It had been a rough start to "opposite day," but Dean was sticking with it. After lunch, he checked them into the Toreador Motel—the sleaziest spot in Kripke Hollow.

As Dean pulled into a parking spot, Sam looked around, taking in the seedy surroundings with a grimace. "Dude, this place charges by the hour," he said, his voice full of distaste.

"Yeah, well, the book says Lilith finds you at the Red Motel," Dean replied, unfazed.

Sam rolled his eyes as Nadia glanced out the window just in time to catch a hooker and her client passing by. With a wry grin, she muttered, "So that's why we're staying at the Hooker Inn."

Dean looked over his shoulder, giving her a wink. "Opposite day, remember?"

Once inside the room, Dean wasted no time. He started planting hex bags. Meanwhile, Nadia stood in the middle of the room, crossing her arms as she took in the tacky decor: walls painted a headache-inducing shade of pink and beds dressed in leopard-print blankets that looked like they'd survived way too much. She wasn't exactly high-maintenance, but even she had her limits.

Sam watched his brother with a frown. "What are you doing?"

"A couple of hex bags ought to Lilith-proof the room," Dean replied, stuffing one into a particularly shady-looking corner.

"So, what? I'm supposed to just hole up here all night?"

Dean looked at Sam like he was stating the obvious. "That's exactly what you're gonna do, okay?" He pointed at him. "And no research. I don't care what you do—use the magic fingers or watch Casa Erotica on Pay-Per-View."

Nadia gave an exaggerated sigh. "please put a sock on the door if you get that bored," she muttered, eyeing the stained carpet.

Dean ignored her, noticing Sam's satchel on the table. He pulled out this laptop, ignoring the groan his brother let out as he stepped forward. "Oh, dude, come on."

Dean tucked the laptop under his arm, raising a hand to stop him. "Just call it a little insurance," he said, giving him a half-smirk.

Sam huffed, jaw clenched as frustration simmered in his eyes.

"And what are we gonna do?" Nadia asked, crossing her arms with a brow raised.

"According to the manuscript," Dean said, "we spend all day riding around in the Impala. So we're gonna go park her."

"Great," Nadia looked at Sam. "Good luck," she said, heading out first.

Dean turned to follow but paused at the door, looking back at Sam with a pointed stare. "Behave yourself, would you? No homework. Watch some porn." He flashed a proud, mischievous smile before shutting the door.

The plan had sounded simple, but Dean hated leaving the Impala out of sight. He parked a few blocks away, checking and rechecking the doors like an anxious parent at kindergarten drop-off.

"The car will be fine," Nadia quipped, arms crossed.

Dean reluctantly took a step back. "You're right," he said, mostly to himself. But he hesitated. "One more time," he muttered, heading back to check the door again.

"Dean!" Nadia groaned, exasperated.

"Okay, okay!" he relented, finally stepping back for good. Still, as they walked across the street, he stole quick glances at the Impala, as though she might vanish the moment he turned his back.

Nadia shook her head.

Dean turned to her with a soft smile. "Don't be jealous of her," he murmured, pulling her close and planting a kiss on her temple.

"Jealous? Don't kid yourself," she playfully pushed him away, her smile brief. A sense of danger prickled along her skin, making her stiffen. She turned and saw two teenagers near the Impala, attempting to jimmy open the door.

"Dean!" she pointed frantically.

"Hey!" Dean barked, starting toward them just as a van came screeching into view. Before he could react, it hit him, sending him crashing onto the windshield before he hit the pavement with a sickening thud.

Nadia was at his side in an instant, heart pounding as she dropped to her knees, fingers shaking as she checked his pulse. He was alive.

Suddenly, the sound of shattering glass caught her attention. The teenagers had thrown a brick through the Impala's back window, laughing as they took off.

"Not the car..." she groaned, feeling utterly helpless as the vandals disappeared.

"I'm so sorry!" The woman who had hit Dean scrambled out of her van, dragging her young daughter with her. More people were stopping, drivers gawking from their cars as Nadia shot a glare in their direction.

The woman stammered, her face pale. "I didn't see him! It-it happened so fast."

Nadia took a deep, steadying breath, swallowing down the panic that threatened to rise in her throat. "It's... fine," she managed, though she was anything but. "He'll be fine."

The woman continued apologizing, going on about insurance, but Nadia tuned her out. Her eyes fixed on the big star dangle earrings in her ears and then on her daughter gently pressing flower-pink Band-Aids onto Dean's face.

The world around her seemed to fade like someone had turned the volume down on reality. Everything in Chuck's manuscript was unfolding just as written, each moment reminding her how little control they had. She closed her eyes briefly, grounding herself, forcing down the tightness in her chest.

"Robin?" Dean's voice, weak and raspy, broke through the haze. Her eyes flew open, relief flooding her as she saw his dazed expression.

"Baby, can you hear me?" she asked, forcing a smile, trying to sound steady as she ignored the frantic woman's apologies.

Dean blinked at her, his gaze drifting to the woman's earrings.

"I know, baby, I know," she whispered, stroking his hair as he tried to sit up.

The woman fumbled with her words, looking apologetic. "I-I'm so sorry, and about...well..." She gestured awkwardly at her daughter, who was still adding Band-Aids to Dean's face. "She's going through a doctor phase."

"What are you talking about?" Dean asked, eyes still a bit glazed over.

The little girl beamed. "You're all better now!"

Dean shot Nadia a tired look, his mouth quirking up in exasperation. "Please don't tell me there are Band-Aids on my face."

Nadia gave him a sympathetic nod. "Okay, I won't," she said. "But I will tell you that we're gonna need that tarp."

Dean's gaze shot to the Impala, and the horror on his face made her wince.

"Come on," Nadia murmured, helping him up.

"My car..." Dean mumbled, staring at the damage with wide eyes. "Robin, my -"

"I know," she said softly.

Catching his reflection in the window, he moved closer.

Nadia cast a quick glance around. "We should go before the cops show up," she whispered. "But we need a plan. This isn't working."

Dean's jaw tightened as he rubbed his face, frustrated. "We do the only thing we can do," he said, voice steady.

Nadia raised a brow. "And that is?"

"We go to the source."

The tarp fluttered in the wind on their way to Chuck's house. As Dean parked out front, Nadia glanced around, feeling the uneasy quiet of the neighborhood pressing in. She looked over at him, brow furrowed. "What's our angle here?"

Dean's gaze hardened as he looked at the house. "He's hiding something. I feel it."

She nodded, biting her lip. "Yeah, me too. But what's the plan? Go in there? Threaten him? Hurt him?"

Dean's face remained resolute. "If we have to." He practically leaped out of the car, his energy taut and ready for a confrontation.

Nadia stayed in the car a moment longer, eyes narrowing as she considered their next move. She had her own doubts about Chuck, and while Dean was willing to be rough, a nagging feeling told her that intimidation might not be the way to go with the oddball writer. She sighed and climbed out of the car, hurrying to catch up as Dean strode purposefully toward the porch.

They reached the door, and Dean knocked fists firm.

After a few seconds of silence, Nadia shook her head. "I don't think he's home," she murmured, stretching her senses outward. She couldn't detect any movement inside, and a strange, absent quality made her almost certain the house was empty.

Dean's face lit up with a dark kind of satisfaction. "Even better," he said, pulling out his lockpick set. In a matter of seconds, the door clicked open, and they slipped inside.

The place was exactly as they'd left it before—stacked papers, empty coffee cups, and the faint scent of stale air. Dean settled himself into a recliner, still simmering with pent-up anger, while Nadia perched on the arm of his chair, watching the door with quiet intensity. They didn't have to wait long.

A few minutes later, Chuck stumbled in, a brown-bagged whiskey bottle and a six-pack of beer in his hands. He stopped short, his shoulders stiffening as he took in the sight of them. Yet there was no surprise on his face, only resignation and the faintest hint of dread.

He exhaled, sliding his house key into his pocket, and gave them a wary nod. "Nadia. Dean."

Dean's eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched as he glared at the writer. "I take it you knew we'd be here."

Chuck's gaze darted over Dean's appearance. "You look terrible," he said, trying for a light tone but only managing an awkward stiffness.

"That's because I just got hit by a minivan, Chuck," Dean replied, his voice razor-sharp.

Chuck blinked. "Oh."

Dean's hand gripped the arm of the chair as he leaned forward, his expression dark and unhinged. "That it? Every damn thing you write about me comes true; that's all you have to say—'oh'?"

Chuck flinched, looking down and holding his liquor like a shield. "Please don't yell at me." He mumbled, avoiding Dean's intense stare as he shuffled toward a cluttered table, setting down the whiskey and beer with shaking hands.

Dean stood, shoulders squared, his voice dropping to a deadly calm. "Why do I get the feeling there's something that you're not telling us?"

Nadia shot Chuck a warning look, one that communicated without words that honesty might be the safest route for him. Normally, she'd try to calm Dean down, but she was just as desperate for answers as him.

Chuck gulped, his eyes wide as he glanced nervously between them. "What...wouldn't I be telling you?"

Dean's voice rose, tension vibrating through him as he clenched his fists. "How you know what you know, for starters!"

Chuck opened his mouth, struggling for an answer, his voice small and desperate. "I don't know how I know, I just do!"

"That's not good enough!" Dean snapped, his patience snapping with it. He grabbed Chuck by the shoulders, shoving him against the wall with a grip tight enough to show just how far he was willing to go.

"Dean, wait—" Nadia moved closer, placing a steady hand on his shoulder. She felt a flicker, something that felt like a presence shifting into the room, one she could almost see but not yet place.

Dean ignored her, his face only inches from Chuck's, voice low and furious. "How the hell are you doing this?!"

A sudden voice cut through the tension, firm and commanding. "Dean, let him go!" The voice was unmistakable.

They both whipped around, eyes wide with shock as Castiel stood before them, gaze steady and unyielding. "This man is to be protected."

Nadia tilted her head, frowning. "Why?" she demanded, her voice calm but insistent.

For a long, heavy moment, Castiel was silent. His gaze shifted toward Chuck, then back to Dean and Nadia, an almost pained look flickering in his eyes before he answered.

". . . He's a Prophet of the Lord."

"You... You're Castiel... aren't you?" Chuck managed to stutter, glancing between the angel and the hunters.

Dean and Nadia turned to him, eyebrows raised in surprise at the notion that he was a prophet. It seemed ridiculous—if anything, they could see him as some kind of psychic, but a prophet?

"It's an honor to meet you, Chuck," Castiel greeted him, with an unusual hint of admiration in his voice. "I... admire your work."

Chuck's breath caught as he reached for the whiskey, fumbling to pour himself a drink. Meanwhile, Castiel picked up one of the books scattered on the table and began leafing through it with curiosity.

Dean looked at him, eyes narrowing with anger. "Whoa, whoa, what? This guy, a prophet? Come on, he's... he's practically a Penthouse Forum writer." He glared at Chuck, who had managed to pour himself a full glass and was gulping it down, desperate for the comfort of the alcohol. "Did you know about this?"

Chuck glanced up at Dean, visibly rattled. "I, uh, I might have dreamt about it..." he mumbled, eyes darting away.

"And you didn't tell us?" Nadia's voice had taken on an edge.

"It... it was too preposterous," Chuck stammered, his voice defensive as he closed the whiskey bottle. "Not to mention arrogant."

Nadia scoffed. "Says the one who thought he was God yesterday." Her eyes rolled as she took in Chuck's sheepish expression.

He let out a nervous laugh, as though this newfound title was somehow more absurd than all the rest. "I mean, writing yourself into the story is one thing, but as a prophet? That's, like... next-level douchiness." He tilted the glass to his lips, downing the whiskey in a gulp.

Dean turned to Castiel, voice lowered with irritation. "This is the guy who decides our fate?"

"He isn't deciding anything," Castiel said, looking up from the pages of Chuck's book. "He's merely a mouthpiece—a conduit for the inspired word."

"The word?" Nadia echoed, her eyes narrowing in confusion. "The word of God? You mean, like a New, New Testament?"

"One day, these books..." Castiel closed the book carefully, his gaze meeting theirs with a note of solemnity. "They'll be known as the Winchester Gospel."

The words hung in the air, and both Dean and Chuck's eyes widened. "You gotta be kidding me," they said at the same time, disbelief thick in their voices.

Castiel tilted his head, taking a second to process before responding earnestly. "I am not ... kidding you."

Nadia exhaled in relief, sinking into the couch. "Thank God there's only one book about me," she muttered, rubbing her temples. As wild as it was that her life had been written into one of Chuck's novels, being part of some new gospel was even more absurd. At least it wouldn't be a whole series, like the boys' lives.

"If you'd, uh, excuse me for a minute..." Chuck stammered, looking ready to bolt as he clutched the whiskey bottle and made a hasty retreat upstairs.

Dean watched him go, then turned to Castiel with a frustrated expression.

Dean shook his head, bewildered. "Why'd he get tapped?"

"I don't know how prophets are chosen," Castiel replied, a note of honesty in his tone. "The order comes from high up on the celestial chain of command."

Nadia rejoined the conversation, a glimmer of curiosity in her voice. "How high?"

"Very."

Dean let out an exasperated sigh. As far as he was concerned, this prophet-business was the least of his worries. He still had to focus on Lilith and the situation with Sam. "Well, whatever. How do we get around this?"

"Around what?" Castiel asked, genuinely confused.

"The Sam-Lilith love connection," Dean clarified, his voice tinged with frustration. "How do we stop it from happening?"

Castiel's expression became somber, his voice carrying the weight of finality.

"As he has seen it, so it shall come to pass."

Dean's jaw clenched, his shoulders tense as he absorbed Castiel's words. He glanced at Nadia, seeing her own unease mirrored back at him.

"Dean, maybe it's time to face the reality that Sam..."

"Don't—" Dean cut him off, turning away sharply, his jaw clenched. He shook his head as if he could ward off the words, the doubt, the fear.

Castiel sighed, watching Dean with a heavy expression. "Do you know what he did to Alastair?"

"Yes, I know!" Dean's response came out harsher than he intended. His fists clenched. "Nadia told me, okay? But that doesn't mean anything. He's still killing demons, and he hates Lilith. He wouldn't—"

"You didn't see him, Dean. Witness it like Nadia and I did."

Dean's eyes drifted to Nadia, his gaze searching for reassurance. But Nadia couldn't meet his eyes.

She looked away, pressing her lips together, her silence heavier than words. She had tried to protect him from the truth, from seeing Sam's transformation. She could hear Sam sneaking off in the dead of night, and feel his presence come back shrouded in blood and the dark scent of demons. She could see it in his eyes—a little more of his humanity slipping away each time he returned from Ruby.

Nadia had held back, protecting Dean from the burden. She wanted to spare him another heartbreak, another impossible choice. After what he'd gone through with Alastair, she thought she was doing the right thing. She didn't want to be one more voice telling him that his brother was becoming something inhumane.

But now, the truth felt heavier. Sam was spiraling, becoming something darker—something monstrous.

"He's getting stronger, Dean," Castiel continued quietly, his voice laced with urgency. "Your brother has to be stopped before this gets any more out of hand than it already has."

Dean opened his mouth to respond, but before he could find the words, Castiel was gone, disappearing in a whisper of wings, leaving a chill in the air.

Nadia kept her gaze fixed on the moon the entire ride back to the motel, its silver light a cold comfort against the day's events. She and Dean hadn't spoken a word since they got in the car. He kept his eyes trained on the road, his face set in hard lines, the day's weariness weighing heavily on him.

Today had been brutal—and the worst part was the uncertainty that lingered, not just about Lilith but about Sam.

Dean killed the engine, letting silence settle in the car like a heavy fog.

Nadia finally broke it, her voice soft. "I'm sorry."

He looked at her, confused. "About what?"

"About Sam... about not telling you everything I see, everything I notice with him."

Dean shrugged, a weary acceptance in his eyes. "I might not be an angel, but I ain't blind. I see it, too."

Nadia nodded, silent for a beat, feeling the weight of what she'd been holding back. She met his gaze, and a flicker of concern crossed his face.

"Are you... afraid of him?"

She shook her head immediately. "Not at all. I know it's not Sam. It's Ruby."

Dean exhaled a long, frustrated breath, scrubbing his hands over his face. "I don't know what to do, Robin. He's my brother."

"I know," Nadia whispered. She thought of Ben, her little brother. If he'd been in Sam's position, there wouldn't have been a question—Ruby would be dead before things ever went this far.

Her eyes drifted outside, catching a sign through the windshield. Her heart skipped as she took it in. "Dean," she said, pointing.

Dean's hands fell from his face as he followed her gaze. The motel sign flickered in the dark, letters burning in erratic patterns. The manuscript had mentioned Lilith showing up at a place called the Red Motel, and now, with a few letters burned out, only "R-E-D" glowed against the night.

It was the last straw for Dean. "I'll be back," he told her, his voice resolved. "We're leaving this town."

Nadia opened her mouth to object, but she knew it was useless. Once Dean made up his mind, it was nearly impossible to sway him. And the way things had been going with Sam, there was a good chance he wouldn't leave willingly, anyway.

She propped her elbow against the car door, watching Dean as he unlocked the motel room and stepped inside.

"Come on," he said to Sam, his tone impatient. "We're getting out of here."

"What? Where? Where's Nadia?" Sam asked, watching as Dean moved past him, grabbing their belongings.

"Anywhere, okay?" Dean's voice was hard. "Out of this motel, out of this town. I don't care if we've got to swim—we are getting out. Nadia's in the car, waiting."

Then Dean froze, a frown crossing his face as he noticed something different about the room. He looked around, his brow furrowing. "Dude... where are all the hex bags?"

Sam shifted uncomfortably, the telltale look of guilt flashing in his eyes as he licked his lips. "I burned them."

Dean's hands fell to his sides, his face a mix of frustration and disbelief. "You what?"

"Look, if Lilith is coming, which is a big if—"

"No, no, no." Dean took a step toward Sam, his tone deadly serious. "It's more than an if. Chuck is not a psychic. He's a prophet."

Sam's face shifted in surprise. "What?"

"Cas showed up," Dean explained, the urgency clear in his tone. "Apparently, Chuck is writing the gospel of us."

Sam seemed to process this new piece of information, his expression tightening as he nodded slowly. "Okay."

"Okay. Let's get the hell out of here," Dean said, going back to his bed to pack.

But Sam didn't move. Instead, he took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling, then stood firm. "No."

Dean froze, a shirt clenched in his hand, before slamming it back down in frustration. "Lilith is gonna slaughter you."

"Maybe she will. Maybe she won't." Sam's voice was calm, almost defiant, his gaze unwavering.

"So what?" Dean's voice rose, anger and fear lacing his words. "You think you can take her?"

"Only one way to find out," Sam replied, his voice hard. "I say bring her on."

"Sam," Dean's voice was pleading now, edged with desperation.

"You think I'll do it, don't you?" Sam challenged, his voice laced with bitterness. "You think I'll go dark side."

"Yes!" Dean snapped, the admission bursting from him like a dam breaking. "Okay? Yes. The way you've been acting lately? The things you've been doing?"

Sam's expression shifted to shock, realizing Dean knew more than he'd thought. He looked away, guilt mixing with something darker in his eyes.

"Oh, I know," Dean continued, his tone steady. "How you tore Alastair apart like it was nothing. Like you were swatting a fly. Nadia told me, okay? Even Cas thought I should know."

Sam swallowed, the hint of anger surfacing. "What else did he tell you?"

"Nothing I don't already know," Dean said, watching him closely. "That you've been using your psychic crap, and you've been getting stronger. But we don't know why, and we don't know how."

"It's not what you think," Sam insisted, his tone defensive.

Dean's frustration grew, his gaze hard as he looked at his brother. "Then what is it, Sam? 'Cause I'm at a total loss here."

Silence stretched between them, and Dean saw the flicker of something in Sam's eyes, something he couldn't decipher.

Finally, Dean picked up Nadia's and his own bags, heading toward the door. He stopped just before reaching it, looking back over his shoulder. "Are you coming or not?"

Sam met his gaze head-on, his jaw set. "No."

Dean's eyes softened, just for a second, but he quickly masked it. After a long, hard look at Sam, he turned to go. Yet, even as he took a step forward, he couldn't bring himself to leave.

Letting out a harsh breath, Dean dropped the bags onto the nearest chair with a thud, frustration radiating off him as he slammed the door behind him.