Dean stared at his phone as if it would magically call Lisa for him.
It didn't, though; he ran a hand over his face and slid the cell back into his jeans pocket. How Rachel thought that this life wasn't 'all bad', he had no idea. He was still trying to see just one good aspect about it.
Before all that crap with the Apocalypse, he'd been content with the kind of life he'd been living – because he had his brother with him, and that's all that mattered.
Now all he had were even more broken pieces to pick up and somehow glue together, and a stranger pretending to be his brother.
He downed another glass of whiskey. How was he supposed to crawl out of this huge black hole? This time, it seemed, there was no way out.
How had Rachel done it? How had she seemingly just shrugged off her binding connection to Mr Soulless and played it with a smile?
Dean remembered the fakeness in her fake smile, the frail stability of her good mood. It had been a recent change.
Following an instinct, Dean pulled out his phone again. "Hey, Bobby…"
"What crap have you two stepped in now?"
"Nothing we can't handle. As for now, anyways… no, Bobby, this is about something else. Did you ever run into a hunter named Rachel Black?"
"Ran into the whole bunch of Blacks at one point," Bobby poured himself a glass of milk and receded into his favourite armchair. "Why do you ask?"
"What can you tell me about her?"
"I can tell you it'd be better if you keep your hands off her."
Dean huffed. "Don't worry, I'm not aiming for a hook-up. Sam's got that one covered."
Bobby shook his head. "So even soulless, your brother's into women of the shadier side."
"I don't know, I mean, Rachel seems fine."
"I ain't saying she's not. She's a great hunter and she's smart… has a good heart, too. Not like her family at all. I don't remember all too much about her. Last time I met her was, what, 11 years ago? Heard a while ago she skipped out."
"She did, but she's back in now… Anyways, what'd you mean by 'shadier side'?"
"Listen, I ain't blaming the poor girl, her life must'a been hell growing up… anyways, it's a publicly known secret amongst some hunter circles that Rachel was living far too close to the edge for years. Drugs, abusive boyfriends, the likes."
Dean pressed his fingers to his forehead in an attempt to ease the headache building up there. He'd known about the drugs, at least, a little; but it seemed he hadn't gotten the full picture yet. Rachel's drug abuse wasn't a way of coping with the troubles in her life; it was merely one spectre of her self-destructive streak.
"What else?"
"What else what?"
"What else do you know?"
Bobby frowned, wondering if he should ask why Dean inquired after Rachel Black. Deciding he'd ask later, he grumbled: "Not much, other than she's unbalanced, a walking complex of complexes and as likely to kill the thing she's hunting as she is to kill herself in the process. Hell of a hunter, though, when she's not reached the stage of obsession yet. Dean, why are you asking me all this?"
"Just needed to check…" Dean mumbled. Just once, he wished Sam could bang a normal, sane and issue-free girl. "Call you back."
"Dean…"
He hung up and put the phone away just in time before Sam and Rachel returned. "What'd you find?"
"The possible hunting ground of the Incubus," Rachel informed him as she threw her blazer over one of the plastic chairs. She sat down in said chair and continued: "Bar downtown, pretty high-class. We went to check it out, but it was closed. Opens at 9 p.m. Anything at the coroner's?"
"Nothing we didn't already know," Dean shook his head. He debated whether to comment on Rachel's rumpled hair and how her blouse was buttoned up wrongly; for the sake of keeping the peace, he decided against it. On second thought, he didn't even want to know.
"Okay, so what do we do now?"
"Split up and talk to friends of the victims," Sam said. "If we work fast, we'll make it back before nine, then we can go check out that bar, see if that's where the victims were taken."
"Alrighty, then, I'll take friends of victims number 1 and 2," Rachel offered enthusiastically and hopped out the door.
"Does she seem…different to you lately?"
Sam turned his head and looked at the closed door. "Um… no?"
"Right, of course not," Dean sighed. "She probably could be a demon and you wouldn't notice."
Sam shook his head and decided to say nothing. He knew he was hurting his brother by his lack of a soul; but what was he supposed to do?
Feel guilty because he didn't want it back? Sure, he should. Guilt, however, was a feeling like any other, and so it wasn't bothering him at all.
0o0
Why won't anybody save me? How could I die over and over, and nobody ever cared?
I stared at the bathroom ceiling. I was cowering on the cracked tiles, leaning against the mouldy walls and, in that moment of clarity before the sweet poison numbed me again, saw how I had failed. Again.
After I had finished interviewing Regina Hudson's and Katie Parr's friends, I had been left with nothing to do and some time to kill before we would go to inspect that bar. Left with the emptiness that had taken hold after the high of sleeping with Sam, of having him want me – if only physically – had worn off.
I coped with it the only way I knew.
So here I was, broken, my blood poisoned with vicodine and whatnot, crying in some dingy motel bathroom, all alone with nobody bothering to care.
'What else is new?'
I couldn't tell you how long I sat there; maybe two minutes, maybe two days. It all blurred.
What had I done so wrong nobody would consider me worth saving? Why had nobody ever seen how broken I really was? Why had nobody stopped me from jumping off cliff after cliff?
I raked my hands through my hair, my breathing came ragged and in unsteady breaths.
Numb tears ran down my face, they made no sound. Made no effect. Because nobody cared.
Why could I never have what I desired most? Why was it taken away from me whenever I was so close to tasting it?
My babies, who never got to see the light of this world, dead.
My fiancé, dead.
The man I loved, my soul mate, my one chance of having one last go at happiness – soulless, uncaring, cold. As good as dead.
A dry sob escaped my throat.
"Rachel, you in there?"
Through a milky haze of unreality, I looked at the door. It took me a while to realize that someone had just called my name.
Dean.
"Yeah, um, just got out of…the shower." I wanted to pick myself up from the floor, but I couldn't. Didn't have the strength left, nor the balance.
"You mind opening anyways?"
My shoulders sagged a little deeper and I pressed my body tighter against the unyielding wall. Even in this cloudy state, I could tell Dean wasn't to be fooled around with now.
"Just, er… give me a minute." My hand fumbled for the plastic bag beside me; better swallow the contents than explain them. Who cared if I overdosed.
I never got that far, though: the door was kicked open with a loud crack, and Dean stood in the doorway in all his impressive, if tainted, glory.
He didn't look disgusted, he didn't even look surprised. Didn't look reproachful as he hurried to my side, ripped the drugs from my hand, crouched down in front of me and pulled me into his arms. "Rachel…"
All dams broke. I'd been holding them for years, practically all my life.
I clung to Dean, buried my face in his neck and let him hold me. I drew comfort from the warmth of his body, pressed my own so tight against his that I nearly couldn't breathe anymore. Tears streamed freely over my face as sobs shook my whole body. "I'm sorry, Dean… so sorry."
"Hey, it's okay."
I felt his hand at the back of my head, as if protecting me. Never had I felt anything more comforting, more real.
"No, it's not…" I sobbed.
"Yes, Rachel, it's okay. I got you, sweetheart, I got you."
"I screwed up. Screwed up royally… Dean, I can't- I wasn't-" I gasped for air.
Dean just sat there with me until I've calmed down enough to speak. Simply sat there, stroked my hair and held me. I was sure this wasn't the first time he had to clean other people's messes. I was sorry to add another one, but God knew how much I needed him right now.
"I wish I didn't have to bother you with this…" I wiped away the last remaining tear and looked at him.
"Rachel, stop. It's okay. You can't keep all that crap in, believe me, it doesn't do any good."
"Yeah, I get that… after 27 years, I actually might develop some kind of sense."
"Better late than never," He rubbed his thumb over my cheek and then helped me up, practically carried me onto the bed and sat down opposite of me.
"So… for how long?"
"Overall or just this time?" I brought my legs up in front of me and wrapped my arms around them. "For years back then… couple of days now."
"I'm sorry, but how are you able to hunt when you're…?"
"Stoned? It's okay, you can say it the way it is," I sighed, "I don't take so much that it clouds my judgement or affects my reactions. Just enough to make it all bearable, so that I don't feel the desire to throw myself at the next stake. When a hunt is over and the next one not in sight… those are the dangerous times. Or used to be; now everything's fucked up." I rubbed my eyes and suppressed another stream of tears.
"Look, I think I know why you do it, I mean, this life is hard, depriving and ungrateful. But, it's just… you don't seem like the type of person who'd turn to drugs and men who aren't exactly helpful for your mental state, either."
"I think my self-destructive streak was there before this kind of life was… hunting with my family just made it break out especially viciously."
Dean didn't press any further, he just waited. No words could explain how grateful I was to him.
"Feel up to handling overuse of metaphors?"
Dean raised his eyebrows. "Go ahead."
"All my life, I've been walking at the edge of cliffs. Sometimes I fell. And sometimes I jumped down, just to see if anyone would catch me. If anyone cared. Nobody ever did. The cliffs got higher, the falls deeper, the landings harder. After a while, I didn't want anyone to catch me anymore. I just wanted it to be over, so I climbed ever higher cliffs and jumped down. Every time, though, I hit water. I was never granted the privilege of hitting the rocks. So there I swam, almost drowned most of the time, but each and every time, I somehow dragged myself back to shore."
"Nobody ever dragged you out?"
I raised my eyes and looked at him. "Not until today."
"So your family…"
"If they knew what was going on, they didn't care. That didn't exactly help me coping," I smiled bitterly, "So I turned to rather 'unhealthy' relationships. I know they were destructive and dragged me down, but those guys were the only ones who, if only for a short time, could make me believe that someone, at least, cared just the smallest bit about me. It was all a fake, of course, but when you can't get the real thing… you go for any kind of substitute. Do you know what it feels like when there's not a single person in the world you can turn to? When you're entirely alone? No home, no family?" I took a breath, "All I ever wanted was to have a home, to carry a different surname, to have kids, a family. A safe haven. And I just realized… I would never have that."
"You don't know that, Rachel."
"No? Look at me, Dean. I'm about as broken and damaged as a person can get. I hadn't been able to stay away from the drugs, and this won't remain my last relapse. The soul mate thing with Sam doesn't help, either, and I can't just erase that. Damn it, Dean, I love him, and he doesn't give a damn about me." Brittle my laugh sounded, "This hunt for Sam's soul… it could take forever. I'm already at the end of my strength now, I'll never make it to the end. I'd be surprised if I lived to see my 28th birthday."
"Don't talk like that," Dean stood up and sat down at the edge of my bed. He grabbed my shoulders and forced me to look into his eyes, "Now listen to me. I cannot change your past, how you grew up. But I won't let it happen to you again, I won't see you self-destruct. No, we're going to get Sam's soul back, and you will get that family you want so bad and that you deserve."
"You didn't get all that, Dean, and God knows you deserve it even more than I do."
"I disagree with you there. Either way, I'm not going to let you destroy yourself."
"Why do you care so much?"
"I could ask you the same, Ral. Look, you're the only one who can get Sam's soul back… but apart from that, I do care about you. Not as Sam's soul mate, but as a person."
I swallowed the lump in my throat. As much as I loved Dean for being there when nobody had ever been, for being the first one to care about me; I couldn't deny that twinge of regret that it wasn't Sam who had pulled me out of the water as the waves crashed above me.
"Dean, er… look, 'thank you' won't ever cover what I owe you…"
"You don't owe me anything, Rachel. Just promise me you won't do anything stupidly self-destructive again," Dean's mouth curved into a one-sided smile.
"Dean, that's… not a promise I can make. It's an addiction, it runs deep in my blood, sense doesn't have a say in it."
"Don't I know," Dean sighed, and I was willing to bet he was thinking of Sam and demon blood right now. I was so sorry that I had to tear open those wounds again, wounds that had probably never healed properly. A look of pain crossed his face for a brief moment, but when he looked up and deep into my eyes, it was gone.
"Rachel… I can't take that addiction away from you. But you've been stronger than it before, and you can do it again. Plus, you have me to watch your every move now," Dean added humorously before he continued perfectly serious: "Just don't jump off any more cliffs before Sam isn't ready to catch you."
I wasn't sure if Dean knew he saved my life that night. He gave me something to hold on to, to keep fighting for: He made me believe again, believe that Sam could be saved if only I pulled myself together and used my soul connection to him to help.
I knew Dean's soul was a lot like Sam's would be. Having him care about me and believe in me – as the first person ever – sent a new wave of revitalising strength through me and gave me the prospect I needed to pick myself up and bring this hunt to an end.
The look that passed between the two of us said more than words could ever have.
"Speaking of… where is Sam?"
"I told him to go to that bar after he was done interviewing the witnesses."
"You didn't want to go with him?"
"Let's just say I had a feeling I was more needed here."
I nodded slowly and ran a hand over my face in a weary motion. The drugs still in my system felt like poison, it burned under my skin and I wasn't able to extinguish that fire no matter how badly I wanted to. "Okay… alright, um… I'll need like two hours to… function again."
"I don't think Sam will be back before that. Even if… I doubt he'd notice," Dean added bitterly.
"Dean, I really am sorry."
"It's not your fault."
"Still…" I shook my head. My mind was clearing already, something I was more than grateful for. Of course, it also meant that the void inside of me opened up again, but just like that night ten years ago when I left my family, I was able to bear that pain in order to move on. "I'll make it up to you one day, I promise."
I struggled to stand up and take a shower. Stepping out of the cubicle, I stumbled over the harmless looking plastic bag and its contents. My mind moved in slow motion; I thought of Sam, how he didn't care about me while I loved him. Thought of Dean, the hurt in his eyes and the need to have his little brother back.
Thought of the real reason why I was here.
I bent down, picked the bag up and flushed it down the toilet without a twinge of remorse. I was no use half-stoned. To live, I needed Sam's soul – and to get it back from hell, I needed all my strength.
Dean and I passed the time until Sam came back by going over the case, watching some TV and cleaning our weapons. A typical pastime in the life of hunters, in other words.
"Dean, do you really think I can get Sam to want his soul back so badly he'll pull it out of hell himself?"
He drew the grindstone over his machete another time before he answered me: "Honestly, I don't know. I mean, this whole soul business is confusing as hell. But I'd like to believe there's a better way than working for a demon to get Sam his soul back."
"You don't think we should tell Sam? You know, about soul mates, the thin possibility he can save himself and all that?"
"No. Trust me, it's better if he doesn't, 'cause otherwise he'll refuse yanking his soul back out of principle."
I didn't get the chance to ask Dean what he meant by that when the door already opened and Sam stepped in. The sight of him in a suit did not only speed my heart rate up, but also made me wonder how my and his life would have turned out if Jessica hadn't been killed; if Sam would have become a lawyer like me, living a life away from the things going bump at night. Would we have found each other, anyways? Or would we have continued denying the attraction we felt towards the other for sake of our respective partners?
Questions over questions, but the answers were long lost, forever.
"What'd you find?"
Sam loosened his tie and tossed the car keys onto the table. "A lot."
So nothing brandnew this time besides maybe the bonding between Dean and Rachel. But this chapter was sort of just a filler before the big revelation chapter! Hope you liked anyhow. ;)
Next one should be posted within the next hours.
