A/N: Sorry if you're getting an alert on this; I realized that I made a mistake in the timeline for this series and I went back and corrected it. Otherwise, the story is virtually unchanged.
She opened her eyes. The ceiling above was unfamiliar. Wood slats fitted together seamlessly, darkened by time. Cozy and beautiful, but she didn't recognize it.
She sat up. Her body ached, ever muscle. Her neck was stiff, so she rolled it from side to side. There was a cracking sound in her skull and some of the tension eased. The pain in her head lessened. She lifted her arms and stretched as she looked around.
A room. One bed. Carpet. A dresser and mirror. Nothing else. No pictures, no jewelry, no make-up, no wallet. The room was completely devoid of any kind of identification. There weren't even any clothes around.
She slid off the bed. Her legs shook. A knifing pain went through her lower regions, and she hissed, squeezing her eyes shut.
Deep breaths. Slow, even though panic was beginning to creep in on her. She didn't know where she was. She didn't know why she was hurt or how she'd gotten hurt. And she didn't...
From outside the bedroom came the sound of a door opening. Footsteps.
"Hello? Rachel? Honey, are you in here?"
Rachel. She knew that name.
She took another breath and started walking. Exited the bedroom and entered a short hall.
"I'll check back here, Mom. I... Rachel!"
A young blonde woman pulled her into a tight hug. "Oh, thank God you're here. We've been looking everywhere, afraid the troll got you. But we found it, and there was nothing and..."
Heart in her throat, she pushed the other girl away. Stumbled back, the wall stopping her flight. Her legs were shaking so hard, she was afraid they were going to give out. "Who..." Her voice rasped and throat hurt. She cleared it, coughed. Tried again. "Who are you?"
The girl blinked. Tucked hair behind her ear. "What? Rachel, it's me. It's Jo." She reached out again.
Rachel jerked back, heart pounding.
"What's wrong? What happened to you? Are you hurt?"
Another woman appeared behind Jo. She was older, with graying brown hair and time-worn skin. She put her hand on the girl's shoulder and squeezed. "Thank God, we found you." She frowned. "What's wrong? You okay, Rachel?"
She thought about it. Shook her head.
"Okay. You're safe now. What's wrong, honey?" The woman nudged Jo aside and took Rachel by the arm. "Come on, let's go sit down."
She resisted, but her racing heart slowed. The woman was less intense, less pushy than the girl. She felt safer. "Who are you?"
"You don't know who I am?"
"No. I don't. I don't know who I am or where I am." She blinked rapidly, tears in her eyes. "I can't... I can't remember anything. I don't know why I'm here. What's going on?"
"Okay, calm down. Just breathe." Ellen soothingly rubbed her arm. "Breathe, baby, okay?"
She took a shaky breath and nodded.
"Your name is Rachel Adams-Winchester. I'm a friend, Ellen Harvelle, and this is my daughter, Jo. You've been missing, Rachel, for almost two weeks."
"Missing? What... what happened?"
"Well, that's what we're trying to figure out. Come on, let's go sit. Jo? Go see if there's any glasses in the kitchen and get Rachel some water, okay?"
"Okay."
Ellen took Rachel's hand. "Come on, little girl. Let's go sit."
Rachel stiffened. "Don't call me that."
"I'm... I'm sorry." She hesitated, hand tightening in Rachel's hand.
She licked her lips. "I guess... I haven't had a problem with it before?"
"I've never called you that before. You just... that was definitely a reaction to something. I'm just not sure if you'd react like that before you disappeared or not."
"Oh." She bit her lip. Winced; that hurt. "I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize." Ellen began leading Rachel into the front room. After a few steps, she said, "You're limping. What hurts?"
"Everything." Rachel winced as she sat on the couch. The longer she was awake, the more she became aware of just how bad she felt. Her eyes were gritty and her mouth was stuffed with cotton. Her skin like it were covered in ash. There were patches on her arms, legs, and back that felt raw and burned. Every muscle clamored for her attention and her stomach ached.
She felt like death.
"Um." Rachel pushed her bangs from her forehead, arm aching from the movement. "Jo said something about a troll?"
"Right." Ellen nodded as she leaned closer to Rachel. Pulled her hair away from Rachel's neck. Touched it gently.
Rachel pulled away.
Ellen nodded again. Held up her hands. "Okay. There have been reports of people, mostly kids, disappearing from a town about three hours away. Their bodies turned up in the woods, mangled. Eaten, just parts. The legs, stomachs, uh..."
"It's okay. I don't... I don't need to know the details."
"Sorry. Anyway. You went to investigate. Just investigate until Dean and Sam got back from their mission."
Again, that fission of recognition went through Rachel at those names. She knew them, she knew she knew them. She just didn't know why. "Dean and Sam?"
Ellen seemed to hesitate. Her eyes flicked down to Rachel's hands.
Rachel followed Ellen's gaze. Her hands were scratched and bruised. Her nails were bitten off or broken. There were burn marks on the backs of her hands, shiny and bright, like they'd been there awhile.
But even with the mess, she saw what Ellen was looking at. There was a tan line on the ring finger of her left hand.
"I'm married."
"Uh... yes. Dean's your husband. Sam's his brother."
"Do you have my ring?"
"You never take that thing off."
For some reason, this was even more upsetting than waking up not knowing who she was or how she got here. Not knowing her own husband. And losing a ring that was so important to her, that was... that was devastating.
Tears flooded her eyes. Her breath came in tiny gasps. "Do you think... do you think it's in the bedroom? I woke up there."
"What's wrong?" Jo pushed a glass of water into Rachel's hand and dropped on the sofa next to her.
"She's just been through a traumatic experience, Jo. Why don't you go check the bedroom for clues? See if her wedding ring is there."
"I want to stay with Rachel."
"You're always saying that you want to go out into the field. This is the field. Go investigate."
"This is so stupid." But Jo got up and went to the back room.
Ellen smiled indulgently. "She's crazy about you. The world we live in doesn't have many women. You're one of the few and the only one near her age. She's been so scared. We all have been."
"Because you thought I got eaten by a troll." She wiped her eyes.
"At first. You said you weren't going out to look for the trolls when you left, but, well. Sometimes things happen and we get caught up in things we don't mean. As soon as you didn't check in, I called Bobby, another friend. He went out looking for you. A few days later, Sam and Dean came back and they went to help them. They found the troll about a week ago, but you weren't there. And then, we got really worried."
"You got really worried after you found out I wasn't eaten by a troll. What kind of life to I lead?"
"Well..." Ellen was interrupted by a buzzing. She reached into her back pocket and pulled a phone out. "Dean? I found her. She's okay. A little banged up. Bruised and sore. I'm going to take her to the hospital. Jo and I are just... I don't know if that's a good idea, Dean." Her eyes flicked to Rachel's face. "Dean. She doesn't remember anything. No, I mean anything. Dean..." She sighed and pulled the phone away from her face. "He wants to talk to you."
Her shoulders tightened. "Um. Okay." She took the phone Ellen held out and put it to her ear. "Hello?"
"Oh, God, Rach, it's good to hear your voice," a man said. Dean. Her husband.
She didn't know how to respond, so she said nothing.
"Are you okay?"
"I don't know. I guess."
"Ellen said you were banged up? Anything broken?"
"I don't think so."
"Okay. Okay, good. Look. Ellen will take you to the hospital and me and Sammy will meet you there. We're about two hours away. We've checking motels and houses and everywhere we could think."
"Oh."
There was a silence. Then Dean said, "Ellen said you couldn't remember anything? Just about what happened, or..."
"I can't remember... I didn't even know my name. I mean, when the... when Jo said it, I recognized it. And when Ellen said your name, I knew it. I just don't... I don't know why."
He sighed. "Look, it's okay. We'll figure this out, babe. I promise. Do you trust me?"
Rachel bit her lip. Winced again. Considered his question. "Yes."
"I'm glad to hear that." And he sounded glad. More than glad, relieved.
"I lost my wedding ring."
Silence. Then, "That's okay. Don't worry about it. Just. Just try to focus on whatever. You know, remembering something. And... I'm coming. Okay?"
"Okay."
"I love you, Rachel."
What was she supposed to say? "Um. Thanks?"
He laughed gently. "Just... Put Ellen back on the phone."
She held the phone out to Ellen.
"Yeah?" Ellen listened to what Dean had to say, nodding. "Okay. I'll meet you there." She hung up. "So. We're going to the hospital. Dean wants us to take the key to the cabin and pay it up for the rest of the week, just in case."
"It's not there," Jo said, coming back into the front room. "But this was." She handed a piece of paper to Ellen, darting a glance at Rachel as she did.
Ellen frowned. "This..." She stopped. Smiled and shook her head. "It's nothing. Let's get you to the hospital."
She was lying.
"What was it?" Rachel asked.
"Don't worry about it. Really, it's not important."
Rachel crossed her arms over her chest. Glared.
"Baby..."
"Tell me. It has something to do with me. Maybe it will help me remember."
"I'm not sure it's a good idea."
"What? Me remembering?" When Ellen didn't say anything, Rachel leaned forward and took the paper from her hand.
Thanks, Princess. It was great. Be seeing you soon.
"Faster, baby, come on," Dean urged his car as he pressed the gas to the floor.
"Dean, you're not going to do her any good if you get us killed," Sam said. He was white knuckled as he gripped the dashboard and had been ever since Dean had narrowly avoided crashing a truck while passing some slow moving cars.
"Stop being such a pussy, Sam," he snapped. Restless, he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. Bounced in his seat. "We're almost there."
"Thank God," he muttered. Then he cleared his throat. "Look. We need to talk about this. About what to expect."
His neck tensed up. He tightened his jaw. "Expect? I expect to find Rachel, hurt, confused, and I expect to work at making her remember who she is and feel better. That's what I expect."
"She has amnesia."
"I know."
"You know what that could mean."
"It could mean a lot of things, Sam." He threw a look at his brother, warning him.
Sam looked stubborn. "You just need to be prepared. Just in case. She might be possessed, and we..."
"Shut up!" His hands tightened on the steering wheel. "I'm not stupid, okay? I know she might be possessed. And I'll do what has to be done. But that doesn't stop the fact that she's been found and she's hurt and she needs me."
"I know, but..."
"No buts. I know my job. Don't try and lecture me." His jaw ached from clenching it so hard. It'd been clenched for two weeks now, ever since Rachel had gone missing.
Two weeks. Two weeks of nothing, which was worse. At least when Sammy had been missing, he'd left. And he'd left a note. His cell phone had still worked. They'd known he was still alive.
With Rachel? Nothing. No phone, no note, no clue of anything after she'd left her hotel room the morning she went missing. People had seen her, dressed in jeans and hiking boots, carrying a backpack, heading off for the area the kids' bodies were found. And then...
Two weeks later, she's found in another state, wearing, Ellen said, a dress. No shoes, bruised and in pain. And, of course, with no memory.
That was the most worrying of all. No memory. In Dean's experience, no memory usually meant possession. Or torture. Dean wasn't sure which he'd prefer in this case.
"There's the turn," Sam said, pointing ahead.
The tires squealed. Another half-mile and there was the hospital. Dean parked in the first spot he found and was out of the car almost before he'd stopped.
"Slow down!" Sam called from behind him.
He didn't even bother to answer. Just barreled through the front doors of the hospital and to the information desk.
"Rachel Adams-Winchester," he demanded of the girl sitting behind.
"You a relation?"
"Yeah, I'm her husband."
Computer keys clacked. "Um... third floor. Room 15."
He took off again. Bypassed the elevator in favor of the stairs. Heard the pound of Sam's feet behind him as he climbed.
Ellen, Jo, and Bobby were in the small waiting room by the elevator when Dean emerged. When she saw Dean, Ellen got to her feet.
"Where is she? Is she okay?" Dean demanded.
"Yes, she's fine. Dean." Ellen put both hands on his shoulders and held him back. "We need to talk."
"I need to see her."
She shook her head. Squeezed his shoulder. "We need to talk, Dean. The doctor wants to see you. Sit."
Bobby was coming from the hall with a doctor next to him. Bobby's face was grim and the doctor... the doctor was pretty much the same.
"Hi, I'm Doctor Klein." He held out his hand.
Dean took it and shook. "Dean. How's Rachel?"
"She's awake. Tired. She was a little dehydrated, so we've got her drinking lots of fluids. There were first degree burns on her skin that we treated. We gave her Tylenol for the soreness, which seems to be enough. There were traces of sulfur all over her. In her hair and clothes, especially. I really can't explain that, but thought it worth mentioning. Overall, Rachel is in good shape, except for her memory loss and... Um. Mr. Winchester, why don't we have a seat?"
Sam tugged Dean by the arm and pulled him into a chair. Ellen sat on the other side, her hand on his leg. The doctor sat across from him, face serious.
This was going to be bad.
"I'll start with her memory problems. Frankly, they have me baffled. It's quite common for people to, after a traumatic experience, to block out that experience. To wake up with no memory of how they got where they are or what happened. What doesn't happen is complete loss of memory. In fact, that type of amnesia is rare in any case. I've got Rachel scheduled for an MRI tomorrow, but until then, I really can't answer why she's forgotten so much. Or when her memory will return."
"Okay. What can I do?"
"Be patient. Don't push her to do anything she's uncomfortable with. Surround her with familiar objects and faces. Pictures are good. Going back to where she grew up would be helpful. Anything you can do to trigger her memory would help."
He glanced at Sam, who nodded.
"Okay. Okay. Her parents are coming, right? We called them let them know?"
"I called," Ellen said. "They should be here in an hour or two."
"And we'll take her home," Dean said. "Soon as she gets out of here. How long does she have to stay?"
"I think I can release her tomorrow after the scan." Dr. Klein clasped his hands together. Leaned forward. "Um. This is always hard to say, but, um. Rachel was raped, Dean. Or, at least, we're making the assumption it was rape. She can't remember, of course."
His stomach took a dive. And his lips went numb. That was weird. Like, his whole face was hot, except his couldn't feel his lips. And his head was spinning. Dizzy. "Um. She, uh..." It was hard to take a breath. "Is she hurt?"
"No. No, just the injuries I told you before. However, she was sexually active during the time period she was missing and because of the bruises and burns, combined with the memory loss, we're assuming it was rape. Now, your friend," he shot a glance at Ellen, "advised your wife not to release the collected evidence to the police until after she talked to you. I think you should encourage her to file a report, for her peace of mind if anything."
"Yeah, uh. Can I talk to her?"
"Do you have any questions before you do?"
The guy wanted him to think? "I just want to see her."
"Okay. She's still in shock. Please remember to be gentle with her."
"Yeah. No problem." He stood.
"I'll show you where the room is," Ellen said, standing with him. When they were down the hall, away from the doctor, she pressed something into his hand. "We found this in the bedroom. It's why I advised her not to file charges."
He looked at the note. "So, what? What's it mean?"
"She told me once that the demon called her princess," Ellen said. "She told me how she was there when John made the deal with it, and it used her to make sure John didn't shoot. That it never called her by her name. It was just princess."
"Why... why... why..." Dean found he couldn't figure out how to end the sentence. How to even talk.
"Why would the demon kidnap and rape her?" Sam said at his side. Dean hadn't even realized his brother had followed them, but he was grateful for the support. And the voice.
Ellen shook her head. Shrugged. "Only thing I can think is to screw with you guys. Other than that, I don't know why."
"So. She's possibly possessed and..."
"No, she's not possessed. We gave holy water to drink."
That didn't ease Dean's mind much. He crumpled the note in his hand, then continued down to room fifteen.
"Hello?" he called from the door, not sure if he should just walk in or what.
"Come in."
He did.
Rachel was lying in the bed, watching the TV on the wall. She was, as reported, pale and bruised, but it wasn't as bad as Dean had feared. He'd kind of gotten it into his mind that everyone was trying to spare him the worst details. But she was okay, sort of.
She glanced at him, then turned off the TV. For a long moment, she just returned his gaze. Then her cheeks bloomed into color, red spreading over her face like a flame. She broke the eye contact and looked down at her hands. "Um. Um. Who are you?"
Fucking Goddamn shitty crap. "I'm Dean. Your husband."
Wide brown eyes snapped up. "You're my husband?"
"Yeah." He crossed the room to her and sat on the bed. "Why do you sound surprised?"
He didn't think it possible for her to blush any more hotly, but her face turned another shade of red. "I... I... I don't know. I just... Ah." She covered her face with her hands.
Dean pulled them away. Looked at her face, heart squeezing. "I was so worried," he said. He reached out and caressed her cheek.
"I'm sorry."
"No, don't. Not for anything. You don't anything to apologize for. Okay? Life we lead, it's not safe. And, uh. And it's looking like this happened because of me and my family, so I should be the one apologizing."
She looked up, blinking those long eyelashes as she did. "If we're married, doesn't that make us family?"
"Well, yeah. But... it's complicated."
"Did I choose to marry you?"
Sort of. Although, she did choose to stay, so... "Yeah."
"So, whatever complications there are, I must have accepted them when I married you. Unless I didn't know."
"Know, you knew. You totally knew. I don't... I mean, I tell you things. So... yeah."
"So. There you go. Not your fault either." She yawned and leaned back against the pillow.
"How are you feeling?" he asked. Tentatively, he took her hand, unsure if she'd allow him.
She tensed for a moment, then let her fingers curl in his. "I don't know. Numb. Scared." She blinked rapidly. "Who'd... who'd want to kidnap me? I mean, am I someone special or something, or just... measy."
"Neither. Wait, no. You're totally special. But..." Dean licked his lips. Sighed. "There's this demon after my family. It killed my mother. Sam's girlfriend. My dad. We think it grabbed you."
"But... but if it killed them, then why... why'd it..." She shuddered. "Um."
"I don't know," he said, not wanting to hear it again. "But I'll find out." He wiped a tear that was sliding down her cheek away. "I know you're probably sick of this question, but do you remember anything?"
"I don't know. I... everything you say? About demons and trolls and everything, I know all these details about them. Just tons. And I know not to say anything to the doctors about, because they'd think I was crazy. When I heard your and Sam's name, I knew they were familiar, but I don't... I don't have any particular memories about you. I can recite my multiplication facts, list the fifty states and their capitals in alphabetical order. I know how to bake chocolate chip cookies, tie my own shoes, and that the best way to kill a wawhee is to chop off its head. But I can't tell you my parents' names or where I grew up or where I went to college."
"Your parents are Chris and Maria Adams. You grew up in Hartford, Connecticut and you went to Yale. You majored in history. You'd always planned to go to England and be a historian. And, on the side, you were going to lay ghosts to rest. But, then I came into your life and messed that up."
She raised an eyebrow. "Seriously. Did you force me to marry you?"
"No." He gave her a self-deprecating smile. "I'm sorry. It's just that sometimes, I still can't believe we're married."
"How long?"
"About four months."
Rachel looked down at his hand. Twisted his ring around his finger. "Do you have pictures of our wedding?"
He exhaled hard. "Well, that's the thing. We kind of didn't have one."
"We were married by a judge?"
"If only it were that simple." He threaded their fingers together. "We kind of... are only sort of married. Sam drew up the papers as kind of a joke, only then he and I were hurt real bad and the hospital found them. Called you, thinking we were married. And because I don't have insurance, your dad did some fancy stuff with the computer and got me onto yours. You got the rings, came down, and, boom. We've been married ever since."
Her eyes were huge. Dark lashes against her pale cheeks.
God, she was beautiful.
"So. Do you love me?"
"God, yes. We're in love, okay? And we talk about having a wedding and everything, it just hasn't happened. We can. Now. If it's important to you."
She shrugged. "I don't know. I'm just confused. That's all."
"I know. It's confusing. But whatever you want to know, I'll tell you."
Her face crumpled. "Why would someone want to do this to me? I don't understand. Why... Why would a demon rape me?"
"I don't know, baby." He hesitated, unsure what he should do. Then, when he saw the tears rushing down her face, he moved closer and gathered her into a tight hug.
She pressed her face into his shoulder, wetting his tee shirt. "Did it take my memory, too? Is that why I can't remember anything?"
"Probably." He rubbed her back and rubbed his cheek against her hair. He wanted to kiss her, to hold her tighter, to lay down and gather her against him and wrap his arms and legs around her, just so he could be sure she was really here. "It'll come back, Rachel. You already remember so much. It's just like a puzzle or something. You've got the outside. We'll work on the details."
"What if I never remember?"
Dean frowned. Pressed a kiss in her hair. "Then, I guess, we make new memories."
She pulled back. Wiped her eyes. "Do you care?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean... what it did. To me." Her chin trembled and her nose was red and dripping snot. "Are you... disgusted?"
He leaned over and grabbed a tissue from the side table. "I'm angry, because you shouldn't have had to go through that. Even if you don't remember. And you shouldn't have to deal with it without remembering." He wiped her nose, then traced his thumb over her cheek and jaw. "But you could never disgust me, Rachel. You're beautiful and brilliant and funny and... and you. I'm just glad to have you back." He traced his finger over her ear.
Her fingers tightened on his arms. "I'm tired."
"Then get some rest." He pulled away. Wiped the last tear from her eye and tucked some hair behind her ear. "Can I stay?"
She nodded and lay back on the bed. "You know, I don't remember anything specific, but you make me feel safe."
Dean leaned over her and kissed her, very chastely, on the mouth. "You'll always be safe me," he said.
"Yeah." She smiled. Reached up and touched him lightly on the cheek. "I know."