"So, what about you?"

Dean and Nadia walked side by side on their way back to the motel. The sun dipped low behind the mountainous terrain, painting the sky in shades of gold and amber, the horizon glowing like a beacon in the distance.

"What about me?" Dean stared at the ground, his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets.

"What would your wish be? I mean, unless the sandwich was really it."

"It was a really good sandwich," he grinned, his dimples showing just enough to make her roll her eyes. "But no, it wouldn't be my wish."

"So . . ." Nadia pressed, her curiosity piqued.

Dean exhaled sharply, kicking a loose rock on the pavement. "I don't know. Maybe that I'd never asked Sam to help me find our father. That way, maybe he could've stayed in school, become a lawyer, got married by now—had a couple of kids. He'd have had a normal life."

"Hold on." Nadia came to an abrupt stop, turning to face him. Her tone was firm but not unkind. "Indulge me for a second. Let's put Sam aside. I get it—I'm an older sibling too. But if Sam was taken care of, what would you want for yourself?"

Dean opened his mouth, but no words came out. He closed it again, brows furrowing like the question had caught him off guard.

"Yeah," Nadia scoffed lightly, crossing her arms. "I don't know how to answer that either. All I know is Nadia the hunter, Nadia the big sister, and Nadia Rufus Turner's daughter. Now, I'm also an angel—this whole other side of me I didn't even know existed. It's like I'm supposed to figure out who I am all over again. That's why I wished to talk to my mom. Just for help, guidance . . . because outside of all that, I don't know who I am or even what I'd want if I could wish for anything. I can't fathom being anything else."

Her voice trailed off as she caught sight of the little boy from earlier—the one who'd been chased by the bullies. Only now, he was chasing them.

Dean followed her gaze.

The kid skidded to a stop, scowling up at Dean. "You got a problem, mister?"

Dean raised his eyebrows, then furrowed them, taken aback. "What? No."

The boy sneered, then turned on his heel and ran after the bullies again, leaving Dean and Nadia standing in stunned silence.

"Uh, okay," Dean chuckled, shaking his head. "That's something we'll have to deal with later."

"Yeah, definitely," Nadia laughed softly. "Anyway, what was I saying?"

"Finding yourself outside of hunting and—"

"Right, right." Nadia nodded as if picking up a thread she hadn't quite let go of. "My mom left Heaven. She left being a celestial being to just be a wife, a mom, and a CNA. And she was happy—fulfilled, from what I remember."

"What's your point?"

"I don't know," she sighed, her shoulders sagging slightly. "I guess I'm saying, Sam aside, there's nothing you'd wish for, for you? You can't picture yourself in another life, where, I don't know, you opened up a car shop, married some rocker chick who can shoot whiskey and beat your ass in pool? Maybe have some kids with her."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Did you just describe yourself?"

Nadia blinked, then shrugged innocently. ". . . No? I was just, um, describing your type. Or at least one of your types, lover boy."

Dean chuckled, shaking his head as he briefly looked away.

"I'd even settle for you wishing solitude for yourself," Nadia continued, tilting her head. "A cabin in the woods, a lake nearby where you can fish, and an endless supply of burgers and beer."

"Sounds nice," Dean admitted with a small smile, "but it still wouldn't be complete without that rocker chick who can shoot whiskey and beat my ass in pool. Side note—you've never played me in pool."

"And yet, I know I'd kick your ass."

"Arrogant much?"

"You call it arrogance, I call it confidence."

"Okay, we'll see."

"You're on," Nadia shrugged with a sly smile.

They laughed together, the sound light and easy as they slowed their steps. For a moment, they just stood there, the golden light of the sunset casting a warm glow over their faces as they got lost in each other's eyes.

"So, what would your wish be?"

"Honestly?"

"Preferably."

Dean hesitated, breaking eye contact as he started to circle her, his hands still deep in his pockets. Nadia could tell by the way his shoulders tensed that he was about to speak from the heart.

"Very recently, I uh . . . I saw this rocker chick who can shoot whiskey and maybe beat me at pool with a little girl. My life flashed before my eyes. It was another life, I guess you could call it. A life I didn't know I would ever want for myself. I made an honest woman out of her, and we had a kid."

Nadia's breath hitched. She cleared her throat to hide it. "And hunting? Was it in the picture?"

"Not that I remember, no. Maybe not entirely," Dean admitted, his gaze finding hers again.

"Did that scare you?"

"That's the scariest part . . . it didn't. In fact, I'm startin' to think the old Sammy was onto something with that white picket fence dream."

Nadia smiled softly, trying to find the right words.

The future was always uncertain. But Dean's willingness to consider a life neither of them had ever experienced showed her that he was serious. What he felt for her wasn't some passing infatuation or casual fling—it was more than that.

Nadia felt the same way, but after her recent conversation with Michael, doubts had crept in. She worried that she would hold Dean back from his purpose. That she was more of a distraction than a help. It was hard to focus solely on protecting him when their feelings for each other ran so deep.

"I have to tell you something. Back in Min—"  

Dean pulled her into him, capturing her lips with a hunger that left Nadia breathless. She melted into his embrace like ice cream on a hot summer day, her mind warring with the angelic voice whispering caution. But for once, she ignored it, letting herself indulge in the moment.

Suddenly, words felt meaningless. Their emotions spoke through their movements, their shared intensity. Dean's hand moved to the small of her back, guiding her as they stumbled their way to the motel.

He fumbled with the key, managing to unlock the door with one hand while his other remained firmly around her waist. Their lips barely parted as they made their way inside, the door swinging open before he kicked it shut with his boot.

With a fluid motion, Dean lifted Nadia off the ground, her legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. She couldn't help but laugh against his lips as he carried her to the bed and gently laid her down.

He hovered over her, their breathing synchronized as she kissed his neck, her hands roaming to help him shrug off his jacket. But just as they started losing themselves in the moment, Dean pulled away abruptly.

"Wait, wait, wait," he panted, his forehead resting against hers.

"What?" Nadia asked, frowning in confusion.

Dean's eyes searched hers. "You remember the first time we met? You said I'd have to buy you dinner before we do this . . ."

"Okay?" Her brow arched. "What's your point?"

"I just . . . I don't want you to regret this, you know?" He rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze dropping briefly. "I'm . . . I'm trying to be the good guy here."

"Right." Nadia sighed, softening. "Well, I think I'll be fine. But if it makes you feel better . . . you did pay for my dinner back in South Dakota. You know, when you were throwing all that money down, thinking about women and showers."

Dean scoffed, shaking his head. "No, no, no—I was thinking about you and me in the shower. You misunderstood me."

"Did I?" she teased, her lips curving into a mischievous smile. "My apologies. Well, if you want me in the shower, I'm gonna need a preview of what you can do outside of water. If you know what I mean." She tugged on his shirt, pulling him closer until their lips were barely an inch apart.

"God, you're perfect," Dean growled, capturing her lips again in a kiss that was rough yet passionate. His hands slid down her sides, peeling off her jacket, then her shirt, revealing a blue lace bra that made him pause for a brief second.

As Nadia reached to unbutton his jeans, a sudden, guttural sound broke through the air, freezing them both.

Dean's eyes widened, their lips slowly parting. "Was that you?"

Nadia blinked. "Almost afraid to ask . . . but no. Was that you?"

Dean touched his stomach, his expression quickly twisting into one of discomfort. "Yeah. I think I'm gonna—"

"Puke?"

"Mhm." His hand flew to his mouth as he bolted to the bathroom.

"Dean?!" Nadia called after him, moving to follow, only to have the bathroom door slam in her face.

Inside, the sound of retching echoed through the thin motel walls.

"Dean?" she tried again, knocking tentatively.

His reply came between retches. "San . . . wic . . . bad."

"Sandwich bad?" she echoed, frowning in confusion before her eyes widened in realization. "The coin!" She patted her pocket, pulling out the traced image. "Dean, I'll be back—I'm gonna go to my room and get my laptop, okay?"

"Uh-huh . . . ugh." Another groan followed from the bathroom.

Nadia turned to leave, catching a chill that reminded her of her current state. "Shirt," she muttered, snapping her fingers. She grabbed her top off the floor, hastily pulling it on as she stepped outside, the night air wrapping around her like a warning.  

Dean vomited for what felt like an eternity, the violent sounds of his retching echoing through the thin motel walls. Every time he thought he was done, his stomach churned and sent him right back over the toilet. 

Nadia lay sprawled on his bed, flipping through her notes on the coin, her brow furrowed in concentration. She gnawed on her thumbnail, trying—and mostly failing—to tune out the awful sounds coming from the bathroom.

She glanced at the clock. "An hour," she muttered under her breath. "He's been in there for an hour."

The motel room door creaked open, and Sam walked in, his face immediately twisting in mild disgust as he caught the lingering odor.

"Is Dean all right?" he asked, his voice tinged with concern but carrying a trace of amusement.

"No, he's not." Nadia hopped off the bed, slapping her notebook closed. "I did some research—turns out the wishes from that well go bad. Very bad."

Sam raised an eyebrow, looking between her and the bathroom door. "The sandwich, huh?"

As if on cue, the toilet flushed, and the bathroom door creaked open. Dean stumbled out, pale and sweaty, a towel pressed to his face. His exhaustion was written in every line of his slumped shoulders.

"Yeah," Dean muttered, leaning heavily in the doorway. "The sandwich."

"You look awful," Sam said, smirking.

Dean shot him a glare, pushing off the frame as if to reassert some of his dignity, only to stagger slightly. "Thanks, Dr. Phil." He reached for the mini-fridge, grabbing a beer to rinse the lingering taste from his mouth.

Nadia crossed her arms, watching him with a mix of concern and exasperation. "The coin's Babylonian," she explained. "It's cursed. I found some fragments of a legend."

Dean groaned, clutching his stomach as he moved toward a chair. "Hold up," he said, raising a hand as he doubled over slightly. He took a deep breath, steadying himself. "Okay, I'm good. Go on."

Sam couldn't help the faint smirk tugging at his lips as he sat down beside Nadia, his eyes scanning the notes she had spread out on the bed.

"The serpent on the coin," Nadia continued, pointing to a crude sketch in her notes, "is Tiamat—the Babylonian goddess of primordial chaos. Looks like their priests dabbled in some heavy black magic."

"They made the coin?" Sam asked, his interest piqued.

Nadia nodded, pacing slowly as she spoke. "Yeah. To sow the seeds of chaos. The coin's a trigger—whoever tosses it in the well makes a wish, and it turns the well on. Then it starts granting wishes to everyone."

"But the wishes get twisted," Dean added, his voice raspier than usual. He slumped into a chair and cracked open the beer, wincing as he took a sip. "You ask for a talking teddy bear. . ."

"You get a bipolar nut job," Sam finished, recalling one of their stranger cases.

"And you get E. coli," Nadia added, shooting Dean a teasing glance.

Dean groaned, tilting his head back against the chair. "Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up."

"This coin has turned more than one town upside down over the centuries," Nadia said, sitting down beside him. Her tone shifted, taking on a more serious edge. "It's even wiped a few off the map. One person making a wish is bad enough, but if everyone starts making wishes . . ."

"It's chaos," Sam concluded grimly, meeting her eyes.

"Exactly," she confirmed.

Dean set his beer down with a thud, his expression darkening. "So for now, we've got a couple of nutso dreams come true. But once word gets out about the well?" He looked between them, his jaw tightening.

"Things are just gonna get crazier and crazier," Sam finished, his voice heavy with unspoken urgency.

The three of them exchanged a knowing glance, the weight of what lay ahead settling over the room like a storm cloud.  

November '08

I almost slept with Dean.

Would it have been premature?

Yes.

Though I want to, I'm glad it didn't happen because there are still things we need to discuss.

Angels aside, Dean is still handling the effects of his time in the Pit. He's not sleeping, and he's drinking a lot.

I've been down this road with my father. It took him years to heal, and half of that time for me to learn boundaries so I wouldn't get caught up in his pain.

I love Dean, but—

Nadia froze, her pen hovering over the journal's lined paper. Her eyes locked on the last sentence, as if staring at it would somehow erase what she'd just written. Her breath caught in her throat. The inked word love stared back at her, unyielding and bold, like a truth she wasn't ready to admit.

Her hand started to tremble slightly, and she gulped, the noise loud in the stillness of the motel room. The journal felt heavier in her lap than it had moments before.

"You okay?"

Nadia jumped, slamming the journal shut with more force than intended. Sam's voice pulled her out of her spiraling thoughts, and she looked up to find him watching her curiously from across the table.

"Uh . . . yeah." She fumbled with the small lock on the cover, snapping it shut. "Just tired."

Sam nodded, but his sharp, calculating gaze lingered a little longer.

Nadia set the journal aside, trying to push away the swirl of emotions threatening to consume her. She wasn't used to this. She'd never fallen for someone this fast—especially not to the point of letting herself think the L word. Her heart had already made the leap, but her mind wasn't ready to follow. Not yet. Not with everything they were facing. Not with Dean still clawing his way back to the surface after what he endured in the Pit.

The tension in the room was palpable, the weight of unsaid things hanging between them. Needing to move, Nadia stood abruptly. "Beer?" she asked, glancing briefly at Dean.

He was sprawled out on the bed, dead to the world in a rare nap. Naturally, he'd decided to take a break while they did all the legwork.

"Yeah, sure," Sam said.

Nadia crossed to the mini-fridge, opening it with a faint smile that quickly faded as she looked inside. Of course. The napper had already cleaned it out. She closed the door with a sigh.

"All gone?" Sam guessed.

"Yup," she replied, deflated.

As she returned to her seat, movement from the bed caught her attention. Dean stirred, his body twitching slightly, his hand curling into a fist. Then came the mumbling, low and slurred, as if his subconscious was trying to fight its way to the surface.

Sam's jaw tightened, his expression souring. Nadia glanced at him, noting the way his lips pressed into a thin line. He'd been frustrated with Dean for weeks now—for the drinking, the deflection, and the way he avoided the truth of what had happened in Hell. Sam wanted to help, but the lies were making it harder to feel any sympathy.

Dean twitched again, his mumbling becoming more audible, though the words were still incoherent.

"Hey," Nadia said softly, pulling Sam's attention. "You mind getting us some beer?"

Sam's eyebrows shot up. "Right now?"

"I know it's late," she said quickly, her tone almost pleading. "I'm just really thirsty, you know?"

He hesitated, his gaze flicking to Dean, who was still restless but silent for now. Finally, he relented. "Um . . . yeah. Okay. Sure."

Sam grabbed his jacket, then snagged the Impala's keys off the table.

"I'll be back," he said, his voice quieter now, as if trying not to wake Dean.

Nadia smiled faintly as she walked him to the door. "And I'll be researching," she said with a nod, watching as the door clicked shut behind him.

Nadia spun on her heels, her concern growing as she crossed the room to Dean. His breathing was shallow, and though his eyes were closed, his face was twisted with visible fear. Whatever nightmare had him in its grip wasn't letting go.

She sat at his side, hesitating for a brief moment before reaching out. Her fingers brushed against his cheek, warm and damp with sweat.

"You're okay," she whispered softly, letting her voice carry a calmness she didn't entirely feel. Her free hand hovered above his chest, a faint golden light emanating from her palm. She focused, allowing her angelic essence to reach into his subconscious, soothing the chaos within. "You're safe, Dean. You're safe."

Dean's body stilled, his chest rising and falling more steadily. His brows relaxed, the tension melting away as he took a deep breath. Slowly, his green eyes fluttered open, still hazy with sleep.

When he realized it was Nadia sitting beside him, he bolted upright, his eyes darting around the room.

"Where's Sam?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

"I sent him on a beer run," Nadia said, leaning back to give him space. "You were mumbling in your sleep. Nightmare?"

Dean rubbed his face roughly, as if trying to erase the remnants of whatever had haunted him. "Nah, nah," he muttered before catching her unimpressed expression. He sighed, his shoulders sagging. "I mean, yeah. Sorry, it's a reflex."

"Did Sam see?" 

Nadia's eyes narrowed. "Why do you think he's out getting beer?" She stood, letting him plant his feet on the floor. "I didn't want you two getting into an argument. Figured it was better to give you some breathing room."

"Man, I owe you one," Dean said, reaching under the bed to retrieve a bottle of whiskey.

"Maybe chill on the whiskey," Nadia said as she returned to her seat at the table. "You drink it like it's apple juice."

Dean chuckled as he unscrewed the cap. "Well, it kind of looks like apple juice. Hey, it's like apple juice for adults." He grinned, but his smile faltered when he noticed she wasn't laughing. Her expression was serious, and her steady gaze pinned him in place.

"What? You send Sam away just to dig in my ass?"

Nadia held his gaze, unflinching. She recognized this side of him—the defensive, struggling Dean who masked his pain with bravado. She didn't take it personally but made a mental note of his shift in behavior compared to earlier.

"You know, Dean," she began, her tone calm but firm, "you remind me of my father. In a lot of ways good . . . and in other ways that remind me how hard it was for him to get over my mother. How bad he used to drink."

Dean's expression darkened. "What's your point, Robin? You knew I was struggling when you were itching to get my clothes off."

"Okay, so I got caught up in the moment." She shrugged, keeping her composure. "Is that a crime? You're being a dick now, but that doesn't mean I won't want to have sex, Dean. Unless . . ." She leaned forward slightly. "All those things you said earlier don't mean anything now that I'm calling you out?"

His jaw tightened, guilt flashing across his face. "How could you say that?" he asked, standing with the bottle still in hand.

"Did you mean it?" Nadia asked directly. "Because I get that you're struggling, but like I told you before—you don't get to use me when it's convenient. You don't get to turn your feelings on and off."

Dean exhaled sharply, the fight leaving his body. He set the bottle down on the table and knelt in front of her, his hands reaching for hers.

"I meant every word," he said quietly, his green eyes locking with hers. "My life has been . . . complicated. But my feelings for you? They're the simplest, most uncomplicated thing I've ever had. It's just . . ." He hesitated, searching for the right words. "It's all happening at a really unfortunate time for me."

"I know," Nadia said, her voice softening. She pointed to the bottle. "But this isn't the way. I know you don't want to talk—not to Sam, not to me—but drinking like this hasn't helped yet, and it won't. I watched my father go down this road, and I can't watch you do the same. I won't, Dean."

She slid the bottle across the table toward him. "It's your choice. You can't do it for me—it has to be for you."

Dean stared at the bottle, longing etched into every line of his face. He wanted nothing more than to drown his sorrows, to let the burn of the whiskey numb everything he couldn't face. But Nadia's words cut through the fog.

Hours ago, he'd confessed to her that he saw a future with her. Now, he had to prove it. He couldn't fall into old habits, not if he wanted to be the man she believed he could be.

"You're right," he said finally, pushing the bottle away. "I have to deal, and killing my liver won't fix anything."

Nadia's face softened, and she reached out to caress his cheek. "I'm sorry you're going through this. If I could take it all away, I would."

"I know," he said, rubbing her arms gently. "I know."

"Hey," she said suddenly, a spark of an idea lighting her face. "Maybe you should sleep in my room tonight."

A sly grin crept across his face. "Good idea. We can finish what we started."

"No," she chuckled, shaking her head. "To sleep. Maybe you'd get some rest if you weren't alone. No offense to Sam."

Dean snickered but hesitated, the vulnerability of the offer giving him pause. "I don't know."

"You can think about it," Nadia said, understanding his hesitation. "For now, we need to figure this wish thing out."

"Right," Dean muttered, sitting on the edge of his bed and grabbing the newspaper.

Nadia joined him, scanning Sam's notes. "We've got a talking teddy bear, lottery guy, and invisible pervert guy. My guess is all of them made wishes sometime in the last two weeks. The mystery is who made the first wish, and how the hell are we supposed to figure that out?"

Dean smirked as a story in the paper caught his eye. "Well, it helps when they announce it in the paper."

She leaned over to look, her eyes landing on a photo of the couple from Lucky Chin's.

"Wesley Mondale and Ms. Hope Lynn Casey have announced their surprise engagement," she read aloud.

"Ah, true love," Dean said sarcastically.

"Guess we've got our lead, then," Nadia said, closing her journal. "Update Sam and tell him thanks for the beer run, would you?"

"Whoa, where you goin'?"

"It's been a long, interesting day. I need some sleep and a shower."

Dean followed her to the door. "Well, I can—"

"Alone," she cut him off with a teasing smile. "I'll see you in the morning." She kissed his cheek before stepping out.

Dean watched her go, his chest tightening as she disappeared down the hall.

Later that night, after hours of tossing and turning, Dean couldn't take it anymore. Memories of Hell gnawed at him, dragging him back into darkness whenever he closed his eyes. Finally, at 3 a.m., he mustered the courage to leave the room.

He knocked on Nadia's door, his heart pounding in his chest.

After a moment, the door opened, and Nadia stood there in a tank top and plaid pajama shorts, her eyes half-closed with sleep.

"Dean?" she murmured, rubbing her eyes. "You okay?"

"Sorry to wake you," he said, his voice low. He gulped. "Still up for that sleepover?"

A soft smile spread across her face. "Of course. Come on," she said, taking his hand and pulling him inside.