Sam parked the car in front of Lucky Chin's, the engine dying with a soft hum as he shifted into park. The air was thick with tension. Sam and Nadia exchanged a glance before they all got out of the car.

Wes, still reeling from what he had seen, lingered behind for a moment, his eyes distant, lost in thought.

"That—that kid turned over that car like—like it was nothing," Wes muttered, his voice laced with disbelief.

Nadia let out a quiet laugh, though it lacked its usual warmth. "You should've seen the teddy bear," she replied, her tone light but her mind far from amused. Wes didn't seem to hear her—his mind was too focused on the chaos he'd just witnessed.

Sam motioned toward the sidewalk, trying to push the situation forward. "Come on," he urged, his voice firm. "Fun's over. Time to pull the coin."

Wes hesitated. His eyes flicked to the ground, then back to the car, uncertainty clouding his face.

"Wes!" Nadia's voice cut through the silence, sharper this time.

Wes blinked, frustration bubbling over. "Why can't we just get what we want?!" he yelled, his voice shaking with anger and helplessness. "Why does everything have to go wrong?"

Nadia felt a pang of empathy, something in his tone reminding her of the frustrations she'd buried long ago. His pain was raw, something she recognized all too well.

But as she opened her mouth to speak, something shifted. There was an unseen force tugging at her, an ancient, undeniable pull. Her voice, when it came out, was steadier than it should have been—too steady, too calm. "Because that's just life, Wes," she said, the words slipping from her lips with an ease that didn't quite feel like her own. "And—"

Before she could finish, a dark cloud suddenly formed above them. It was unnatural, looming ominously, as if it had no business being there.

"Sam!" Nadia gasped, her words catching in her throat.

A bolt of lightning shot from the sky, striking Sam with a violent crack that split the air. He dropped to the ground instantly, lifeless.

"No, no, no!" Nadia screamed, rushing to his side. She pressed her fingers to his neck, feeling for a pulse. There was nothing. Her breath hitched in panic. "Who the hell would do this?" The words slipped out, half a question and half a curse, but as soon as she said them, a chilling image flashed in her mind—Hope's face, her expression distant and cold.

Nadia's gaze darted toward the restaurant. She saw Hope inside, standing near the wishing well, an eerie stillness about her. The pieces fell together in a rush, and Nadia's stomach twisted with dread.

"Listen to me," she said, turning on Wes with a sudden intensity. Her hands gripped his collar, pulling him closer to her. There was an undeniable pressure in her words, like they were coming from somewhere deeper than her own mind. Something inside her was working, without her even realizing it. "You are not the only person in the world suffering, and you won't be the last. You will fix this, and no, you don't have a choice."

Wes stared at her, his expression flickering with confusion, but something in her voice—the certainty, the command—seemed to make him pause. He opened his mouth to argue, but she didn't let him. "Shut up," she snapped, her voice low, colder than she intended, but it held him in place. She shoved him toward the door, her forceful grip guiding him forward. "We're going in. Now."

Wes, shaken, followed her without protest. The door of the restaurant swung open, and they stepped inside. Hope was there, standing by the wishing well, her face drawn, distant.

Wes stopped short, his breath catching as he saw her. "Hope?"

Hope turned slowly, her expression unreadable. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice soft but heavy with guilt. "I had to, didn't I? They're gonna make you wish our love away."

Wes's heart broke at her words. "You wished a man dead?" 

"I love you more than anything," Hope replied, her voice trembling. She reached out to him, her hands shaky. "I couldn't—I couldn't take it anymore."

Wes stepped back, "Stop saying that," he said."Stop it!"

But Hope was desperate, her tears streaming down her face as she clutched his collar. "But I do," she whispered, her voice breaking. "More than anything. More than me. More than life. Oh, Wes..." Her hands moved to his face, gently caressing it. "Don't hate me."

Wes's heart twisted painfully, and despite everything, despite the horror of what had happened, he felt the pull of her love. He leaned down and kissed her. When he pulled away, he held her one last time, as if to make sure he was truly saying goodbye.

"It'll be okay," he whispered, though he wasn't sure if he believed it himself. He stepped back, looking toward Nadia. She gave him a subtle nod, a quiet approval. He wasn't sure if it was for his actions or just a sign that he had done what needed to be done.

Wes took a deep breath and reached into the fountain. His fingers closed around the coin. The moment he touched it, something in the air shifted. Hope blinked, her dazed expression clearing as if she had woken from a trance.

"Do I know you?" she asked, her voice uncertain, confused.

Wes stood there for a moment, his heart aching, before he took a step back. "Hope," he whispered, but she didn't respond. She turned away from him, walking off without a second glance.

Wes's chest tightened. The ache of loss hit him like a physical blow, but there was nothing he could do. Nothing would ever be the same again.

Nadia turned away briefly, her own chest tight with empathy. She had seen this kind of loss before—had felt it herself—and it never got any easier.

When they stepped outside, they found Sam, very much alive, sitting on the sidewalk. He gave them a weak smile, still shaking off the shock.

"You good?" Nadia asked, her voice soft but filled with relief.

"Yeah. Yeah, you guys?" Sam replied, looking over at the two of them, but his gaze flickered over to Wes.

Wes didn't answer. He reached into his pocket, pulled out the coin, and handed it to Sam wordlessly. Without looking back, he turned and walked away, his shoulders slumped in defeat. The streetlights flickered above him as he disappeared into the day, alone.

Nadia watched him go, something heavy settling in her chest. There had been a pull—something deep inside her that had pushed Wes toward this moment, a quiet but undeniable force. She didn't understand it, not fully. 

Concrete, Washington, was quiet again, the earlier chaos of wishes and their strange aftermath faded into the backdrop of a town that had returned to normal. The newspaper headlines now labeled all those outlandish wishes as hoaxes, a collective sigh of relief rippling through the community. Nadia sat on a bench near the pier, the early afternoon sun casting a warm glow on the water, as Dean flipped through the newspaper beside her.

"Poor guy," Nadia muttered, reading the article about the man who had won the lottery only to lose it all just days later. "Imagine hitting the lottery one day and three days later, you're broke again."

"He'll live," Dean chuckled, closing the paper with a snap. He slid his arm around her casually, his touch warm and familiar. "So..." he trailed off, his tone shifting as if he had something on his mind.

"Yeah?" Nadia asked, crossing one leg over the other, giving him her full attention.

Dean hesitated, unsure of how to continue, but his thoughts were interrupted as Audrey passed by with her parents. They were sunburned, their cheeks flushed from a long day in the sun, and Audrey was clutching her once-giant teddy bear. The poor thing was practically falling apart, a ribbon holding together the tear in its head.

Audrey waved at them, and they both waved back, smiling.

"This case is definitely one for the books," Nadia said, speaking aloud more to herself than to Dean. She watched Audrey walk by, her heart heavy with thoughts of all that had transpired. "Anyway, you were saying?"

Dean's lips quirked up into a small smile, as if steeling himself to say something. He seemed to gather his courage before speaking again.

"Thank you for last night," Dean said, his voice softer now, sincere. He gave a small shrug, his fingers running through his hair. "I haven't slept that good since I got back. I also... I've never slept with a woman without actually sleeping with her."

"Huh huh," Nadia replied with a quiet laugh, raising an eyebrow.

Dean shifted, uncomfortable with the direction of his own words. "It was like being intimate without... being intimate."

Nadia looked at him, her expression thoughtful. "Did you like it?"

Dean's eyebrows furrowed in mild surprise, as if he hadn't expected the question. "I did, actually. A lot," he admitted, his voice steady but with an underlying vulnerability. "I mean, I still like the other thing—more—but... it was nice. Knowing you were there, waking up with you next to me."

Nadia's smile softened, her gaze lingering on him. "It was," she agreed quietly, feeling a warmth spread in her chest.

Dean cleared his throat, trying to sound more confident than he felt. "Maybe we should make it a thing."

Nadia tilted her head, curious. "The sleepovers?"

Dean chuckled, but his eyes were serious. "No," he said, and for a moment, there was a flicker of something more in his gaze, something deeper. "I mean... us."

Nadia's heart skipped a beat, but before she could respond, her phone rang, cutting the moment short.

"Sorry," she said quickly, pulling the phone out of her pocket. "It's my dad. I need to take this. Give me a minute."

Dean gave a distracted wave of his hand, though his eyes were still on her, slightly wary. "Yeah, yeah, sure. Go ahead."

Nadia took a few steps away from Dean to give him space, pressing the phone to her ear. As she listened to the ringing tone, she glanced back toward Dean. His face was unreadable, but she could tell his mind was somewhere else, likely processing their conversation. She felt a pang of guilt, knowing she had pulled away just as things were beginning to shift between them.

"Hey, Dad," Nadia greeted, trying to keep her voice calm. "Did you find my grace?"

There was a brief pause on the other end before Rufus spoke, his voice low but steady. "No, we didn't. But Ben and Irene are here. We didn't find your grace, but we took your advice about the floorboard... and we hit the jackpot."

Nadia's pulse quickened. "What'd you find?"

Rufus's voice was tinged with excitement. "A few lore books. All on your mother, the archangels, the apocalypse... most, if not all, the answers you've been looking for. We've been holed up in the attic for the past few days, reading nonstop."

"Did you find anything important?" Nadia pressed, her heart thumping in her chest.

Irene's voice cut in, her tone thoughtful. "We found out your mother is the youngest archangel. She's a unique mix of all her brothers' abilities."

Ben's voice joined in, his amazement evident. "She could manipulate electricity like Raphael, self-duplicate like Gabriel. She even had a sonic scream like Lucifer."

Nadia's breath hitched. The pieces were falling into place. The strange power she'd felt inside her, the near-fatal incident with Irene—suddenly, it all made sense.

"Anything about Michael?" Nadia asked, her voice tight.

Rufus sighed deeply. "She and Michael didn't have the closest relationship. On one hand, you had Lucifer, who despised humanity to the point of being cast out. Then there was your mother, who loved humanity so much it often raised questions about her loyalty. Michael, the oldest and the leader, always followed the rules. Your mother... she was free-spirited. She didn't just follow orders, and they bumped heads a lot. It didn't help that God was lenient with her, his only girl."

"Of course, he left all that out," Nadia muttered bitterly, rubbing the back of her neck. Her suspicions about Michael deepened.

"Yeah, we found some old letters too," Irene chimed in. "Tons of them. Thought you might want to read them when you get the chance."

"Yeah, that's fine. Thanks, guys," Nadia said, her voice low but grateful. "Please, keep looking for my grace. I appreciate everything you're doing."

"We won't give up," Rufus promised. "We'll keep reading and keep you posted. Love you, kid."

"Love you too. Bye," Nadia replied, her mind spinning with everything she'd just learned.

As she hung up, she felt a knot form in her stomach. She didn't know whether to trust Michael or not. If he truly was as rigid and law-abiding as they described, it seemed like there was little room for compassion in his world. And if he hadn't understood her mother... what did that say about her relationship with him? But then again, if Michael was truly a soldier, as he had been painted, he would need her help—especially with Dean.

She looked back at Dean, who was now talking to Sam. Dean's voice was low, his words quiet but earnest. Nadia couldn't hear the details, but she caught the most important part.

"I remember Hell," Dean admitted, his voice strained, almost reluctant. "But I don't want to talk about it."

Nadia's heart swelled with pride for him. She hadn't known if he would ever be able to face that part of his past, let alone talk about it.

Her smile was soft as she looked at him, watching as he slowly opened up. It gave her hope, not just for him, but for them. She had worried, like she had with Wes, that their relationship would never fully come to be, that it would be cut short by something too big to overcome.