiet—but Dean had come prepared. He slid his duffle bag over his shoulder, his mind already working on a plan B. It wasn't because he lacked confidence. He just wasn't about to assume things would go smoothly.

Dean climbed the rickety stairs to the front door, his boots thumping heavily on the creaky wood. The door had a sign on it, scrawled in big, bold letters:

NO SOLICITORS

THAT MEANS YOU!

Dean couldn't help the slight smirk tugging at his lips. If Bobby had warned him about Rufus's personality, this sign was probably just the start. He knocked with a firm, confident thump of his fist, his eyes flicking up just in time to see a security camera swivel toward him.

"Who are you?" A suspicious voice crackled through the speaker.

Dean leaned closer, his voice smooth. "Hi, I'm—"

"You Five-O?" The voice interrupted.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "What? No—no, of course not."

"You look like a cop to me."

Dean stared at the speaker, bewildered. "I—well, I'm not."

"That's exactly what a cop would say."

Dean couldn't help but shrug slightly. The kid had a point.

"Look, kid, I'm not a cop, okay? I'm lookin' for—"

"What are you doin'?" boomed a new, deeper voice from inside, cutting off the conversation before it could go any further.

"There's a cop at the door."

"A cop? Move."

Dean could almost hear the eye-roll in the voice. "Not a cop," he emphasized, hoping to get through to them.

"What do you want, then?" The deeper voice demanded.

"Uh, Rufus?" Dean asked, unsure.

"Yeah, even if I am, the question's still the same. What?" The voice sounded less than impressed.

"I'm Dean Winchester. I'm a friend of Bobby Singer's."

"So?" The voice didn't soften.

Dean paused for a moment, taken aback. Bobby hadn't mentioned how unpleasant Rufus could be. The warning had been an understatement.

"You called him this morning," Dean continued, trying to stay calm.

"So?"

"Uh..." Dean grinned awkwardly at the camera. "You told Bobby about a British chick who made contact with you?"

"And so?" Rufus was clearly not budging.

"You know where she is?" Dean pressed, a hint of desperation creeping into his voice.

"Yeah." Rufus's answer was curt, but Dean felt a flicker of hope.

"Great," Dean sighed, relieved. "Could you tell me where I could find her?"

"No." Rufus's response was like a slap in the face.

"Of course not," Dean muttered under his breath.

His frustration was mounting. Time wasn't on his side. His days were numbered—literally.

Clearing his throat, Dean leaned in, more serious now. "Look, Rufus, man..."

The door suddenly swung open, and Dean took a step back.

Rufus Turner stood in the doorway, towering over him. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a naturally scowled face, dark receding hair, and bushy eyebrows that almost met in the middle. His thick mustache added another layer of intimidation, making his deep, gravelly voice sound even more menacing.

A boy stood next to him, roughly the same height as Dean, though a bit younger. Dean figured he was about thirteen. He had the same scowl and the same dark eyes. 

"Look, let me point something out to you," Rufus said, eyes narrowing as he held a bowl of oatmeal in one hand. "You're knockin' at my door, so don't 'Look, man' me. I'm not your man."

The kid—Ben, presumably—crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes mimicking his father's lethal expression.

Dean froze like a child who had just been scolded. "I'm sorry, sir."

Rufus grunted, clearly not interested in an apology. "All right, let me tell you a little story," he continued. "See, once upon a time, Bobby called me, asked me to call him if I got a whiff of this Bela Talbot. I got a whiff. I called. The end." He turned to guide Ben into the house, clearly done with the conversation.

Desperation gnawed at Dean. "Okay, yeah, if you could just tell me where she is, I mean, that would be great."

Rufus stopped in his tracks, glancing back at Dean. The kid lingered behind him, watching with a bored expression.

"Dean Winchester, right?" Rufus asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Yeah."

"Do I look like I'm here to help you?"

Dean's lips quirked into a half-grin. "I'm gonna say no?"

"Then get the hell off my property."

Dean nodded, forced to accept the rejection. Plan B it was. 

"I got one more question for you, though."

Rufus, intrigued, raised an eyebrow as Dean dug into his bag.

Dean pulled out a navy blue box with a bottle inside and held it up. "See, I got this... uh, this bottle of Scotch," he said, his voice casual, like it was no big deal. "Is this considered good?"

Rufus's eyes flickered to the box, and suddenly, his expression changed. The scowl softened, just a little, as if a lightbulb had gone off. His face lit up like a Cheshire cat.

"Ben," he called over his shoulder, never taking his eyes off the box. "Give me a minute to talk to this fine gentleman."

"But Dad—" Ben started, but Rufus cut him off with a look that could freeze fire.

"Ben," Rufus warned. "Don't make me repeat myself."

Reluctantly, Ben disappeared upstairs, leaving Rufus alone with Dean.

Merely a minute later, Dean found himself seated across from Rufus in his dimly lit office, a small, cluttered space filled with maps, hunting gear, and old books. The air smelled faintly of tobacco and something earthy. Rufus cracked open the bottle of Scotch, his eyes lighting up as the amber liquid splashed into their glasses.

"You know, I don't even bother drinking unless it's this stuff," Rufus beamed, taking a long swig. He could already feel the warmth spreading through him. "Nectar of the Gods, I'm telling you."

Dean nodded, savoring the rich, smoky aroma as he raised his glass. "Yeah, it's a nice change, you know? Most of my whiskey comes from a plastic jug," he chuckled, clinking his glass against Rufus's.

They shared a laugh, an unspoken understanding passing between them. Both men had lived lives where liquor was often the only solace from the things they'd seen. The moment was brief, but comforting.

Dean was just about to take advantage of this rare calm to ask Rufus for the intel on Bela when the peace was shattered by the sound of shouting from upstairs.

"You always go there! No matter how much I try, you always have to remind me that I'm not your mother!"

"Because you keep acting like it! Just like you pretend to care!"

Dean raised an eyebrow at the commotion, but Rufus barely reacted. He swirled his drink, clearly used to the chaos in his own home.

"How would you know that I care, Nadia? You never let me in."

"Don't play innocent, Irene. You know what my problem is with you—"

"For the last time, my intention wasn't to erase or replace your mother—"

"And for the last time, you could never replace my mother. You couldn't even compete."

"Ugh! Why do I even try with you?! Rufus!" One of the women's voices rose in frustration.

"Here we go," Rufus muttered, holding the bridge of his nose as if he'd heard this all before.

The sound of footsteps grew louder, and then one of the women appeared, her frustration temporarily fading when she saw Dean. She was a petite woman with caramel-brown skin, long brown hair styled with bangs, and big brown eyes that softened immediately upon noticing their guest.

"I'm so sorry," she said, holding her hand to her heart, her embarrassment palpable. "I didn't know we had company."

"Meet my wife, Irene," Rufus said, waving vaguely toward the woman.

"Nice to meet you," Dean stood and shook her hand. "I'm—"

"The man getting my father drunk," came a voice from the doorway. Dean turned just in time to see the woman who had caught his attention.

She stood there, framed in the doorway, a glass of water in one hand, the other resting confidently on her hip. She had an easy, natural grace about her.

"And this is my daughter, Nadia," Rufus added with a bit too much pride, clearly oblivious to how transfixed Dean had become by the woman standing before him.

Dean could feel his heartbeat speed up as he took in Nadia's appearance. She was striking, with golden-bronze skin, high cheekbones that would have made a model jealous, and long, dark dreadlocks pulled into a messy bun. Her Jimi Hendrix t-shirt and fitted jeans accentuated her figure, which left Dean momentarily speechless.

He licked his lips, offering a guilty but charming grin. "Sorry about that. The Scotch was my only way in."

"Congratulations," Irene said dryly, a wry smile pulling at her lips. "You are one of the few to pass the threshold."

"I'm honored," Dean joked, still unable to pull his eyes away from Nadia, who seemed completely unfazed by his blatant admiration.

She smirked, her voice casual yet sensual in the way it rolled off her tongue. "I'm Dean, by the way."

"Dean," Nadia repeated, her tone soft but with an edge of amusement, her eyes lingering on his. "Nice to meet you."

"You too," Dean smirked, unable to resist. He shook his head, still a bit dazed. "I don't mean to be forward, but I think I just found the Robin to my Batman."

Nadia raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a playful smile. "Oh really?" she said, clearly tickled but a little flattered. A pink flush spread across her cheeks.

Before their conversation could continue, Rufus cleared his throat loudly, drawing their attention back to him.

Nadia turned away, taking a pill from her pocket and swallowing it with another sip of water. Dean, however, couldn't help but sneak another glance at her before sitting down, trying to focus on the task at hand.

"So, Bela was here because...?" Dean asked, shifting the conversation back to business.

"Bela?" Irene's voice rose with confusion. "The British chick?"

Dean nodded, giving a quick glance to Rufus. "Yeah, that's the one."

"Why are you looking for her?" Nadia asked, her tone shifting slightly.

"She has something I need," Dean answered, eyeing Rufus expectantly.

Rufus studied him carefully before answering. "She wanted to buy a couple of things, which is gonna take me some time to round up."

Dean didn't have the luxury of time. "Where is she now?"

Rufus leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing as if weighing his words. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," Dean shrugged, growing impatient.

"You got three weeks left. Why are you wasting your time chasing after that skinny, stuck-up English girl?"

Dean's expression faltered, surprise flashing across his face. How the hell did Rufus know about his deal with the devil?

"How do you know about that?" Dean asked, his voice low, his eyes flicking between Rufus, Irene, and Nadia, who were both now silently looking at him with surprise and concern.

Rufus leaned in, his voice steady but filled with knowing weight. "Because I know things. I know a lot of things about a lot of people."

Dean glared. "Is that so?"

Rufus didn't back down. "I know ain't no peashooter gonna save you."

Dean's eyes narrowed, his fist tightening around his glass. "What makes you so sure?"

"Cause that's the job, kid. Even if you manage to scrape out of this one, there's just gonna be something else down the road. Folks like us... there ain't no happy ending. We all got it coming."

"Dad," Nadia interjected, her voice sharp as she turned to face her father. "A little harsh, don't you think?"

Rufus waved her off with a slight sneer. "That's enough for you," he snapped at Irene, who had been attempting to take the glass from his hand, but he pulled it away with stubborn defiance.

"Well, ain't you a bucket of sunshine?" Dean scoffed, trying to keep the tension light.

Rufus didn't smile. "I'm what you've got to look forward to if you survive," he said with a dark smirk. "But you won't."

Dean went still, a chill creeping up his spine at Rufus' words.

Nadia, sensing the growing tension, leaned forward, drawing Rufus's gaze. "Dad, where's Bela?"

Rufus let out a long, reluctant sigh. "Hotel Canaan. Room 39." He looked Dean dead in the eye. "But watch your back."

Dean stood up, grabbing his bag and the folder Rufus tossed in front of him. "I think I can handle Bela."

"Oh, don't be so sure about that," Rufus warned, leaning back in his chair. "There are things that you don't know about her."

Dean crossed his arms, unimpressed. "Oh, and you do?" he smirked. "Right. Because you know things."

"Yep," Rufus said confidently. "And let me guess... you lift her fingerprint?"

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Yep."

"And that got you jack." Rufus nodded. "Yep."

Both men chuckled, sharing the familiar frustration of dealing with Bela's slippery nature.

"She burnt them off," Rufus added, his tone tinged with a mix of exasperation and respect for her cleverness. "Probably years ago."

Dean shook his head in disbelief. "Yeah, so you're right where we are."

"Nope," Rufus corrected with a shake of his head.

Dean's confusion grew. "You do her ear?" Irene interjected casually, making Dean freeze for a moment.

"Her ear?" Dean repeated, his eyebrows shooting up in bewilderment.

"Yeah, honey," Irene explained nonchalantly.

Dean let out a short laugh, still trying to process. "Hey, I'll try anything once, but I don't know... that sounds uncomfortable."

"Ears are as unique to humans as fingerprints," Nadia chimed in, her voice cool and informative.

Dean nodded slowly, finally catching on. "Right. So, you mean...?"

"Of course, that don't fly in the courts over here, but in England, they're all over it," Rufus continued, unfazed. "A friend of a friend... of a friend faxed me ten pages of confidential files within a day. All I had to send him was one clean shot off the security camera."

Dean took a long drink from his glass. "Right. One clean shot of her ear," he said, finally understanding. "Now I get it."

Irene nudged Rufus, and he grabbed a manila folder from his desk, tossing it on the table in front of Dean. "The so-called Bela Talbot."

Dean grabbed the folder, his heart pounding slightly faster. It wasn't much, but it was something.

"Thanks," he said, standing and slinging his bag over his shoulder.

Rufus only waved him off, shrugging as if to say, 'don't mention it.'

"I'll walk you out," Nadia said, catching Dean's attention. "I was leaving for the road anyway." She picked up the bottle of Scotch, clearly ready to cut her father off.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Hey, what are you doing with that?"

Rufus scowled. "Get rid of this," she said, handing it off to Irene, who gave her husband a disapproving look. Nadia handed her father the rest of her water, and he took it, though he wasn't thrilled.

"I'm your father, not the other way around," he muttered, though his words lost their bite under the alcohol's influence.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, save it, old man," Nadia teased as she kissed him on the cheek. "I'll call in a few weeks. Sleep this off. He hates seeing you like this."

Rufus grumbled in response, giving Irene a look that was hard to decipher.

Nadia turned to leave, but Irene stopped her. "Wait," she said, reaching for Nadia's wrist.

Nadia pulled her arm away, walking toward the door. "Ben, I'm leaving!" she called out.

Dean awkwardly cleared his throat, bowing his head slightly. "It was nice meeting you."

"You too," Irene said with a soft smile, though the sadness behind her eyes wasn't hard to miss. She bid him good luck, her words more genuine than she probably intended.

Dean's gaze lingered on Nadia as she walked toward the porch, her hips swaying naturally as she moved.

"Take a picture. It'll last longer," Nadia called over her shoulder, clearly aware of his lingering stare.

Dean chuckled. "Be careful. A guy like me might take you up on the offer."

"Ha-ha," she feigned laughter, but there was a hint of something softer beneath it. "1967 Impala," she said, noticing his car parked out front. "She's beautiful."

"Thank you," Dean said, clearly impressed that she recognized the classic model.

"Yours?" Dean asked, pointing to the cherry-red 1953 Ford F-100 in the driveway.

"Sure is," Nadia smiled proudly.

Ben suddenly came running out of the house, a puzzled look on his face. "I thought you weren't leaving until next week?"

Nadia pulled him aside, her voice soft. "I know, but—"

"Are you leaving because of my mom?" he asked, confusion and hurt on his face.

Nadia opened her mouth to speak, but stopped when Irene appeared on the porch, arms crossed over her chest.

"Benji," she called softly, but Ben didn't want to hear it.

"Why can't you guys get along? I know she's not your mom, but—"

Nadia leaned down, caressing Ben's face gently. "Hey, hey, hey," she said, trying to soothe him. "I'm not leaving because of your mom, okay? I found a case. I have to work."

Ben looked unconvinced, his lip quivering. "Then take me with you. We can figure it out together."

Dean, still lingering nearby, smirked. The kid had guts—he admired that.

Nadia laughed softly, ruffling Ben's hair. "You have school."

Ben rolled his eyes. "What's the point? It's not like I'm going to college. I'm gonna be a hunter like you and dad."

Nadia's expression softened, her voice gentle. "Okay, fine, but you've got school for now."

"Please!" Ben begged, his face full of hope.

Nadia smiled but leaned her forehead against his. "I love you, okay? I'll call soon."

"Promise?" Ben asked, eyes wide.

Nadia wrapped him in a tight embrace. "Promise." She kissed him on the forehead. "Be good."

"I'll try," Ben joked, heading back up the stairs.

"Try hard then!" Nadia called after him, her voice thick with emotion as tears welled up in her eyes.

Dean cleared his throat awkwardly, stepping forward. "How old is he?"

Nadia blinked, momentarily startled that he was still there.

"Eleven," she swallowed hard. "I was fourteen when I found out Irene was pregnant. I'd been the only child for so long... I dreaded becoming a big sister."

"And now?" Dean asked softly, his own thoughts drifting to Sam.

"I'd die for that kid," Nadia said, her voice thick with love.

Dean smiled, thinking of his brother. "Yeah, I know what you mean," he said, then fell silent, unable to help but stare at her. There was something about her that made her ten times more attractive than most women he'd met, especially given her fierce protectiveness of Ben.

"You're staring," she teased, breaking his train of thought.

"I'm sorry," Dean muttered, looking away. "It's just... you're beautiful. And usually, I'd be tryin' to get you in a motel room, but..."

"Bad timing," Nadia interrupted, her arms crossed over her chest. "Plus, you'd have to buy me dinner first anyway."

"Right," Dean chuckled, feeling a little embarrassed but also more at ease. "Of course."

Nadia met his gaze again, her voice softening. "Look, I'm sorry about what my dad said in there. My mother's death still weighs on him."

Dean shook his head, trying to brush it off. "It's fine."

"No, it's not," Nadia said firmly, stepping closer. "I don't know why you sold your soul, and honestly, it's none of my business, but I need you to do something for me."

Dean's curiosity piqued. "What's that?"

Nadia stared him down, her gaze sharp and full of conviction. "Fight."

Dean's smile faltered for a moment as her words sank in.

"People like us," she continued, "hunters, we don't roll over and just die. We save people. We fight for the greater good. We fight for our own lives. You do whatever it takes. And if you go down, you better go down swinging. You hear me, Batman?"

Dean's cheeks hurt from the grin spreading across his face. "Yeah," he nodded, feeling a renewed sense of purpose. "Yeah, Robin, I hear you."

Her words, her fire—it was exactly what he needed to hear. Especially after his conversation with Rufus.

"Nice meeting you, Dean," Nadia said, her voice softening as she backed away toward her truck.

"You too," Dean replied, watching her retreat with a lingering gaze.

As she climbed into her truck and drove off, Dean stood there, feeling an unfamiliar weight settle over him. He wasn't sure if he'd see her again, but something told him that even if he didn't, he would never forget this moment.

Nadia wouldn't forget either. The day she met Dean Winchester would stay with her far longer than she could ever have imagined.