Sam and Dean arrived moments too late at Don's house. The stench of dark magic lingered in the basement as they discovered Tracy's lifeless body crumpled near the altar. Blood and ash stained the floor in chaotic patterns, and the faint echoes of Latin still seemed to hum in the air.

Sam knelt beside Tracy, grimacing at the clear signs of a struggle. Dean stood frozen, scanning the room as if expecting Nadia to step out from the shadows.

"She's not here," Dean muttered, his voice tight. He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed her number again.

No answer.

"Damn it!" Dean barked, shoving the phone back into his jacket. His mind spun with worst-case scenarios. "She should've called us by now, Sam."

Sam stood slowly, glancing at the altar and the blood-streaked chalice. "Nadia has to be with Samhain," he said grimly.

"Yeah, but where the hell are we gonna find this mook?"

"Where would you go to raise other dark forces of the night?"

"A cemetery," Dean replied without hesitation, the irony of the answer not lost on him.

The brothers bolted out of the house and crossed the street to the Impala. Dean started the car, flooring the gas as they sped off down the darkened road.

"Why would he take her?" Dean muttered, gripping the wheel tighter than necessary. He forced himself not to picture Nadia hurt—or worse.

"To do what all demons do: gloat," Sam offered, though his tone betrayed his own unease.

Dean slammed his hand against the steering wheel, his frustration boiling over. "Damn it, Robin, why'd you go in by yourself?"

"Nadia can handle herself. Don't worry," Sam said, trying to reassure him. But after a moment, he frowned, considering the power they were up against. "Still... this demon's pretty strong, Dean. Stronger than most we've faced."

Dean gave a knowing nod. "Yeah."

"Might take more than the usual weapons," Sam said cautiously, testing the waters for his next suggestion.

Dean's sharp gaze cut to his brother. "Sam, no. You're not using your psychic whatever."

"But—"

"Don't even think about it!" Dean snapped, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Ruby's knife is enough."

"Why?" Sam challenged, his jaw tightening.

"Because the angels said so, for one—"

"I thought you said they were a bunch of fanatics."

"Well, they happen to be right about this one," Dean countered firmly.

Sam shook his head, his frustration mounting. "I don't know, Dean. It doesn't seem like they're right about much."

"Forget the angels, okay?" Dean's voice softened but carried weight. "You said it yourself, Sam. These powers—it's like playing with fire."

Dean picked up Ruby's knife from the seat and held it out to his brother. "Please."

Sam hesitated, but after a tense moment, he took the knife with a reluctant huff.

When they arrived at the cemetery, it was already a scene out of a horror movie. The moonlight illuminated chaos: graves burst open, skeletal hands clawing through the dirt as the undead stumbled into the night. Zombies and ghostly apparitions roamed the grounds, attacking anything that moved.

Terrified people screamed and fled in all directions. A group of teenagers had barricaded themselves inside a crypt, but the undead were closing in fast.

"Dean, those kids need help!" Sam shouted.

Dean's instincts told him to keep Sam close, but his brother had already made up his mind.

"Go!" Sam ordered. "I'll find Samhain and Nadia!"

"Damn it, Sam!" Dean growled, but he had no choice. He turned toward the crypt to deal with the undead while Sam sprinted deeper into the cemetery.

In the cemetery's mausoleum, Nadia sat slumped against the wall beneath the colored-stained windows. Her head rested on her knees, blood drying on her face as she fought to regain her strength.

Samhain paced leisurely, his movements calculated and casual, like a predator enjoying its kill. He didn't seem in any rush, savoring the chaos outside like an artist admiring his masterpiece.

"This is beautiful, isn't it?" Samhain said, gesturing to the sounds of chaos beyond the mausoleum walls.

Nadia rolled her eyes, wiping at the dried blood on her face with the back of her hand. "If you're gonna give me a demon monologue, save it. I've heard it all before."

Samhain chuckled and crouched down in front of her, studying her face with an almost curious expression. "You're not as... angelic as I would've expected."

"What, you've never met an angel before?"

"No," he admitted. "Down here's our turf. If you're here, that means your little angel friends must be worried. Afraid you won't stop it in time."

"We'll stop the apocalypse," Nadia said with a bitter laugh. "You think you're the only seal? Get off your high horse."

Samhain smirked, standing again. "You can't stop the apocalypse. And if the rest of your kind are as weak as you, then we'll definitely prevail."

"I told you," Nadia muttered, her voice laced with defiance. "I'm—" She trailed off mid-sentence, her battered body stiffening as she felt a sudden presence—one that sent a chill down her spine.

Sam strode into the mausoleum with deliberate confidence, his gaze locked onto Samhain. That look in his eyes—it was all too familiar to Nadia. Determined, focused, and dangerous.

Samhain, oblivious at first, turned to face the younger Winchester. His cocky smirk faltered when Sam remained unfazed by his aura.

Sam stepped forward, unbothered by the demon's attempt to intimidate him. "Yeah, that demon ray gun stuff? It doesn't work on me."

Samhain's eyes flashed with irritation, and he rushed Sam with unbridled fury. But he was met with an uppercut that sent him stumbling back.

The fight erupted in an instant, the two trading brutal blows. Sam held his ground, his movements precise and unrelenting, but Samhain's strength was immense. In one swift motion, the demon slammed Sam against the wall, his hand gripping his throat with crushing force.

"Sam!" Nadia winced, her voice raspy as she struggled to push herself off the ground, leaning heavily against the wall for support.

Samhain barely spared her a glance, his grip on Sam tightening. He scoffed, eyes sweeping over her weakened form. "And what are you gonna do?"

Nadia's lips parted, and for a moment, Samhain didn't react—until an ear-piercing, inhuman scream erupted from her. The sound reverberated through the mausoleum, so sharp and unearthly that it made Samhain reel back in agony, clutching his ears.

Sam, too, was overwhelmed by the scream. His human ears, far more fragile, burned with pain as he dropped to his knees, hands flying to his head. One by one, the stained glass windows shattered violently, shards raining down as both Sam and Samhain collapsed to the floor.

The scream faded as Nadia's strength gave out, and she crumpled forward, blood trickling from her nostrils.

Samhain staggered, dazed but still standing. He wiped blood from his ears, his expression twisted with rage. He lunged toward Sam again, but this time Sam was ready.

Ruby's knife gleamed in his hand as Sam swung it toward the demon. Samhain blocked the strike with his forearm, snarling as he grabbed Sam by the jacket and hurled him across the room. Sam slammed into the wall, sliding to the floor with a pained grunt.

Samhain charged again, his anger fueling him—but he stopped short, frozen mid-step. His eyes widened in shock as an invisible force locked him in place.

Sam's hand was outstretched, his fingers trembling slightly as he used his psychic powers to immobilize the demon. The strain was evident in his furrowed brow and the beads of sweat forming on his temple, but he didn't falter.

Nadia lay on the ground, her vision blurring as she fought to stay conscious. She watched helplessly. Don't do it, Sam... she screamed internally. Think about Dean... But her voice wouldn't come.

Samhain's eyes darted wildly as he realized what was happening. He thrashed against the invisible force, but Sam's grip was too strong.

"No!" Samhain bellowed, his voice cracking as Sam intensified the exorcism.

Sam's nose began to bleed, the pressure in his head building as he poured all his energy into the ritual. His voice grew louder, more commanding, until finally, Samhain's spirit was ripped from its host.

A horrific, guttural roar filled the room as the demon was dragged back to Hell, leaving Don's lifeless body crumpled to the ground.

The room fell silent except for the sound of Sam's ragged breathing.

Dean burst into the mausoleum just in time to see Sam lower his hand, blood dripping from his nose. The sight of his brother—eyes wide, shaking, and utterly drained—made Dean's stomach churn.

"Dean..." Sam croaked, but Dean wasn't looking at him.

Dean's attention snapped to Nadia, who was sprawled on the floor, unconscious. He dropped to his knees beside her, gently lifting her head and brushing the blood from her face. His heart pounded as he checked for injuries, but to his relief, she was still breathing.

"Come on, Robin," Dean muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "Don't you do this to me."

Once he was certain she was alive, Dean's shoulders relaxed slightly, but his jaw tightened as he turned to Sam.

Sam stood frozen, his lip trembling and his eyes clouded with guilt. He looked at his brother, searching for some kind of understanding, some reassurance.

But Dean's expression was a mix of fear and disappointment—a silent condemnation.

"Dean, I..." Sam started, his voice breaking.

Dean didn't respond. He simply looked at Sam, the weight of everything unspoken hanging heavy in the air.

"Here's your ice cream."

"Thank you," Nadia said with a soft smile as she took two cups from Phil, the local ice cream man. The day was perfect—a warm summer afternoon with a cloudless sky. The park was buzzing with life. Children darted between the swings and slides, their laughter echoing through the air, while parents lounged on benches, chatting away or watching from a distance.

Nadia sat on the park's grassy slope, her dark curls catching the sunlight. She had just returned from a particularly grueling hunt. Every time she came home to her small Vermont town, she made it a priority to spend time with her younger brother, Ben. It was her way of grounding herself after days—sometimes weeks—of facing monsters and the unknown.

She looked over to the playground, where eight-year-old Ben was scrambling up the ladder to the top of the slide. "Ben!" she called out, holding up his ice cream. He looked up and immediately slid down, his little legs sprinting toward her with uncontainable energy.

"Thanks, Nadie!" he said, his grin wide as he grabbed the cup and dug in with gusto.

"Let's sit over there," Nadia said, gesturing toward a shaded bench beneath a large oak tree.

She started walking, but the sound of Ben's footsteps didn't follow. Stopping, she turned back, confused. Ben stood motionless a few feet away, his ice cream forgotten on the ground. His face had gone blank, the usual warmth and joy replaced by a cold, unreadable expression.

"Ben?" she called, her tone shifting to concern. She stepped closer. "Hey, are you okay?"

When he finally spoke, his voice was monotone, flat. "I am not your brother."

Nadia froze. The hair on the back of her neck stood up. "What?"

"I am simply using your memory of him to communicate with you," the boy continued, his small body unnervingly still. "I hope it's not too... traumatic."

Nadia's heart began to race, her hunter instincts kicking in. Her eyes narrowed as she scanned her surroundings for anything amiss. "It is a bit freaky," she said cautiously. "Who are you?"

The boy tilted his head slightly, his gaze unnervingly piercing. "I am the voice in your head. Michael."

Her breath hitched. "Michael? Michael as in... Mike, Gabe, Luci, and—"

"Raphael, yes. And your mother, Aniela. I see she told you about us."

Nadia exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "In some ways, yes. In a lot of ways... no."

"It's nice to meet you," he said, extending a small hand.

She stared at him, unsure whether to laugh or run. Cautiously, she shook his hand, her grip firm despite her nerves. "So... you're one of her brothers?"

Michael nodded. "We are all brothers and sisters, though there are... hierarchies. Some angels are more powerful than others. We are the Archangels. The first. Before the creation of the world. The most powerful."

The weight of his words settled over her like a heavy blanket. Nadia took a step back, crossing her arms protectively. "So, what you're telling me is that I'm not just part angel. I'm part..."

"Archangel, yes." Michael's tone was matter-of-fact. "You are more powerful than most angels you will encounter. Some will not take kindly to that fact. Especially since, by their laws, you should not exist."

Nadia blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Nephelims are considered abominations. Unlawful. Too powerful to walk the earth. As you grow in strength, entire worlds will die if you are not careful."

"But?"

Michael raised an eyebrow. "But... despite what most angels believe, we need you. I need you. My sister is gone now. You are next in line."

Nadia pinched the bridge of her nose, overwhelmed. "Look, uh... Uncle Mike—can I call you Uncle Mike? Is that too soon?"

Michael blinked, his expression unreadable. "Proceed."

"Thanks," she said dryly. "Anyway, I know you think telling me I'm 'next in line' should give me some kind of comfort, but it doesn't. This is... a lot. I don't even understand how we're talking right now. Usually, I'd have meds to blame this on, but this feels real." She gestured around. "Where am I?"

"You are dreaming, Nadia," Michael explained calmly.

Her brow furrowed. "Dreaming? I don't remember going to sleep."

"You used what strength you had left to help defeat Samhain. You failed to stop him, but he is dead. The town is safe."

Suddenly, it all came rushing back. The cemetery. The fight. The last thing she saw was Sam exorcising Samhain.

"How long have I been out?"

"Since last night."

"Oh, God," Nadia whispered, a wave of guilt washing over her. "Dean's probably worried sick."

"Never mind that," Michael interrupted. "You need to find your grace."

"My grace?"

"It is celestial energy," Michael explained. "It is what differentiates angels from humans. Your grace allows you to access Enochian magic. When you were conceived, your grace fused with your human soul. While you can use some of your abilities, your human form cannot sustain their full power without your grace."

"So that's why I keep passing out."

Michael nodded. "The more power you exert, the weaker you will feel afterward. And the longer it will take you to recover."

"Okay, so how am I supposed to find my grace?"

Michael's expression darkened slightly. "Your mother didn't tell you?"

"No," Nadia said flatly. "I told you, there are things I know, and a lot more I don't. Honestly, it's starting to look like she didn't want me to know."

"She had her reasons," Michael said after a long pause. "But what I need from you is more important than our family's... unresolved issues."

"And what exactly do you need?"

Michael hesitated.

"What, you don't trust me?" Nadia challenged, crossing her arms.

"No more than you trust me."

"Then what the hell are you doing in my head?"

Michael leaned closer, his tone softening. "Your mother was unique. She was created to walk closely with humanity—to protect, guide, teach, and understand them. She influenced humanity in ways that prevented wars, famine, and unnecessary bloodshed."

Nadia frowned. "Influence? That sounds like a nice way of saying 'manipulate.'"

Michael shook his head. "No. Aniela didn't believe in force. Humans naturally gravitated toward her. That's why you have this... connection to people. It's why Dean trusts you. And why, in the end, he'll listen to you more than anyone else."

Nadia looked away, conflicted. "You're wrong about Dean. He's the most hard-headed person I've ever met. Angels, God—it all gives him a rash. He doesn't believe. He doesn't want to believe."

Michael smiled faintly. "But he believes in you."

Outside of Nadia's mind, Dean sat by her bedside, his fingers brushing lightly against her cheek as he waited for her to wake up. He couldn't stop replaying the events from the cemetery, the failure, the overwhelming weight of it all. In the quiet moments, the thoughts swirled around his mind, gnawing at him. He hadn't even been able to face Sam. Instead, he had slept in Nadia's motel room, alone, on the couch next door.

Yes, Samhain was dead, and yes, they saved the town, but at what cost? They hadn't stopped the seal from being broken. They were another step closer to the apocalypse, and the burden of it pressed down on him like a weight he couldn't shake.

Dean needed some air. He grabbed his jacket and made his way to a nearby park, desperate for a moment of peace. As he walked through the park, the sounds of children playing, laughing, and running around in the sunshine hit him like a sharp contrast to the chaos of the past few hours. It was as if time had moved on, but he was still stuck in the midst of it all.

He sat down on a bench, trying to process everything. The world was still turning, people were still smiling, but he was trapped between the weight of what they had failed to stop and the lives they'd managed to save.

It wasn't long before Castiel appeared, quietly sitting next to him.

"Let me guess," Dean muttered without looking at him. "You're here for the 'I told you so'?"

"No," Castiel replied, his voice steady.

Dean snorted. "Well, good. 'Cause I'm really not that interested."

"I am not here to judge you, Dean," Castiel said, eyes fixed on the playground before them.

"Then why are you here?" Dean asked, his tone hard, trying to keep the frustration in check.

"Our orders–" Castiel started.

"Yeah, I've had about enough of these orders of yours," Dean cut him off, his voice tinged with bitterness.

"Our orders were not to stop the summoning of Samhain," Castiel said, matter-of-fact. "They were to do whatever you told us to do."

Dean's brow furrowed, confused. "Your orders were to follow my orders?"

Castiel nodded. "It was a test, to see how you would perform under... battlefield conditions, you might say."

Dean stared at him, incredulous. "A test?" He rubbed his face. "It was a witch, not the Tet Offensive."

Castiel chuckled lightly, but Dean didn't find it funny.

"So I, uh, failed your test, huh?" Dean said, shaking his head. "I get it. But you know what? If you would have waved that magic time-traveling wand of yours and we had to do it all over again, I'd make the same call. 'Cause see, I don't know what's gonna happen when these seals are broken. Hell, I don't even know what's gonna happen tomorrow." He exhaled, his shoulders dropping. "But what I do know is this: these kids, this park, the swings, the trees... they're still here because of me, my brother, and Nadia."

Castiel nodded, his expression softening. "You misunderstand me, Dean. I'm not like you think. I was praying that you would choose to save the town."

"You were?" Dean raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised.

"These people," Castiel said, leaning forward and scanning the playground, "they're all my father's creations. Works of art. Yet, even though you stopped Samhain, the seal was broken, and we are one step closer to hell on earth for all creation. And that's not an expression, Dean. It's literal. You of all people should appreciate what that means."

Dean's face tightened with the weight of Castiel's words. "Hell on earth..." he murmured, his gaze distant as he processed what the angel had said.

"Can I tell you something if you promise not to tell another soul?" Castiel asked.

Dean tilted his head, intrigued. "Okay."

"I'm not a... hammer, as you say," Castiel admitted, his voice quieter. "I have questions, I have doubts. I don't know what's right or wrong anymore, whether you passed or failed. But in the coming months, you will have more decisions to make. I don't envy the weight on your shoulders, Dean. I truly don't."

Dean looked at Castiel, unsure how to respond. They shared a long look, a silent understanding between them. After a moment, Dean turned his attention back to the children in the park. When he looked back, Castiel was gone.

Dean sighed deeply, the pressure heavy on him. It wasn't just the angels watching. The whole world seemed to be on his shoulders now, and he didn't know if he could save it. He only knew that he had to try. The fear that it wouldn't be enough gnawed at him, but there was no other choice.

As Dean walked back toward the motel, he spotted Nadia standing outside, scanning the area for him. Their eyes met, and smiles spread across their faces.

"You're awake," Dean said, his voice cracking with relief as he pulled her into a tight hug.

"I just needed to rest," Nadia murmured, clinging to him just as tightly.

"Why the hell did you go in there by yourself?" Dean pulled away slightly, holding her by the arms, his brow furrowed in concern.

"Because I've been hunting solo for years. Facing evil alone isn't new to me," Nadia said, her tone steady but matter-of-fact.

"Right," Dean replied, rolling his eyes but softening as he looked at her. He could see the exhaustion and the weight of what she'd been through in her eyes, and he couldn't help but admire her strength.

"And I heard Samhain start the spell. He had Tracy tied up. They were siblings, working together. He was gonna sacrifice her until I shot him. Almost took her down but that didn't happen. Samhain killed her instead."

"Wow, we missed a lot," Dean chuckled darkly, the memory of what happened swirling in his mind.

"Yeah, but it doesn't matter. They're all dead now," Nadia said, her tone firm.

"But we didn't stop the seal from being broken," Dean replied, his voice quieter, regret creeping in.

Nadia shrugged, her gaze drifting to the children playing on the swings. "Who cares? We saved the town. You made the right call. It was the only call."

"We?" Dean said, rubbing her arms as he made sure she was still in one piece. "I just... I had to make sure you were all right."

"I'm fine," she reassured him, but her gaze lingered on him, full of concern. "It's you I should be worried about after Sam."

"You saw that?" Dean asked, his voice tight.

"It was the last thing I saw," Nadia murmured, her hand cupping his cheek gently. "Are you okay?"

Dean gazed into her eyes, the vulnerability he often kept buried deep within rising to the surface. He knew what he felt for her, but expressing it... it was different. It wasn't something he could just say. So, instead, he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer.

Nadia held him just as tightly. She worried for him, especially after everything Michael had shared with her.

There were things she wanted to tell him, but a part of her hesitated, knowing she had made a promise to her uncle. What Michael wanted from Dean still loomed over her, and until she knew the truth of it, she couldn't share any of it.

Not yet.