I didn't know whether I should be content with the way Sam, Dean and I had worked it out. I wasn't unhappy about it – but I wasn't happy, either.

We had agreed on the two of them continuing hunting, looking for clues and figuring out the whole Sam-back-from-hell thing. The moment they found out something about me or my family, they'd call me in. I had made them promise to stay in regular contact with me, which Dean had promised more readily than Sam had. In the end, however, they had both promised me, and that's what mattered to me.

Yet, I wasn't perfectly fine with how we'd had arranged.

Maybe it was the way that Sam hadn't shown the slightest sign of emotion during the whole talk that bothered me.

Maybe it was the knowledge that my normal life was over, that I was back in, whether I wanted it or not.

Maybe the true reason for my restlessness was this intense longing to love Sam.

Trust me, it was the last thing I wanted to do, and so far, I wasn't able to love him, luckily. I mean, nobody could love a block of ice, right?

However, there was this calling inside of me that told me that I wanted to love him.

I was saved from burying myself deeper in thoughts on how messed up I had to be if I was indeed falling for Sam by my cell ringing viciously loud in the silence of my living room. "Hey, Dean."

"Hey, Rachel… you got a minute?"

***

He'd gotten Bobby's and Lisa's honest opinion so far, would soon get Sam's; only one missing was Rachel. He might as well get as much out of this curse as possible.

Dean would apologize to her later – if he survived that long.

"Hey, Dean," Her voice was as calm as ever, though she did sound as if just ripped from daydreams.

"Hey, Rachel… you got a minute?"

"Sure, what's up?"

"I've got a question for you." Dean took a deep breath. Here goes brutal honesty, take three. "Why are you really helping us? You could deal with this perfectly on your own, maybe even better. You don't need us, so why do you care so much about us in general and Sam in particular?"

Rachel sucked in air sharply. Her tongue knotted in her mouth, twisted itself, almost made her gag; she wanted to say that it was because she had her reasons, because she wanted to know what the things going bump at night were up to.

None of that came out, though. It was as if someone had taken control over her speech.

"Dean, please don't make me-"

"I'm sorry, but I have to." Dean really was sorry; he figured that he had a right to know what Bobby, Lisa and Sam thought, since they'd been in his life for a long time. Rachel, however, was entirely not his business - technically. "I like you, Rachel, I really do. But if there's one thing I learned from hunting, it's to never trust anyone."

"I understand that."

It was a strange feeling to know that it was the naked truth; Rachel really understood him, it wasn't just an empty phrase. That was the shiny side of the coin; the dark side was that he would probably hear things he'd rather not know.

It came different, though.

"You're cursed with that honesty thing, aren't you?" Rachel asked, and Dean thought to hear an edge of despair in her voice.

"So Sam told you about that."

"Yes, he did." Rachel breathed heavily, obviously trying to keep the next words from spilling from her mouth: "I slept with Sam the day before my wedding. On the kitchen table. God, that so wasn't meant to slip out."

Dean closed his eyes, trying to chase away certain images involving his brother, Rachel and a table. "Alright, trying not to picture that."

"The worst thing was that I considered it worth risking my engagement."

"Okay, okay, Rachel – stop. Really."

"I wish I could, you have no idea of how badly I want to stop talking. In a way, though it's your fault. You called me, knowing you'd get nothing but the truth."

"I didn't know it would leave me scarred for life."

"You're already damaged. Damn, I'm sorry, it wasn't meant to come out that harsh."

"No, it's okay."

"You're nothing compared to Sam, though, he's a cold-hearted, unfeeling and ruthless ass these days, and if I wasn't feeling so inclined to love him, I'd have probably shot him long ago."

"I know wh- wait, what?" Dean would have prayed he'd had heard wrong if he'd been the praying type. Now he could just hope his gunshots-and-loud-rock-music-damaged ears had misunderstood Rachel.

"Great, so it really is true. Damn it." Rachel said to herself. If she told Dean that she wanted to love Sam, it had to be true. That was the fucked up ending to an already fucked up week. Hell, to a fucked up life.

"Rachel, what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"That means that I cannot explain why, but I feel deep down inside of me that I want to love Sam. No matter how unbearable he is, I want to love him. Sometimes it even feels like I need to."

'Wow, hunting with a father like Ewan Black really did mess with this poor girl's idea of boyfriend material for a functional relationship.' Dean ran a hand over his forehead. "Alright, I have no idea what that says about your mental state, other than you seem to be masochistically inclined, nor do I have any idea what it means; but it qualifies as a reason for why you care."

"That's not the real reason."

Dean's eyes widened as he leaned onto the Impala's roof and watched the apartment building where Sam was currently interrogating patient zero's sister. "Then what is?"

Dean didn't think Rachel could drop a bigger bombshell after confessing her strange urge to love Sam; maybe she could have, but Dean wouldn't find out, as Rachel replied: "I cannot tell you."

"What?" Had the curse worn off?

"I can't tell you the real reason why I care so much. That's the truth."

Thoughts were spinning in Dean's head faster than the Impala's wheels on an empty highway. Rachel couldn't lie. She was simply not able to.

Then how could she keep a secret from him despite that?

Instead of getting answers, Dean's call to Rachel had just dug up more questions.

***

I snapped my cell closed and sat motionlessly for a minute. I couldn't believe two things; for one, that I wasn't imagining this strange need to love Sam. For another, that it had worked… I really couldn't talk about it.

Relief swept over me despite all the involuntary confessions I'd made. The most important secret, I had kept to myself.

I was also glad I had kept quiet about my not-so-glamorous past. The last thing I needed was for Sam and Dean to look at me like some kind of borderline, unbalanced junkie.

A sharp knock at the door made me nearly jump out of my skin. I frowned; I had ordered Mr Hurley not to let anybody up.

I reached for the phone and called the porter's desk. Nobody answered, and a sneaky sense of dreadful foreboding filled me.

Before I could act on that instinct, the door was violently flung open. Unhinged, what used to be my front door was now dangling like a lose string from the wall.

The shriek never left my throat, as the demon's hand closed around it and squeezed.

No, not a demon, I realized when I caught the flittering air behind the unknown man's body. Wings.

An angel.

I was just about to think my last thoughts when the stinging smell of sulphur filled the air, followed by a blinding white light, a scream and then nothing.

I gasped for air, trying to see through the haze of dizziness clouding my mind. When my vision cleared, I could make out a woman in her thirties with short brown hair – and black eyes.

Those coals burned into me, before the woman opened her mouth and screamed out black smoke.

I coughed, held a hand to my aching throat and tried to make out what the hell was going on. Oxygen was pumping back into my brain, and I realized that a demon had just saved me from an angel.

I also realized that I had to get away from here as quickly as possible. Taking just enough time to throw some clothes into a duffel bag, I grabbed my car keys and sped out of my apartment. I had to get away before the police arrived; which, judging from the increasingly loud sirens, wouldn't be long.

Everything had happened so fast that I didn't even take time to think about it; only when I was on the highway outside San Francisco did I force myself to calm my breathing and think logically.

Screw logic. I'd act on instinct.

"Rachel?"

"Sam, are you still in Calumet City in Illinois?"

"Yes… Rachel, what's wrong?"

"Everything!" I snapped.

Sam didn't snap back; his voice was almost soothing. "Apart from that."

I took two deep breaths. I had to admit it calmed me to hear Sam's voice, it grounded me, in a way. "I'm coming to meet you."

"What?"

"Don't move, okay? I really need to see you."

"Rachel, what happened?"

"I wish I knew… it's all wrong. There was an angel, he was just suddenly there, and…"

"Wait, an angel? What'd he want?"

"Me, dead. Nearly succeeded, too."

"How'd you get rid of him?"

"I didn't. A demon did."

"Come again?"

"I told you it's all wrong. Look, I really can't do this over the phone, just promise me you'll wait for me in Calumet City, okay? I can't do this alone. I thought I could, but I can't." That must have been the biggest admittance of defeat and weakness I had made in a long time – and to Sam, too. I wouldn't have thought that he'd be the first person I'd go to.

His answer surprised me even more: "Alright. Promise. We're staying at the Red Inn, room number 5. I'll be there."

The real surprise was that I believed him.

I only stopped once on my long way to Illinois; to sleep for two hours. For the rest of the drive, I dosed up on caffeine and ignored any speed limit I passed.

So when I arrived in Calumet City nearly two days later, I wasn't necessarily in the best of shapes. I carelessly parked my car on the motel's parking lot, jumped out of the car and banged on the door labelled number 5.

I wasn't sure I could have borne not seeing Sam; my mental state was in a very sad condition indeed if I turned to the emotionless guy for comfort. I couldn't care about that now, though. I had bigger issues.

Apart from that, it wouldn't have been the first time I looked for comfort at the wrong address. You were supposed to learn from mistakes, but when you never realized you made one, you happily stepped into the same kind of mess over and over again.

The door opened, and I felt the adrenaline that had me going for the past 36 hours leave my body within a nano-second. Robbed of all strength, I let myself sink against Sam, closed my arms around his waist and buried my face in his chest.

"Rachel. Hey, it's okay."

I sincerely doubted that. Though I had to admit that Sam's hands comfortingly rubbing across my back helped to cease that doubt a little.

"Come on, let's get you inside." His voice sounded softer than I remembered as he pulled me into the room and locked the door behind us. If I had known all it took was a nervous breakdown to get at least a little hint of compassion from him, I'd have thrown a fit much sooner.

I sat down on the edge of the bed, or rather; I let Sam gently push me down onto the edge of the bed. Rather than seeing him sit down opposite me, I felt his weight on the mattress beside me.

Needless to say, that brought back memories I'd rather have done without.

"What happened?" The care was gone from his voice again, but for the moment, it was good enough for me to remember that it might have been there.

"An angel suddenly showed up, tried to kill me and had nearly succeeded in doing so when suddenly it smelled like sulphur – when I looked around, a demon stood there, bloody symbols were on the wall and the angel was gone."

"What'd the demon do then?"

"Disappear. Well, it left the human's body. It didn't even try to hurt me," I buried my face in my hands, "What the hell's going on, Sam? Why are demons, angels and whatnot suddenly so intent on either killing me or getting me hunting again? Why did a freaking demon save my life?"

"I don't know. I wish I did, but I don't."

Resolutely I raised my eyes to his. I had made up my mind. "I need to be in on this, Sam."

"What? No way."

"Why not?"

"Rachel, you have a life, a normal, good life."

"Which won't be worth much when I'm dead."

"If you want to live, you probably shouldn't get back to hunting. It's not exactly known for the job with the highest life expectancy."

"Maybe not. But it's also known as the job with the highest probability of cheating death," I raised an eyebrow.

"That's beside the point."

"Then what is the point, Sam?"

"We have no idea what is going on here. All monsters have suddenly gone even crazier, even more powerful. You haven't been hunting for ten years, you're basically a rookie. They'll tear you apart. Leave this to us, we'll find answers."

If I had detected even the slightest sign of genuine concern in his voice, I might have left it at that. Since I didn't, I snapped instead: "One: I'm not a rookie, damnit. Don't judge me until you've actually seen me in action. Two: I've already sat out the apocalypse. I won't shy back from my responsibilities again. This fight isn't only yours anymore, Sam. Apart from that you're in no position to give me any orders."

The look he gave me was calculating, measuring and unreadable. "I thought you'd never want to hunt again."

"For one: Things change. For another: I hated hunting for a long time, but mostly because of my family. I know it's a life full of deprivations, and if I had a choice, I wouldn't choose it. But it's not all bad… Fact is, I grew up with it and it's a part of me. I've had my fair share of normal; I guess my playtime is over."

Hunting really wasn't all bad; there were just jobs that paid out better and hurt less. Just like there were jobs that held less temptation to give in…

"Besides, I can't really live a normal life knowing demons and angels are out to get my head."

"You are aware that you're about to do the very thing your hated family wants you to?"

"Yes – but I won't ever hunt with them again."

"Dean and I will get you in even worse trouble, fair warning."

I had the sneaky feeling Dean wasn't so much the problem here… but I had spoken my share of truth for now.

"Speaking of, where is he? Still under the curse?" Damn, that hadn't meant to slip out.

Sam narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "You know about that?"

"Yeah, um, Dean called me. That's all I'm willing to share with the press right now."

"I don't even want to know," Sam got up, "What I would like to know is why you decided to come to me."

"You're the only lead I got," I replied matter-of-factly.

"Right," Sam seemed satisfied by that. Apparently, he wasn't under the curse, or I would have spilled out some more reasons why I came to him.

For instance: You're the only one I got left.

Or: I feel an inexplicable draw towards you.

Or: You're the only one I know capable of helping me.

"To answer your question: Dean's out to get the archive of 'Frank Talk'."

"Come again?" I shot him a puzzled look.

Note to self: When you went to Sam Winchester these days and told him you wanted back in the business, he wouldn't hold your hand as you tiptoed your way into the water; he'd throw you into the riveting currents himself.

In this case, I got hit with the full lecture of Greek Gods and Goddesses, specifically Veritas, and of dogs, their blood, gruesome suicides, disappearing bodies, cats and bloody sacrifices.

Welcome back to business, Rachel.

"And you think this, what's her face-"

"Ashley Frank."

"Right, whatever, you think that she's Veritas and makes people kill themselves because they can't handle the truth."

"Yeah, we'll know more once Dean gets back."

Speaking of the devil, Dean barged into the room that very second. "Rachel?"

"Hey, Dean." I hope he got the silent plea in my eyes: Don't ask me anything.

Apparently, he did. "Nice seeing you again. I'll ask you all about the reason for it after I'm un-cursed, because honestly, I've got my load of honesty."

I huffed. "Thanks."

"By the way, you look like you haven't slept in days, and it's not an improvement."

"Gee, thanks, Veritas slam me with her curse, too?"

"No, I'm just a generally honest person."

I rolled my eyes. "No, you're not."

"Man, this curse really isn't anything for the sensitive among us."

"Way of life. So, let's watch the creepy bitch's show and get Veritas off the table."

"'Scuse me?"

I gave Dean the quick update, which he accepted with a huffed 'huh'. Made me almost wish Veritas had indeed cursed me so I could get Dean to tell me what went on in that handsome but damaged head of his.

Somewhere in-between the question whether genetically modified food was ethically correct or not and the true story behind intensive livestock farming, my eyes closed and I cuddled into the motel bed, too exhausted to fight sleep overwhelming me.

***

Sam watched Rachel's sleeping form and waited for some emotion stirring in him. Nothing.

He knew that had he met her again after Jessica and before hell, he would have cared a great deal about her. He would have loved the way her grey eyes sparkled, how her left eye narrowed when she wasn't buying your bullshit story, how she absent-mindedly piled her thick curls into a messy bun, how she fiddled with her earring when she was nervous and how she'd heartily dig into her food when she was pissed at something.

Sam felt none of that now, but he did know he admired Rachel for her strength of character. She didn't cling on to her normal life with dogged obstinacy but was willing to accept when she'd lost.

'She accepted fate a lot quicker than I did," Sam thought.

Sam knew he had dragged her back into it; he should have never entered her life again, and he would have felt guilt had he been able to. Rachel might know it, too; if she did, she didn't let it show.

More still, she hadn't only chosen to be back in the hunting business, but she had chosen to hunt with them. Therewith, she'd stepped into the same mess Sam was in, and she didn't seem to mind.

Sam reached out a hand, softly lifted the strand of hair that had fallen into Rachel's face and plucked it behind her ear. He refrained from tracing the bruises on her neck. Seeing Rachel hurt should trigger anger in him; and he did vow to hunt down the angel who'd done this to her. But he didn't feel the anger, as much as he wanted to, just like he didn't feel the love for Rachel, no matter how badly he wanted it to warm his heart.

"This is a bad idea, you know."

Sam's eyes travelled from Rachel's face to his brother's. "You mind being a little more specific?"

"Letting her hunt with us."

"What do you want to do, let her walk out of here right into the angel squad's awaiting arms?"

Dean groaned, "No, of course not. It's just… we don't know her that well, Sam, and the fact that the nukes want her dead while demons are her guardian, well, demons – that doesn't exactly put her on first on my to-trust-list."

"On the other hand, we've been saved by demons before, too, while angels were out to get us. It doesn't make her an enemy."

"She could be possessed," Dean couldn't deny the logic in Sam's words. However, Rachel had been able to keep a secret from him when she couldn't lie; that made her suspicious in his book.

"No, she couldn't be."

"Oh, yeah, how'd you know that?"

"She's got an anti-possession tattoo on her back."

"Naturally you would know about that."

Sam rolled his eyes and pointed at the laptop's screen. "I think I've found something."

The brothers stared at the news reporter's silvery-blue glowing eyes. "Okay, then, let's gank ourselves a Greek goddess."

"Rachel," Sam turned and lightly shook her shoulder.

"Mhm, just two more minutes..." She mumbled and shifted slightly.

Sam chuckled quietly. Rachel, the tough huntress, looked adorably cute when she was sleeping.

"Rachel," Sam insisted, "We found Veritas."

"Well, I found the goddess of sleep, and she calls to me and demands to be worshipped."

Sam wished there was such a thing as a goddess of sleep; maybe she could make him dream again. "You wanted back in, Ral."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Rachel stretched and swung her long legs over the edge of the bed. "Tyrant."

"Brat."

"Alright, you two lovebirds, once you're done, could we get back to the case? I really don't want to end up as some freak goddess' dinner."

Rachel regarded Dean with a smothering glare and had trouble holding her true thoughts from spilling out of her mouth.

"I say we follow her home tonight, drive a knife dipped in dog blood through her heart and end the spook."

"Sounds like a plan."

"I'll go get some stuff we're going to need," Sam got up and two minutes later, was out the room leaving Dean and Rachel in a not-so-comfortable silence.

"Dean, look, I get that you don't really trust me."

"I trusted you, until you were able to lie to my face when nobody should be able to say anything but the truth to me."

"I didn't lie when I said I couldn't tell you the real reason why I want to help, why I want back in. I really cannot tell you."

"How's that possible?"

"I can't say."

Dean gave up for now. He considered the honesty in Rachel's eyes to be legit.

"I trust you, Dean. I just don't know if I can trust anybody else, myself included. I don't know what's going on and I want answers."

"Okay. Do me a favour, though…"

"I'll leave Veritas to you and Sam and stay here."

"How did you know I was going to ask you that?"

"It's not hard to figure out that you two have some unresolved issues between each other, and I get that now is the best time to get answers. Just be careful."

Dean wondered where Rachel got all that enduring patience and understanding from; she didn't seem like the sweetest-tempered person, so why'd she put up with the trouble Sam and Dean had caused and would cause her?

"What are you going to do?"

"Take a shower, for one, and then I've got a few things to do."

"Like what?"

"You really use this curse to the maximum, don't you?" Rachel narrowed her eyes.

"It's not often that you get the truth only."

"Fair enough. Alright, then, if you must know: I have some calls to make, seeing as I just took off with my apartment a giant mess and nobody knowing where I went to, then I'm going to get my hair dyed blonde."

Dean's eyes widened as a puzzled expression crossed his face.

"I'm actually a natural blonde, but I figured that you get taken more seriously with dark hair, so, to mark the cut I made with my family and former life, I exchanged blonde for auburn and rifle for college textbook. Now I'm going to exchange Prada pumps for biker boots." Rachel stepped towards the bathroom, "Oh, and please kill Veritas quickly, because that damn truth curse makes me blab."

"I've noticed."

"Sorry. But you kind of asked for it."

Rachel disappeared into the bathroom, stripped off her clothes and stepped into the shower. She let out a languorous sigh as the hot water washed off the stress and fatigue of the past days; she had returned to the hunting business easier than she had thought. No regrets. Not yet.

She took a deep breath, felt the steam fill her lungs. 'Be careful of the path you tread...'

By the time Rachel came back to the motel after having her hair dyed back to its natural colour, Sam had returned from his errand – getting dog blood – and was rather surprised by the woman who stepped into the room.

Not only did the honey-colour of her hair emphasize the glow in her grey eyes, but also did it underline the fine soft features of her face. It made her look younger; but also more vulnerable. Rachel should have screamed at his protective instincts; but he didn't have any.

Sam didn't think he'd ever seen her in such casual, practical clothing; jeans, whose holes looked as if they'd been torn in some kind of fight, a black shirt with a white eagle printed on it, worn black leather boots with a jacket to match.

"What?"

"Nothing. Just wondering who you are and what you've done with Rachel."

"Hilarious," Rachel kicked the door shut, "I went out to get a little makeover, just in reverse order, I turned from swan to duckling."

"I wouldn't say that."

"Meaning?" Rachel's tone wasn't demanding; her voice was low and matched Sam's in suggestiveness.

Sam just smiled and went back to packing the weapons Dean and he would need tonight. "Alright, we're gonna go. You'll be okay?"

"I'm not a helpless damsel in distess, Sam. I can take care of myself for a few hours, you know."

"Right… never mind."

Dean had already filed out of the room when Rachel called: "Sam, wait."

Sam turned and looked at her enquiringly.

"Um… be careful, okay?"

He wasn't sure what he was supposed to make of the genuine concern in her silver eyes, just like he wasn't sure whether he should do this or not; in the end, he decided to do it.

Sam leaned forward and gave her a kiss on the forehead. He'd have chosen her lips, but was well aware that Rachel was probably still entertaining some resentment against him and that it wouldn't have been his best move.

Sam didn't see how Rachel tentatively reached out a hand, as if to hold him, as he walked out the door.

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