Nadia pushed the elevator button, her nerves fraying as she glanced around. She shouldn't have come back to Sandover, not with her uncle lurking in the shadows. But after much internal debate, she knew she had to speak to Dean.

The elevator doors slid open, and her gaze immediately locked with Sam's. He was holding a box, looking... happy.

Sam raised an eyebrow, his lips parting to say her name, but Nadia's heart sank. She'd never told him who she was. They'd never properly introduced themselves.

"Nadia. Sam, right?"

"Yeah." He stepped out of the elevator, letting someone else in. "You're Dean's assistant."

"I was," she corrected him, shifting uncomfortably. "I... uh, quit. Sort of. I mean, I don't really feel comfortable working at a place where one guy fried his head in the microwave and another jabbed himself in the neck with a pencil."

Sam chuckled, a bit awkwardly. "Fair enough. If it makes you feel better, though, I don't think there'll be anything like that going on anymore."

"Is that right?"

"Yeah." Sam lifted his chin slightly, a sense of pride in his voice.

"Well, I won't ask for the details. I'll just take your word for it." She gave a slight nod. "Good luck out there, Sam." With that, Nadia hit the button again, calling the elevator.

"Who are you?" Sam asked, a puzzled look crossing his face. "I mean, you encouraged me to follow my instinct. I assume it was you who got Dean to call me. Why? Did you know about the ghost? Did you know we'd solve the case?"

Nadia hesitated, her eyes darkening slightly as she spoke. "I knew about the ghost. I wasn't sure about you two at first. And... I might have planted some seeds, nudged things along a little. But I'd never take credit for what's always been within you."

The elevator dinged, and the doors opened. Nadia stepped inside, the weight of Sam's questions still lingering in the air.

"That doesn't answer my question about who you are," Sam frowned.

"I'm an angel." Nadia smiled softly, her glowing eyes the last thing Sam saw before the doors slid shut.

As the elevator ascended, Nadia's heart hammered in her chest. The closer she got to Dean's floor, the more she felt the weight of what she needed to say. She closed her eyes, trying to steady her nerves. The angel wasn't sure what to expect from this meeting. She only knew that after what Zachariah had said, she had to see him.

Nadia stepped off the elevator and made her way to Dean's office. The door was open when she arrived, but she knocked anyway, a lingering sense of hesitation creeping in.

"Sarah?" Dean's voice cracked slightly as he stood quickly, his posture defensive.

He wore a black suit, a white and light blue striped dress shirt beneath it, paired with a light blue and gray plaid tie. She assumed his suspenders matched. They always did.

"What are you doing here? Adler said you quit because you were freaked out by the murders."

"Of course he did." Nadia shook her head, frustration flaring inside her.

"I'm sorry?"

"Nothing..." She trailed off, locking eyes with him. A rush of memories flooded her, making her skin flush with warmth. She remembered the way they had looked at each other before, how his lips had felt on hers. Before she knew it, she was shutting the door behind her.

"What are you doing?" Dean's frown deepened as he watched her.

Ignoring him, Nadia closed the blinds and turned to face him, joining him behind his desk.

"Sarah—"

"Shh." She gently placed a finger against his lips, staring deeply into his eyes.

She kissed him softly, a fleeting touch, then pulled away just slightly, a thoughtful frown furrowing her brow as if testing the waters. She studied his face carefully. He looked perplexed, a little embarrassed. His cheeks were tinged with pink.

Then, suddenly, the passion ignited in his eyes. Dean pulled her in with one arm, pressing his lips firmly against hers. At that moment, memories—his, hers—flooded them both.

"Fight... People like us, 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?"

...

"We agreed to be friends, but every moment I'm around you, I get all fuzzy inside. Then I think about my crappy life and realize if I ever got the chance to be with you, I'd probably mess it up anyway. And you're so, so, so FREAKING BEAUTIFUL like who are you?!"

...

"I just... I don't want you to regret this, you know? I'm... I'm trying to be the good guy here."

...

"I want to be with you. Don't you get that? It's crappy timing, but you're the light in this dark time—cheesy as it sounds."

"It's very cheesy. I like cheesy, Dean."

...

"I love you, Nadia."

Dean pulled away first, panting, confusion written across his face. "Did you see that?"

Nadia swallowed hard, nodding. She pulled away, a small smile tugging at her lips despite herself, her hand lightly brushing her mouth.

"You're not Sarah?" Dean asked, still trying to make sense of it all.

"No, I'm not." Nadia's smile faded, replaced by a somber expression. "My name is Nadia. I was pretending to be Sarah... so I could help you and Sam."

"Help us with what?"

Nadia's gaze sharpened, and she quickly took his face into her hands, her voice urgent. "You were made for something bigger than this, Dean. They know that, and they want to use you."

"Who? For what?"

"I don't know what. They don't tell me anything. But all I know is that you're a great man who will do great things. Don't fight it. Don't be afraid to jump—because it's already in you, Dean. Okay?"

Dean swallowed hard, her words weighing heavily on him.

"And you should know... we were always supposed to meet. I was supposed to guide you, protect you. But I guess... we threw them a curveball. Like you saw..."

"W-what am I supposed to do with that?"

"I don't know, Dean. But if what they want from you is going to cost you me—or anyone else you love—make sure it's worth it." Her voice wavered, and her eyes filled with unshed tears. "Take it from me: the only thing that sets me apart from them is that I don't believe everything is so black and white, so cut-and-dry. They follow the rules, no matter who gets hurt. Just... watch your back, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, okay."

"You promise?"

"Yeah, I promise."

Nadia kissed his cheek softly, pulling away quickly. "Good luck."

Dean stood rooted to the spot, fighting the urge to pull her back, his eyes following her as she left.

Dean had forced himself to work all day. His mind felt like it was running on autopilot, but he couldn't shake the heaviness of what had happened with Sam and what Nadia had told him earlier. He was stuck at a crossroads, paralyzed by uncertainty.

Sam had been right. He could feel it in his gut—something was off. He didn't belong here, in this office, in this world. He should be out there, helping people, just like he and Sam had done the night before.

As crazy as it seemed, solving the ghost case had been unnervingly easy. The way he and Sam had worked together, almost as if they'd done it a thousand times before—it was fun. Exhilarating. It felt like something he wanted to do again.

But he couldn't reconcile that with the life he was supposed to lead now. After what Nadia said, he knew that whatever was going on was much bigger than just a ghost. There was a bigger purpose, a weight on his shoulders that he wasn't sure he could carry.

Someone, somewhere, was expecting something of him. Something huge. And what if he wasn't enough?

Dean paused from typing, rubbing his face with his hands as a tired sigh slipped out. He leaned back in his chair, staring blankly at the screen. The thoughts circling in his head were overwhelming, but before he could dwell on them any longer, a knock at the door pulled him from his spiraling thoughts.

It was Zachariah—well, in Dean's case, Mr. Adler.

"Got a minute?"

"Sure, of course," Dean responded, his voice strained, trying to push the weight of his thoughts aside.

Zachariah stepped in and shut the door behind him, his eyes scanning Dean with a furrowed brow. "How are you feeling, Dean?"

"Uh, great," Dean lied, clasping his hands together in a way that felt unnatural.

"You look a little tired," Zachariah observed, his tone casual but sharp. "Been working hard, I gather?"

"Yeah," Dean chuckled nervously, shrugging as if he could dismiss the heaviness he was feeling. "Just staying on top of things."

"Ah, don't be modest." Zachariah waved a hand dismissively, walking further into the room. "I hear everything, and I'm pleased with what I'm hearing." He took a seat at Dean's desk, his posture confident and relaxed. "That's why it's important to me that you're happy."

Dean gave a small, uncertain nod.

Zachariah reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pen, quickly scribbling a five-digit number on a sticky note before sliding it across the desk toward Dean. "How's that for a bonus?"

Dean glanced down at the note, a grin tugging at his lips despite himself. "That's very generous."

"Purely selfish," Zachariah replied, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied smile. "I want to make sure you're not going anywhere."

Dean blinked, the weight of those words catching his attention. "Wow. Are you sure?"

"Positive." Zachariah smiled wider, his voice full of pride. "You're Sandover material, son. A real go-getter. Carving your own way."

Dean's throat tightened, a strange sense of discomfort creeping in as he fought the urge to question everything. "Well, thanks. I try."

"I see big things in your future," Zachariah continued, his voice growing more earnest. "Maybe even senior VP, Eastern Great Lakes Division."

Dean's gaze faltered, his mind racing with Sam and Nadia's words. The unease in his gut only grew stronger. He could feel the weight of the crossroads he was standing at.

Zachariah didn't seem to notice the shift in Dean's demeanor, continuing to paint an ideal future. "Don't get me wrong, you'll have to work for it—seven days a week, lunch at your desk—but in eight to ten short years, that could be you."

Dean found himself speechless for a moment. He chuckled nervously, but it felt hollow. "Uh, well, thank you. Thank you, sir. It's... um, but..." He hesitated, his discomfort palpable as he slowly removed his headset.

He handed the sticky note back to Zachariah. "I'm giving my notice."

Zachariah's smile faltered, his posture shifting immediately. "This is a joke," he said, sitting up straighter. "You're kidding me, right?"

"No," Dean said firmly. "I've... I've recently realized I have some other work I have to do. It's, uh, very important to me."

"Other work? Another company?" Zachariah's confusion deepened.

"No, I—" Dean ran a hand through his hair, frustrated by how hard it was to explain. "It's hard to put into words. It's just that..." He touched his tie, uncomfortable in the formality of the suit. "This isn't the life I'm supposed to be living."

Zachariah's lips curled into a Cheshire cat-like grin, his expression suddenly amused.

"What?"

"Dean, Dean, Dean," Zachariah said, smiling wider now. "Finally."

With a swift motion, Zachariah stood up and pressed two fingers to his forehead. Everything around them faded into dim gray as if the color had been drained from the room.

Suddenly, all of Dean's memories and reality come back. He looked around and down at himself.

"What the hell? Why am I wearing a tie?" He touched his stomach, instantly agitated.

Zachariah laughs, rising to his feet. "Welcome back."

Dean stands up, suddenly realizing what just happened. "Wait. Did I—did I just get touched by—you're an angel, aren't you?"

"I'm Zachariah."

Dean rolls his eyes, frustration building. "Oh, great. That's all I need, is another one of you guys." He thrusts the chair into a spin, his annoyance palpable.

Zachariah smiles at Dean's reaction. Unfazed, he walks around the desk to stand in front of him, forcing them to face each other. "I'm hardly another one, Dean. I'm Castiel's superior. Believe me, I had no interest in popping down here into one of these smelly things." He gestures to his human form with a slight grimace. "But after the unfortunate situation with Uriel, I felt it necessary to pay a visit. Get my ducks in a row."

Dean spits, his anger rising. "I am not one of your ducks."

Zachariah's expression turns serious. He stands tall, speaking firmly, almost fatherly. "Starting with your attitude."

Dean scoffs, crossing his arms. "Oh, so, what? This was all some sort of lesson? Is that what you're telling me?" He puts on an exaggerated impressed expression. "Wow. Very creative."

Dean looks Zachariah up and down, his brow furrowing in frustration. "So, what? I'm just hallucinating all this? Is that it?"

"Not at all." Zachariah takes a few steps away, his expression unreadable. "Real place, real haunting. Just plunked you in the middle without the benefit of your memories."

"Just to shake things up? Hm? So you guys can have fun watching us run around like ass clowns in monkey suits?" Dean flicks his suit jacket, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Zachariah's gaze sharpens, his tone unwavering. "To prove to you that the path you're on is truly in your blood. You're a hunter."

Dean looks away, the weight of the words sinking in.

"Not because your dad made you, not because God called you back from hell, but because it is what you are. And you love it. You'll find your way to it in the dark every single time, and you're miserable without it. Dean, let's be real here. You're good at this. You'll be successful. You will stop it."

"Stop what?" Dean asks, his voice barely above a whisper. "The apocalypse, huh? Lucifer? What? Be specific, man!" he barks, irritation creeping into his tone.

"You'll do everything you're destined to do," Zachariah replies coolly. "All of it."

Dean tilts his head slightly, confusion and curiosity flickering across his face.

"But I know, I know," Zachariah steps back into his space, his eyes locked on Dean's with unsettling certainty. "You're not strong enough. You're scared."

Zachariah smiled, unmoved. "All I'm saying is . . . it's how you look at it."

Dean shook his head, turning away.

"Save people, maybe even the world. All the while you drive a classic car and enjoy fornicating with a certain someone. A certain angel."

Dean turned his head, glaring.

"I'd enjoy that while you can," Zachariah muttered not so well.

"What'd you say?"

"Look," Zachariah reeled the conversation back in. "This isn't a curse. It's a gift. So for God's sakes, Dean, quit whining about it. Look around," he gestures. "There are plenty of fates worse than yours . . . So are you with me?"