January '09

Dean Winchester loves me. 

Dean freaking Winchester told me he loved me. 

I never imagined he'd say it so soon. 

Dean's always been a romantic at heart, but sometimes it's hard for him to say the good things he feels—especially about himself, let alone someone else. 

I'd always pictured myself telling him first. I mean, I've already written it in this journal countless times. I was waiting—waiting for at least six months of being together. Not because I doubted him, but because I didn't want him to feel pressured to say it back or to try to live up to some version of himself he thinks I deserve. 

That promise he made me? About proving he's worth the love I give him? He didn't need to say that. Dean thinks I blame him for all the chaos that's followed since he got back from Hell, but how could I? It's not like he has control over what's happening—or what's about to happen. 

If only he knew how sacred his bloodline really is. The man is practically cursed, his family forever entangled in the never-ending drama of the supernatural world. And if Dean could have stopped it—if he could've spared everyone the pain and suffering—he would have. That's enough for me. 

I wish he understood that. I wish he could see himself the way I see him. 

He's so much more than he believes he is. 

I might be the caution to his impulsiveness, the faith to his unbelief, the grace to his judgment, and the peace to his wrath—but Dean Winchester?

He's the one who makes me laugh. He's the reason I smile even when the world is crumbling around us. He's been through so much pain, but he still finds moments to be lighthearted, to not take life too seriously. I love that about him. 

He's smart, brave, and stubborn—a fighter, just like me. He always says I'm the only angel he believes in, but I believe in him. He's the man who never gives up, and that's why I know he won't give up on me. On us. 

Dean didn't need to promise me anything. Every single day that he wakes up and chooses to fight is enough for me. 

Dean Winchester loves me. 

And because I love him . . . I think it's time to tell him about Mich— 

"Nadia!" 

The booming voice echoed in her mind, breaking her concentration and startling her so much that her pen left a jagged streak across the page. She blinked, frowning as her heart raced. 

"Nadia . . ." The voice was softer this time but no less intrusive. 

She sighed, closing her journal. It was the middle of the night, and Dean was asleep in the bedroom. She'd snuck out to the couch to get her thoughts down while they were fresh. 

"Michael," she muttered, her eyes glowing silver as she closed them, allowing the connection to solidify. 

"How is Dean?" 

The words were casual, almost conversational, but Nadia bristled at the familiarity. "Decided not to invade my dreams this time? Why the change?" 

"You expressed your dislike for that method," Michael said smoothly. "I thought this would be less... intrusive. How is he?" 

Her fingers tightened around the journal. "He's fine. Not at his best after the Alastair thing, but he's recovering." She paused. "Did you hear about that?" 

"I did." 

"Then you also know some of the angels are Team Lucifer." 

"I am aware." 

"And?" she pressed. 

"And it doesn't matter who supports him or opposes him. My brother will rise, and I will destroy him once and for all." 

Nadia huffed a bitter laugh. "Right. With Dean's help." 

"How has his preparation been?" Michael's tone was calm, unbothered, as though this were a simple matter of logistics. 

"Dean doesn't need preparation to sacrifice himself. His whole life has been one long exercise in sacrifice. Even scared, he'll do what he has to—what he feels is right. The hard part is convincing him his sacrifice is worth it." 

"Him, or you?" Michael's question cut deeper than she wanted to admit, and she hesitated before answering. 

"Let's say I get him to say yes," she said slowly. "Is his yes worth it? Lucifer rises, you two go head-to-head, and the world still—" 

"Perish is inevitable," Michael interrupted, his tone sharp. "But it is all worth it to stop my brother—to stop evil for good." 

"Maybe," Nadia countered, "but—" 

"Think about your family, Nadia," Michael said, his voice suddenly softer. "Think about your brother." 

Nadia's throat tightened. "Don't do that," she whispered. 

"I'm sorry," he said, though the apology rang hollow. "But you must understand—humanity will suffer. Your brother, Ben, could still have a future. He could grow up, get married, have children. Wouldn't that be worth Dean's yes?" 

Her eyes stung, and she blinked rapidly. "Don't use him against me." 

Michael sighed. "I empathize with your pain, Nadia. Truly. But this has to be done. In times of doubt, think of Ben. Think of the children his age. I can't promise you Dean, but I can promise you a future for your brother, for those you love. Don't be like your mother." 

Nadia's breath hitched at the mention of her mother. 

"She didn't stay," Michael continued, his voice soft but unrelenting. "And it cost her everything. It cost you. It cost your father. Don't let one man—however much you love him—be the cost of your family's future." 

When the connection broke, Nadia felt a wave of relief but also an ache that settled deep in her chest. 

She looked down at her journal, at the last line she'd written, and with trembling hands, she crossed it out.

D̶e̶a̶n̶ ̶l̶o̶v̶e̶s̶ ̶m̶e̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶b̶e̶c̶a̶u̶s̶e̶ ̶I̶ ̶l̶o̶v̶e̶ ̶h̶i̶m̶,̶ ̶I̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶n̶k̶ ̶i̶t̶'̶s̶ ̶t̶i̶m̶e̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶t̶e̶l̶l̶ ̶h̶i̶m̶ ̶a̶b̶o̶u̶t̶ ̶M̶i̶c̶h̶ ̶-̶