Chuck poured himself a glass of whiskey, gulping it down with a deep breath, before setting the glass down with a loud thud. Feeling a little less overwhelmed now, he turned around—only to jump at the sight of Nadia and the Winchesters standing there.

"Oh!" he groaned, rubbing his temples. "Oh, you're still here."

"Yup," Dean said, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, looking mildly entertained, while Sam stood by the dining room chair, arms propped up on it.

"You're not a hallucination?" Chuck asked, his voice uncertain.

"No, we're not," Nadia replied, her gaze sweeping the room in discomfort.

As familiar as the place felt, it was hard to ignore how much of a pigsty it was. The counters were cluttered with open snack bags, empty pizza boxes, and dirty dishes piled high—everything that didn't fit in the sink was left to spill over onto the surrounding surfaces. His laptop and a printer were wedged in on the table, surrounded by scattered manuscripts.

It was clear: the kitchen wasn't just a place to cook; it was his office. And though he wasn't getting paid, writing seemed to be Chuck's entire life.

Chuck sighed, shaking his head, and muttered to himself, "Well, there's only one explanation..."

Sam looked at Chuck flatly, and Dean chuckled, "Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

Nadia snickered as well, her discomfort momentarily forgotten. "You're not a god."

"How else do you explain it? I write things, and then they come to life. Yeah, no."

Chuck shook his head, grimacing. "The things I've put you through. The physical beatings alone..."

"Yeah, we're still in one piece," Dean replied, slipping his hands into his pockets.

Chuck winced, his face full of regret. "I killed your father. I burned your mother alive. And then you had to go through the whole horrific deal again with Jessica."

He turned to Nadia, his expression darkening. "I killed your mother, dulled you with meds . . ."

Nadia's eyebrows furrowed, "I don't think you did any of -"

Interrupting her, Chuck turned away from them, his voice quieter now. "All for what? For literary symmetry. I toiled with your lives, your emotions... all for the sake of entertainment."

Dean pushed off the wall, his jaw tight. "You didn't toy with us, Chuck. Okay? You didn't create us."

Chuck, still standing with his back to them, lifted his hands, as if defeated. "Did you really have to live through the bugs?" he asked, turning back to face the boys.

"Yeah," they both said at the same time, exchanging a look.

"What about the ghost ship?" Chuck pressed, eyes wide.

"Yes, that too," Dean answered, his voice bitter.

"And you—when you were kidnapped as little kids, and then again before you first met Dean?"

"Well, I didn't remember the second time until I read your book," Nadia said with a grimace. "But yeah, both happened."

Chuck rubbed his forehead. "I am so sorry." He seemed genuinely remorseful, his tone softer. "I mean, horror is one thing, but to be forced to live through bad writing... " He shook his head, clearly regretting what he'd done. "If I'd known it was real, I would've done another pass."

Dean rolled his eyes.

Sam stood up straight, finally contributing to the conversation.

Chuck shook his head vehemently, a little too quick to reject the idea. "No. If I were psychic, do you really think I'd be writing?" He pointed at his laptop, his face twisted in frustration. "Writing is hard."

Dean scoffed under his breath. Try being a hunter, he thought but didn't say it aloud.

Nadia wandered over to Chuck's fridge, her mind still turning over the pieces of this strange puzzle. On the fridge were a bunch of childish drawings—stick figures, squiggly lines, badly drawn animals—nothing out of the ordinary. But something about them... it felt familiar.

She winced, feeling the headache from before return as her mind tried to push through the fog, trying to connect with the artwork. She was so focused that she didn't notice Chuck watching her closely from the other side of the room. When she finally forced herself to pull her attention away, he looked away.

"Somehow," she said, "you're focused on our lives."

Dean leaned in with a sharp look. "Yeah, like laser-focused. Are you working on anything right now?"

Chuck's face shifted. He blinked a few times, the look of realization hitting him hard. He tilted his head back, and his eyes widened in recognition.

"Holy crap," he muttered to himself.

"What?"

Chuck grabbed a manuscript from the pile on his table. "The, uh, latest book? It's... it's kind of weird."

"How do you mean?" Nadia asked, her voice quiet but curious.

Chuck ran his fingers through his scruffy beard.

Dean leaned on the table, his eyes narrowing.

"What?" Dean snapped, defensive. "I've read a book or two."

"Focus," Nadia said, drawing their attention back to Chuck. She didn't have time for side conversations right now.

Chuck shrugged, almost sheepish.

"I'm sitting in a laundromat, reading about myself sitting in a laundromat reading about myself," Dean said with the manuscript in hand.

"There's got to be something this guy's not telling us," Sam said, pulling his clothes from his duffle bag, the frustration in his voice barely contained.

Nadia didn't respond as she folded her clothes nearby. She was too lost in her own thoughts, her mind circling around Chuck and the strange pull she felt toward him.

Dean looked between the two of them, then glanced down at the manuscript. A mischievous smirk curled on his lips, and he began to read aloud.

"Sam tossed his gigantic darks into the machine. He was starting to have doubts about Chuck, about whether he was telling the whole truth. Nadia was too busy drowning in thoughts of her own. She hated not knowing how she knew Chuck and was bitter about her mind's memories being screwed with. She was also hungry, in desperate need of a nap, and cramping."

"Dean," Nadia warned, her voice tight as she closed her eyes, feeling her irritation rise.

"Dean," he continued, narrating her annoyance with a grin. "She called him in a threatening tone."

Sam turns around:

Dean smirked, thoroughly amused by his antics.

Nadia groaned, rubbing her temple. She wasn't in the mood for this.

"Guess what you two do next?" Dean leaned back against the wall, clearly enjoying the situation way too much. "I mean, come on. This guy is spot-on."

Sam stretched his shoulders, trying to remain calm, but his patience was clearly wearing thin. He resumed his laundry, not wanting to play along.

"Sam turned his back on Dean, his face brooding and pensive, while Nadia looked up contemplating murder." Dean paused and shook his head. "I mean, I don't know how he's doing it, but this guy is doing it. I can't see your face, but those are definitely your 'brooding and pensive' shoulders. And you—"

He glanced over at Nadia and she narrowed her eyes at him. Her expression was cool, but there was an unmistakable flicker of warning. "Never mind," he raised his hands in mock surrender.

Sam sighed, clearly exasperated by the whole thing. He grabbed his lights and tucked them into a dryer, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all.

Dean glanced down at the manuscript again, his expression turning serious. He frowned. "Both of you just thought I was a dick."

Nadia and Sam exchanged a look, both of them registering the same sense of unease.

"The guy's good," Sam said quietly, almost grudgingly.

"A little too good," Nadia murmured, rubbing her face tiredly.

"You want to get breakfast?" Dean called from the bathroom, shutting off the water after brushing his teeth.

"No," Nadia replied curtly, nibbling on a lollipop stick.

Dean leaned against the bathroom doorway. He watched her lying still on the bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, her distant expression hinting she was a million miles away. She'd tossed and turned all night, and he was starting to worry. Every hunter had their moments of doubt and fear, but Nadia?

It wasn't like her. Even in dark times, she usually managed to push through. But now, he felt helpless. If he could, he'd gladly bear her burdens himself.

He moved to the bed, lying down beside her on his back.

"You sure no breakfast?" he asked after a beat, his voice soft but filled with concern.

"Not hungry," she replied curtly, a touch of impatience in her tone. She didn't look at him, keeping her eyes fixed on the ceiling.

Dean sighed, lifting his head to glance at the open pack of lollipops on her bedside table. She was going through them at an unusual pace, each one a small escape from whatever was weighing on her mind.

"You just gonna survive off lollipops?" he asked, trying for a lighthearted tone to break through her walls.

"Maybe," she shrugged, giving him a tiny, dismissive smile before falling silent again.

Dean propped himself up on one elbow, glancing over at her as silence settled between them. For a moment, they just lay there, each wrapped in their own thoughts. Then Nadia turned, her gaze softening as it met his.

"You're worried about me." Her voice was gentle, and she shifted closer, close enough that he could smell the sweet, fruity hint of raspberry lingering on her breath. "Don't be."

"If only it were that easy," he murmured, his eyes drifting back to the ceiling. He reached out, and she took his hand, their fingers intertwining. He brought her hand to his lips, brushing a tender kiss across her knuckles.

"I know myself," she whispered, as if reassuring them both. "The hormones aren't helping, but sometimes I just have to sit in these feelings, you know? It's part of who I am. But as long as I'm breathing, I'll never stop fighting. Not for us, not for this world."

Dean turned to look at her, struck by the familiar spark of determination in her eyes—the fierce, unbreakable fighter he'd fallen in love with. She was still there, even beneath the weight of worry. Relief flooded him, and he found himself smiling despite everything.

Then, a thought crossed his mind, and he raised an eyebrow, playfully. "You wanna make out?"

She chuckled, her laugh soft and warm. The question sounded almost innocent like two teenagers discovering first love. Her eyes flickered to his mouth, and he saw a glint of desire he hadn't seen in days.

Without waiting, Dean reached over, gently pulling the lollipop stick from her lips and tossing it aside. He leaned in, cupping her face, his touch featherlight as he brushed his lips against hers. Their kiss was soft at first, almost hesitant, but then she kissed him back, and all of her worries, poured out, deepening the kiss.

Nadia's hands slid around his neck, pulling him closer as he moved, carefully shifting his body to hover over hers. He could feel her heartbeat racing against his chest, and for a moment, they lost themselves in each other, in the solace they found together, in the quiet intensity they shared.

He could feel her fingers threading through his hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss, and he responded, his hand sliding along her waist, pressing her closer. The world outside faded, leaving only the two of them in this stolen moment, hearts beating in perfect rhythm. Every touch, every breath, was filled with a depth of feeling he could never put into words.

Then, just as they were both entirely lost in each other, his phone rang from the bedside. Dean broke away, his forehead resting against hers, both of them catching their breath.

He reached over blindly, grabbing his phone without taking his eyes off her. "Yeah?" he answered, trying to hide his exasperation.

Nadia could hear Sam's voice through the phone. "Hey, Chuck says he needs us. It's an emergency."

Dean sighed, clearly annoyed. "Okay, we'll be ready in five." He hung up and tossed his phone back on the bed, meeting Nadia's gaze.

"Alright, duty calls," she murmured, patting his chest, and signaling for him to move.

He grinned, reluctant to let her go. "We've got five minutes," he murmured, leaning down to capture her lips once more.

But she laughed softly, pressing her palm over his mouth. "If this was any other day, I'd say let's make those five minutes count. But considering we're dealing with someone who's created books out of our lives, I think we should go."

Dean groaned, muffled by her hand, before she removed it and he stole one last lingering kiss. They pulled apart slowly, neither ready to let go just yet, but she smiled and gave him a gentle push, signaling that they had to go. Dean got up, pulling her to her feet alongside him, their hands still clasped together.