Dean rolled his eyes as Rachel drifted towards a rosebush on the side of the pathway they were on. Allowed himself to be tugged with her until her hand slipped from his. She went to the bush, eyes wide, wondering. Gazing at the myriad of red blooms until she found that something that she was always looking for and cupped one bud in her hand. Bent over it and lowered her nose to it, inhaling deeply.
Getting out of the house had been a good idea. Rachel was acting more like herself and less like a reanimated doll. They'd gone to the movies, where she'd laughed at his snarky comments and made some of her own while munching on buttery popcorn. They'd never actually gone to a movie theater together before, but they'd spent plenty of evenings watching movies on the road. It'd been nice to feel like he was on a date with her. They'd never just dated; their relationship had gone from one of denying he even wanted her to being married with no real courtship. And while he'd never really been a courtship kind of guy, it was kind of nice in its own way. Kind of… normal.
Not that he needed normal or anything. Dean wasn't a normal kind of guy. Unlike Sam, he hadn't spent his life longing for the white picket fence and college and stuff. He was more like Dad. All he wanted was to find the demon who killed Mom and, along the way, stop other things from hurting people. Normal wasn't a part of that.
Except, well, maybe it could be. A little bit. Maybe once in awhile, he and Rachel could slip away and do something that wasn't about anything but them. Little things, like the movies. Maybe when Rachel was back, he'd consider it.
Rachel took a final smell, then pulled away. "Sorry," she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
Dean shrugged and gave her a half smile. "I'm used to it." At her look, he elaborated by saying, "Every time we come across flowers, you have to smell them. You're always stopping and smelling the flowers."
"Oh." She smiled wryly, but Dean could see her tucking the information away with the rest of the stuff she should already know about herself. "Must get annoying."
"Naw, not really. I mean, it's not like you do it when we're chasing a baddie or something." He reached out and snapped off the rose she'd been smelling. After making sure there were no thorns, he tucked it into her hair. "It's kind of cute."
"Do I… never mind."
"What?"
She blushed, eyes downcast. "I was going to ask if I have a favorite flower, but… but, I mean, I'll just figure it out myself."
Dean nodded, then frowned. "Wait. You think I don't know, huh?"
"Well. It's a silly thing, you know? A girly thing."
"You're a girl." He leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. "You like tulips. You love roses. Mostly, you just love the way they smell, but, for some reason, you don't like anything that's rose scented. Like perfume or soap or whatever. I tried to buy you lotion sometime, but it gave you a headache. Didn't tell me, of course, just kept wearing it until Sam put it together. Anyway. I think your favorite flower are those little white things that you find on the side of the road. Clovers or something. Whenever you're stressed, you go out and get them. You make necklaces out of them. Fill our motel rooms with them. You love 'em."
She was blushing. "God. Am I always so complicated?"
"Yes." He kissed her, pulling her against him. "Every moment of your life."
Rachel's arms wound around Dean's neck. One hand cupped the back of his head, fingers running through his hair. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be."
"Not about being complicated. About…"
He shut her up, kissing her again. Rachel hated making out in public, although she put up with it because Dean was always able to get his way. Right now, though, she didn't seem to mind. She just kissed him, clinging to him with a kind of desperation that Dean knew much too well. A desperation in himself he'd thought would be gone once he'd found her, but had just morphed as he had to watch her struggle to find herself again.
God, he was so helpless. There was nothing to kill or strangle or kick or burn and he needed that. Needed it, or he might do something stupid.
"Rachel Adams? Oh my God, Rachel Adams, is that you?"
Rachel pulled away from Dean at the sound of someone saying her name. "Um. Hi."
Dean turned. He placed his hand on the small of Rachel's back and looked at the tall, busty girl about Rachel's age.
The girl waved her hands around her face, which was twisted in an overly exaggerated expression of surprise. "Rachel! Rachel Adams! I can't believe it's you! I haven't seen you in forever! How are you?"
Rachel tugged at her tee shirt, then slid them down her jeans. "I'm doing fine. Thanks. How about you?"
The woman slid the huge sunglasses she was wearing into her bouncy, shiny hair. A bunch of bracelets slid down her wrist as she did, hitting the head of the little dog in the purse she was carrying. "I'm fantastic. So busy. But everything is going so well, you know? I graduated from Wellesley last spring. Parker just finished up at Harvard and started law school in the fall. I'm working as an interior designer and planning our wedding. It's next June, so save the date." She waved her hand in front of Rachel's face, showing off a huge diamond ring.
Rachel smiled politely. "Congratulations."
"Thank you! I mean, God, can you believe it? We're all getting married and having babies and everything. It's so exciting." Her eyes slid to Dean, then back at Rachel expectantly.
"Oh!" Rachel said. "Uh…"
Dean held out his hand and shook the woman's. "Dean Winchester. I'm Rachel's husband."
"Angela Stevens. It's so nice to meet you."
"Angela. As in Angie, Angela?" he asked.
"Oh God, no one calls me that anymore. It's such a juvenile nickname. Have you been telling him my name is Angie, Rachel?"
Rachel shook her head. She was blushing again. "Um, no. He found some of my old dairies."
"Whatever. You're married! Oh my God!" Angela squealed, jumping up and down. Her little dog flinched. "When did you get married? Where? Was it Martha's Vineyard? Why wasn't invited? Where was your honeymoon? We're doing Europe for ours, very posh. Shopping in Paris? Ah. I didn't see your announcement. Poo. And, Dean, who's your family? Are you Winchester like Winchester rifle Winchester? Where did you go to school? What do you do? Where are you two living? We should get together. Rachel, … where's your wedding ring, Rachel?" she finished, frowning down at Rachel's empty left like a kid who got coal on Christmas.
"Well," Rachel said uncomfortably. "Dean and I eloped. And I kind of dropped my wedding ring… in the garbage disposal the other night when I was doing dishes. Dean and I are looking for a replacement." Her last words were kind of cut off, like the way her voice got when she was near tears.
Angela gave her a long, open-mouthed look of disbelief before saying, "You were doing dishes?" She shot a look at Dean and gave him a critical once over. She then ran the same eyes over Rachel, taking in the faded jeans and comfortable tee shirt. Then she leaned closer to Rachel and whispered way too loudly, "Honey. Are you two doing, you know. Okay? What happened to your trust fund?"
Rachel cracked her jaw and gave Angela a sharp smile. "Nice seeing you, Angela. Buh-bye." She grabbed Dean's hand and pulled him away.
A heavy, dark lump had settled in Dean's stomach. The same kind of feeling he'd experienced the first time he'd seen Rachel's house. The first time he'd had to suggest she pay for a hotel room whose bedspread didn't try to crawl away each night. And the same kind of feeling every time she did or said something that reminded him just how different their childhood was and how far apart their worlds were.
"You know, I have a feeling that she's the kind of person that sent me gleefully running away from Hartford," Rachel said, her hand clenched tightly in Dean's.
"Rachel…"
"No." She stopped and looked at him. "No, Dean, really. We're not… She's not right."
"You don't know that."
"I do," she said softly, all Bambi eyes looking up at him. "I know, Dean. I know this. I never wanted that life. I was always planning to leave it, right? Go to England and whatever. After us, I… I chose you. And I don't think I regret it. I know I don't regret it." She licked her lips. "I know I love you. And I know I'm happy with our life. And, well, I know that Angie is just as much of a bitch she was in first grade."
He forced himself to smile. Because that's what she needed. "Yeah, I know. I'm good."
"I don't believe you."
Damn. Girl was too damn perceptive, even when she didn't know who she was.
He licked his lips. Shook his head. "Rachel, the past two weeks, I've been through hell. I was against this from the start. You and me. 'Cause I knew it could, you know, be something. And that it could be dangerous. But I gave in because, well, I was weak and I wanted you. And, you know." He swallowed. "It's been okay. You know? The world hasn't ended. Except, then you disappeared and I didn't know what happened. And it was all my fault."
"It was not your fault. Hunting's a dangerous life. And one I've chosen for myself. I mean, I was going to England to do the same thing, right? Same thing could have happened there."
"Except it's that damn demon who took you. The demon that's after my family. Had you not been involved with me, you never would have been on its radar."
Rachel frowned. "Have we had this fight before?"
He ducked his head. Shrugged. "Maybe once or twice."
She nodded. "
"Yes."
"That, even if I leave you, and we go our separate ways so I'm safe, that there's still always a chance the demon will come after me anyway. So, there's no real reason for us to separate, 'cause the die is cast."
He closed his eyes. "Yes."
"All right," she chirped brightly. "Then we are not going to have the fight again right now."
Dean licked his lips. Opened his eyes again. "Okay. I wasn't planning on leaving you right now, anyway. Not while you don't know who you are." He glanced back in the direction they'd walked. "But, your friends…"
"Oh my God, if she was actually ever one of my friends, then I don't want my memory back! She's…. she's like a Barbie doll. On steroids. On crack. Did that see that dog? She's the kind of person who thinks dogs and children are accessories. I'm that. I don't want to be that, and I don't want to have that." She took his hand. "I want you."
"You don't know me."
"No. But I did. And I chose you. And I still do, because I know I belong with you." Rachel rose to her toes and kissed Dean lightly on the lips. "I think it's fairly obvious that my parents don't buy into the whole upper class social debutant shtick. They don't have a problem with me tromping around the country with a man I'm only legally married to as long as no one looks at the paperwork closely enough. I'm happy. And that's what matters."
Despite himself, something in him relaxed. He plucked the flower from Rachel's hair and ran it down her face. Tapped her on the nose with it. "I guess so. And, really, there ain't no way I'm letting you out of my sight ever again."
She laughed and rolled her eyes. "That'll be fun."
He wrapped his arms around her and pinched her bottom. "Yeah," he said, lowering his mouth to hers. "It will be."
