Author Notes:
1. Thanks for your reads and support!
2. This story is a continuation of "Good For The Soul," so I suggest you start there first.
3. Yep, there's an original character. Yep, there's romance. Now's the time to leave if that isn't your thing.
4. Said OC is physically (mostly) modeled after actress Maia Mitchell.
5. Leave me love or hate-just make sure it's honest and constructive, because that's what floats my boat and makes me a better writer. I LOVE FEEDBACK!
6. This is in the current season of this date (13).
7. I don't own anything about Supernatural, except my OC. I do REALLY strive to keep things as close as humanly possible to the series, including lure, monsters encountered, characterizations, etc., but I do take minor liberties on things NOT addressed in the show. I may weave in current episodes for continuity.
8. There are four letter words used selectively. Hence, the T rating.
9. There's some M-rated content in chapters, which are labeled at the beginning. Trigger warnings are also addressed, if necessary.
10. Thank you for being a friend.
Lebanon, Kansas
"Hey, Robbie! Hurry up and eat your pie so we can go outside!" Dean Winchester watched with a wide grin as his nephew scarfed down the last of his apple pie with a muffled agreement, crumbs spilling out of the corner of his mouth.
"Done," Robbie announced, his face stuffed with pie. He wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve, hopping off the chair at the bunker's kitchen table.
Just as his sneakers hit the floor, Rachel Winchester cleared her throat. Robbie froze, his green eyes wide as he turned and looked at his mother. Her thick brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail, her hand resting on her pronounced belly. "Pie?" she asked, looking at the four year-old boy with a mop of dark brown hair he insisted on wearing like his dad's. "It's three in the afternoon."
Robbie gulped. "Sorry, Mama."
Rachel looked up to Dean, her brow arched. "I have a feeling Uncle Dean was behind this."
"It's my fault, Mama." Robbie hung his head.
"Hey," Dean said, stepping forward. "Look, little man. You don't take the blame for this one, okay?"
"But if I tell on you, then I'll be a wad," Robbie sighed.
Dean patted the boy's back. "You're definitely not a wad, kid." He looked up at Rachel. "It's my fault. I caved."
Rachel sighed. The relationship her son had with his uncle couldn't make her mad if she tried. She shook her head, smiling. "No more food until supper." She bent down, receiving an enthusiastic kiss from her little boy. "Love you, baby." She waved them both off. "Go on."
She grinned as both boys bounded off through the bunker front door, sighing. "Looks like it's just you and me, MJ," she said, stroking her rounded belly.
"What am I, chopped liver?"
Rachel turned, her smile growing as she saw her husband's sleepy face. Sam Winchester scratched at his thick brown bedhead as he crossed to her, wrapping her in his arms and kissing her tenderly.
She pulled back, looking into Sam's hazel eyes. He still looked exhausted. "You should be sleeping," she urged, stroking his hair away from his brow.
"I got a few hours," he shrugged, kissing her cheek as he rested his hands on her belly. "How are my two favorite girls doing?"
Rachel jumped as she felt a hearty kick from inside. "Looks like Mary Jolene is doing good," she laughed.
Sam smiled, tenderly stroking over Rachel's stomach. "Little MJ. My kick-ass princess." He looked up to Rachel, cupping her cheeks. "What about my Rachel?" he asked. His thumbs ran over her lips. "How is my beautiful wife doing?"
"I'd be better if you caught up on your sleep," she replied. "Sam, you just started feeling better. You need to rest, though."
"I feel bad," Sam said with a sigh. "You've been taking care of Robbie by yourself while cooking up our princess. And here I am, laying in bed."
"You're sick, dufus," she scolded. "You were puking your guts out all day yesterday." She felt his forehead with the back of her hand. "You still feel warm."
"I miss you," he murmured, nuzzling her nose with his.
"Sammy …"
Rachel's lips parted when she felt her husband's fingers snag the hem of her cotton dress, inching toward her panties. "Just a little taste," he whispered, her eyes shutting as his fingertips skimmed the edge of them. "It'll help me feel better." She bit her lip as she felt him seek her heat, his touch more than wanted.
"N-No," Rachel finally said, swatting his hand away when she regained her senses. "Sam. Bed. Now."
Sam pouted, shuffling back to bed as Rachel followed him. "When I'm better, you'd better be ready," he warned, sinking into their bed with a sigh. "Because I'm going to attack you."
Rachel kissed his forehead, tucking the blankets back over him. "Sleep, Wild Man. I'll wake you for supper."
He took her hand, stroking it. "Buy out tonight. You've been killing yourself the last week. You need to put your feet up." She sighed. He wasn't wrong. "Lay with me," he whispered, knowing he was tipping the scales. "Robbie's with Dean, so … Lay with me."
Rachel lowered into bed, groaning a little as he sat up and took her foot into his hand, rubbing it. "Oh damn," she moaned.
"See? You need to let me take care of you." He smirked, glancing up at her through his hair. "I can take care of you in other ways too, you know."
"Samuel," Rachel chided with a soft smile.
"Rachel."
She laughed, shaking her head. "You're impossible."
Sam let go of her foot and hovered over her, still somehow bigger than her even with her late third trimester belly. "And you're mine. All mine."
He saw the flirtatious look in her eyes that drove him crazy, barely giving her time to reply before trapping her mouth in his. "Yes, sir."
His girlfriend's admission hit Sam Winchester like three tons of bricks, squarely in his chest, piercing through his heart. If he was being honest, he had nearly forgotten about the possibility of her being pregnant with Arioch's nephilim spawn. Despite the hardships of their first month as a couple, the last couple weeks had been the best he had in longer than he cared to admit, if honestly ever. He had an amazing woman that was he insane about, and never felt more satisfied in his life.
Now that woman, Rachel Lentz—his Rachel—sat next to him with tear-stained cheeks, obviously taking on guilt for something she had no reason to. His beautiful Rachel was carrying the seed of evil in her womb against her will.
Truthfully, over the last couple weeks, Sam had wondered what it might be like to start his own family with Rachel, to have a son, a daughter, both, or multiples of one. A chance to be a father, a husband, a man with something beyond any earthly value.
He never told her, but he dreamt it several times, imagining a little boy named Robert Jonathan, Robbie for short. He was named after Bobby, and Sam and Dean's dad, and was just as spirited as them both. He had a mop of wavy dark brown hair the color of his mom's and the cut of his dad's, but piercing green eyes, like his grandmother and uncle. And he was Sam's heart manifested into a human being. Robbie adored his dad, wanting to dress like him, wear his hair like him, eat like him, and even run like him. For a four year old, Robbie was very intelligent, often reading lure books with his dad and considering it almost more fun than the Xbox his Uncle Dean bought him for his birthday.
In his recurrent dream world, Robbie was four, and Rachel was very pregnant with their second child, a little girl they had yet to meet named Mary Jolene, or MJ. Sam was over the moon. MJ wasnt yet born, but she already was his darling princess; Rachel always teased him that MJ already had him wrapped around her finger.
The tiny girl was named for his and Dean's mother, and for Jo and Ellen, and both she and her brother had the lockdown on their Uncle Dean's heart. In fact, Sam knew he'd never see Dean happier until he had his own children. He doted on Robbie, giving him hunting gifts that freaked Rachel out, too many slices of pie at all hours of the day, and letting him sit behind the wheel of the Impala while teaching him the finer points of Classic Rock. And once MJ came, forget it—Dean already worked with Sam on a list of rules for boys, dating, and clothes, threatening to keep a shotgun loaded above the front door of the bunker and to shoot first and ask questions later … only if he felt like it.
Sam blinked hard, his eyes brimmed with his own tears. Now, as he stared at his Rachel, it all seemed to come crashing down around him. Each beautiful brick of possibility crumbled into dust, his hopes and dreams shoved to a dingy corner of his mind. Right now, all he cared about was keeping her alive. His happily ever after would have to wait to come, if at all.
"Hey," he whispered, taking her face between his palms, pushing the errant strands of thick, dark brown hair from her cheeks. She was cool to the touch, her dread and worry chilling her body. "Shh. Look at me." He sought her eyes, patience through their avoidance. "Baby girl. Look at me." Slowly, her brown doe eyes met his hazel ones, hers reddened from crying. "Whose are you?" he asked gently.
Her body quivered as fresh tears slipped out. "Yours."
"That's right, baby girl," he agreed, drawing her onto his lap, holding her close as he pressed his forehead to hers. "Listen to me. You're mine. And you'll always be mine, no matter what." He nuzzled her nose, kissing away her tears. "We are in this together, okay? I swear to you, I'm not going anywhere. And neither should you."
"I'm so sorry," Rachel shuddered before she broke down, burying her face into his shoulder.
Sam wrapped his thick arms around her small body, crushing her to his chest. "Stop. Don't you dare be sorry for anything. You hear?" He felt her nod. "Say it," he whispered.
"Yes, sir," she hiccuped into his skin.
His heart was decimated by her fear, by his own, by the challenge they now faced. "Good girl," he said, biting back the shake to his own voice. He had to be her strength. He promised her he would. He kissed whatever skin of hers he could reach, his fingers tightening around her. "Mine," he reminded her. "Always and forever mine."
Despite the confidence he faked, Sam didn't manage to get any sleep. He didn't dare move in bed, though, comforted that Rachel had found rest within his arms. She would need it. He needed her to be healthy, strong. He would treat this pregnancy as if it were his own child she was carrying, assuring she had the proper nutrition for the road ahead. And he would dig as deep as he could in research and lure to find a way for her to survive her eventual labor.
Six months-the shortened nephilim gestation period-for a deadline seemed like more than enough time, but with gathering the ingredients for the portal and their mounting plan to bring Jack and Mary Winchester home, knowing the woman he loved was on a ticking time clock for life only made for insane pressure.
Sam spent the entire night wondering when he should tell Dean. He knew he would need his brother's help, and Castiel's too. He knew Jody Mills was willing to put in time too. Of course, he knew by spreading her condition around, he risked the chance of Rachel hating him or regressing. But he had no choice. He loved her, and he would do whatever it took to keep her safe, even if it meant driving her away from himself. He just wasn't keen on actually telling everyone.
He smiled sadly as he stroked Rachel's arm, glancing at her now flat stomach. The little boy of his dreams grinned in his mind's eyes as he imagined his child-sized hands resting over Rachel's full womb, promising to protect his little sister "forever and ever." Sam squeezed his eyes shut, allowing himself silent tears in the darkness of their room. She could never know his dreams. If she did, she would likely never recover from the guilt she would assume for herself.
Morning came, the very faint scent of coffee filtering through the air. Sam smirked when he saw Rachel stir as it drifted into their room. He brushed the thick waves from her eyes, tightening his arms around her as she slowly woke. "Morning," he whispered, planting deliberate kisses over her.
"Morning," she managed, reality seeming to crash back onto her with a vengeance as she blinked heavily, staring at his chest. "Sam—"
"Shh," he urged, his thumb over her lips as he kissed her forehead. "Don't. I know it's scary, but it doesn't define us."
"But, it does." She traced over his warding symbol, focusing on the intricate ink. "It defines why … why you should let me—"
"Stop," he said sternly, tilting her chin up and holding her gaze. "Don't you dare finish that sentence." He swallowed, assuming control. "Tell me whose you are."
"Yours," she whispered.
"And do I love you?"
"Yes."
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good girl." He kissed her lips, holding back a moan as he gently tasted her. "You're mine," he assured when they parted, his nose stroking her cheek. "Whatever comes will come. If doesn't change a damn thing between us. Okay?"
"Yes, sir," she replied, barely audible as she clung to him, her face buried in the juncture of his neck and shoulder.
It didn't take Dean longer than a minute to sense the shift of the usual vibe between his brother and Rachel. He usually felt happy to see them together, maybe even a touch jealous at the relationship they had. They were good together, and the way Sam smiled when he was with her was unlike anything he had ever seen. He wasn't a Hallmark card kind of guy, but watching them was downright magical at times. It nearly made him want to find a "Rachel" of his own, even though he wasn't nearly as confident in his ability to balance a relationship with his life as a hunter.
Still, as he sipped his morning coffee, everything tensed inside of him, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up as he took in Rachel's expression. She was already a small woman, but she seemed even smaller, her fingers tight around Sam's hand. Maybe it was Sam's plaid shirt she wore like a nightgown that hung to mid thigh on her petite frame. It was more than that, though. She was weak. Afraid. It was as if Sam just found her in Denning's farmhouse basement, half dressed, beaten, and scarred. He chose to keep his expression neutral, waiting until Sam ultimately chose to reveal what was wrong. In that moment, what was actually wrong with her wasn't even on his radar. Dean concluded that, for now, his ignorance would be her bliss. She looked like she had enough on her mind anyway. "Morning, lovebirds. Coffee's hot, but breakfast is not. All out of supplies for anything good, so cereal it is today. Not much Captain Crunch left though."
Rachel smiled at him, the idea of Captain Crunch making her nauseous. "Thanks, Dean. I'm not really hungry."
"You should eat, though," Sam countered, looking over at her. He cleared his throat, seeing her subtle warning. "It's the most important meal of the day." He subconsciously smoothed his gray tee shirt, jamming his hands into his jean pockets.
She went to the pantry and pulled down two mugs, pouring two cups of coffee. "I know," she replied, "which is why I'm having coffee. Because coffee is important."
Sam saw through her attempt to be her usual self, but he was grateful Dean seemed to be oblivious to what was so evident to him. "Thanks," he murmured as she handed him a cup with just the right amount of cream. He watched her as she pulled herself to sit on the counter, her bare legs swinging gently as she settled in, wrapping her hands around her mug. It had become normal for her to wear her pajamas around Dean, even if they were just Sam's shirts over her underwear. She was far from a morning person, so getting dressed right away wasn't her forte. "So." Sam turned to his brother, nodding to the folded newspaper in front of him. "Anything interesting we can look into?"
"There looks to be a potential vamp nest about an hour and a half south of here in Cawker City," Dean said, sliding over the paper as Sam sat across from him.
Sam focused on the text, knowing if he deliberately poured himself into his work, he could avoid the elephant in the room for at least a short while. "Three women found with their blood drained, puncture wounds at the neck and wrists, a couple of tourist disappearances …" He skimmed down, taking in two photos. "David Masterson and Kelly Kipley. Both missing since about two weeks ago when they came through Cawker City on a road trip." He nodded, sipping his coffee. "Pretty textbook. We taking it?"
Dean shrugged. "Up to you. It would take a day or two at the most."
"Let's do it."
"Great." Dean couldn't help but experiment with the dynamic between Sam and Rachel. He knew Sam wouldn't come clean right away, if at all without force. "Ever take down a vamp nest, Rach?"
Rachel nodded, sipping her coffee. "About a year ago, with another hunting duo. I was their bait."
"Perfect," Dean smiled. "You can see the world's biggest ball of twine and play bait again."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Sam interrupted, tensing as he looked at Dean. "She's not coming."
"Excuse me?" Rachel asked incredulously, brow arched.
"It's a vamp nest," Sam argued, trying to send a hidden message across to her through his eyes. "It's not a job we would need you for. It would just risk you unnecessarily."
She clearly wasn't having it. "I don't think that's up to you," she reminded, her tone sending a message of her own.
"We could cut down time with a pretty worm on the hook, Sammy," Dean offered, fully aware he was severely ruffling his brother's feathers. He had to play his role of ignorance, though.
"Again," Sam said slowly, a growl to his voice, "it's an unnecessary risk."
"Can I talk to you for a minute?" Rachel asked, setting down her coffee and hopping off the counter. Though it was a question, Sam knew there was no other answer other than yes. He followed her into the library, looking down at her as she turned to him. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" she hissed.
"Protecting you," he whispered back. "You're in no condition to hunt."
She eyed him. "I'm pregnant with an unkillable nephilim, for shit's sake. What is going to happen to me?"
"Sit this one out."
"No!" She scoffed, her hands on her hips. "I knew this would happen. The minute I told you, I knew you'd get like this."
"Just … stay here for lure, okay?" Sam offered.
Rachel cocked her brow at him. "Lure? Really, Sam? You need lure on vamps?"
"Dammit," Sam growled, running his hand through his hair, "Rachel, you're …" He stopped, unable to finish his sentence.
"I'm coming," she concluded for him. "Whether you like it or not. So, get used to it. When I'm waddling around here like a giant stuffed duck, then I'll stay home. Let me be normal for the last few months of my life."
Sam grabbed her arm as she started to walk away. "These aren't the last months of your life," he reminded her. "I'll find a way."
Rachel drew in a breath, pained at his optimism. "I know you want to, and I love you for that. But the sooner you face reality, the better."
Sam watched as Rachel left the library, heading back into the kitchen. He swiped his hand over his mouth, angrily brooding as he cursed Arioch's name in his mind. He couldn't kill that Watcher enough times to sate his venomous rage. In fact, he was fairly certain he wouldn't even kill him right away—he'd just torture him until he died from the sheer desperation to escape.
Drawing in a deep breath, Sam found his way back into the kitchen. Rachel was gone, Dean still in his chair. "She went to change," Dean explained. "Not sure why. Something about needing pants." He shrugged. "I was okay with no pants, personally." Dean saw Sam's distant stare as he focused on his mug, tempted to demand the facts right then and there. "You alright?" he tested.
"Fine," Sam replied, his smile obviously forced. "I'm, uh, going to get my boots."
Dean watched his brother walk away, sipping his coffee. "Oh yeah, you're fine. Nothing wrong at all," he muttered with a shake of his head.