S13 E17 "The Thing" Weave
(I didn't write the ep; don't sue me-believe me, you won't get much.)

I only own the fill-in-the-blanks parts and my character.

"Come on," a man urged in a British baritone, "let's go." Rachel heard a steady gait and the shuffled one of another person, a person who seemed to be gagged, only making indistinguishable sounds.

Rachel's eyes flicked to her and Sam's partially open room door. She crept quietly down the hall, barely slipping into the room through the small opening to avoid moving the squeaky hinges. Rachel grabbed her folded knife, feeling her hips for a place to stow it. There were no pockets in her sweatpants. Frantically, she slipped it in her bra cup and readied her gun, listening for the intruder and his hostage. Who was he? How did he get into the bunker? It would require a special key, and he didn't trip the backup alarm. Was it someone who had Sam or Dean captured?

With a deep breath through her nose, Rachel slipped back out into the hall, her weapon readied as she tried to decipher where the man was. "That's it. Sit down," she heard him instruct. The second person sat with a forced thud, accompanied by chairs in the library scooting across the floor. "Now then. We wait for the boys to get back." She heard a slap of handcuffs around metal. "And don't try running off, though I doubt you've the strength for it. I've got the archangel blade, remember."

Cas.

Was Castiel an archangel? No. He was a seraph. Still, it was clear that the prisoner was one, which meant Sam and Dean were safe and on their way back, at least. And, if she remembered correctly, there were only four archangels in existence, and it just so happened that Sam and Dean needed the grace of one to open the rift. Whoever was now holding the angel captive must have known this and was intending on bargaining with the brothers. But in exchange for what?

She glanced over her shoulder at her phone she abandoned in the bathroom, contemplating whether to go back to it when she heard the man crossing toward the hall where she was. "I've got to use the head." Whoever it was, they knew the bunker, and they knew it well. Still, without Sam and Dean there, she had no idea if she could trust him, and she wasn't about to take the chance.

Rachel waited patiently in the dark until the man approached the hall, quickly pinning him using a technique Dean taught her. The man was tall, well-built, and dressed in a crisp blue suit and brown oxfords, the ensemble complete with coordinating tie and pocket square. The white shirt under it was dotted with bright red blood on the collar. Despite his snappy attire, she noticed the butterfly bandages littering his face, parts of him bruised and cut from a recent fight. She kept her grip, twisting the man's arm unnaturally as she dug the gun against his head. "Who the hell are you?" she demanded.

The man laughed. "Well, I'll be damned. I wouldn't have taken one of the Winchesters for softening enough for a woman."

"I said, who are you?" she seethed, feeling the power in his muscles as he flexed against her.

With undeniable strength and obvious skill far beyond her own, the man turned the tables, ruthless as he folded his arm on an angle that loosened her grip. He forced her wrists downward, breaking free, then he threw her off himself, her gun skittering away toward the opposite end of the hall. Slamming her chest into the wall, he pinned her arms behind her back, using his bodyweight to trap her. She groaned as his thick fingers clamped down on her skin, his free hand yanking her head backward by her braid. "I think the question is more like, who are you, my dear?"

"Go to hell," Rachel spat as he ground her against the bricks.

"Already been, in a sense. I've found it doesn't agree with me."

"And I've found I don't give a shit."

The man laughed as Rachel squirmed, trying to kick him and free herself. "All that fire." He leaned in, his mouth lingering near her ear. "So, which one do you belong to, hmm?"

She gritted her teeth. "Wouldn't you like to know."

"Your fight would suit Dean well," the man noted, "though I doubt he would allow himself the pleasure of such a beautiful luxury for the job's sake. All work and no play makes Dean more fit for one-night pub girls." His tone shifted, watching Rachel for a reaction. "Sam, on the other hand, well … he's always wanted to have the elusive cake of normalcy and to eat it too. Perhaps you're part of that." The man paused. "Though no one's heard of you yet. You must've come after Mary and Jack were lost to the Apocalypse World."

"Who would need to hear about me?"

"Well, darling, if you are a Winchester pet, anyone and everyone who hates them would love to know you exist. You make a pretty piece of leverage."

"Is that a threat?"

"A warning, really. I've no reason to hurt you, so long as you don't do something foolish, like try to alert the brothers of my presence." The man leaned in, tilting her head back ever so slightly more. "But should you rather do things the hard way, I could always leak word of you so it would get back to my former alliance, the Prince of Hell, Asmodeus. He'd be delighted to have an additional weakness against the boys."

Rachel set her jaw, fighting the tremble at the thought. She knew Sam and Dean were far deeper in their work than any other hunters out there, but the title of "Prince of Hell" alone was frightening, let alone the idea that she could possibly encounter him. "You're dead when they get back," she said, keeping firm.

"Yes, yes, well, speaking of—where have the boys run off to, hmm?" He twisted her arm a bit through her stubborn silence, and she swallowed back her cry of pain. "I said, where?"

"Kiss my ass," Rachel growled. The man chuckled and eyed her knife in her tank top, pressing her head to the wall and letting go of her hair. He plucked it from where it was hidden with slow, deliberate fingers, skimming across her breast in turn. "Go ahead, asshole. Take your freebie. It's probably the closest you'll ever get to a woman you don't have to pay."

He laughed. "You're quick witted. I like that." The man flipped open the blade, running the tip slowly along her throat. "Nice piece. A hunter's choice, no doubt." He folded it shut and pocketed it. "So, let me take a stab at your backstory: Lonely hunter girl meets Winchester brothers on some sordid job, and through fate and circumstance, she eventually becomes one of the brother's pet. Am I close?"

"And let me guess yours," she quipped. "An asshole Brit who's obviously fallen far from stature in position, but tries to compensate for it by dressing like a douchebag and acting like a tough guy that he's really not."

The man laughed; it sounded fairly genuine. "I must say, you amuse me. Such fight for such a small package. I can understand why Sam has kept you close." He caught the flicker of reaction in her eye as he leaned even closer. "Ah yes," he taunted in her ear with a satisfied grin, "there it is. So you do belong to Sam. Very good."

Rachel yanked against his hold, angry for revealing herself to him. "Fuck you."

The man yanked her head back by her hair. "Is that an invitation?"

"He'll blow a hole in your head the minute he gets back."

"I'll take my chances. Now then, pretty girl, tell me your name."

"Bite me."

"Come on, then." He waited. "Fine, I'll call you Pet." The man pulled her away from the wall, keeping her braced uncomfortably in front of himself, leaving no space between his front and her backside. "My name is Arthur Ketch. I was affiliated with the British Men Of Letters."

She laughed. "'Was.' Like I said, a Class A failure."

Her insinuation rubbed him, a sneer to his tone. "Listen to me, Pet—I've got a transaction to make with the boys. Simple. Clean. I've no intention of harming anyone, but I certainly have no issue handling any little antics you might try."

Rachel had no real idea where her ballsy brazenness was coming from, other than pure adrenaline. "Aww. Scared enough to threaten a girl, tough guy?"

Ketch scoffed. "Hardly. I just don't need you screwing things up by getting the Winchesters in a tizzy. So, let me show you why you should take my deal, hmm?" He led her to the library; Rachel's eyes rounded as she saw Gabriel sitting in a chair, bloodied and terrified. He looked at her with wide eyes. "This, is the archangel Gabriel," Ketch announced casually.

Her heart ached for the battered angel, who resembled more of a tiny, terrified creature. "You're a monster. What the hell did you do to him?" she gasped.

"I rescued him, not beat him."

"Yeah. Doubtful."

"Yes, well, whether you believe me or not regarding that isn't my concern." He pulled her a little closer; Rachel grimaced at the intimate contact. "As I understand, the boys are currently one archangel short of a spell to create a rift, are they not?" Ketch smiled when she remained silent. "Well, I could just as easily put my archangel blade through him, ending that possibility, if you don't cooperate."

"But you won't," Rachel challenged. "You said you were here to make a transaction. So you need something from them. Can't bargain without a chip."

"Ah, but I've got a lovely spare chip right here," he replied, his lips intimately brushing against her ear. "I'm sure Sam would do just about anything to keep his pet safe." He smirked as she squirmed. "That means that if you don't behave, what I want is still accessible, but what they need is not." Rachel's nostrils flared as she stiffened. "So, you be a good girl, I make my transaction with the boys, and no one gets hurt. Have we got a deal?"

Rachel remembered her gun on the hallway floor, plus the other guns the brothers had hidden around the house, trying to think of how she could cover going for one. "Deal."

Ketch let her go, smiling as he watched her rub her wrists. "Sam surely has splendid taste," he noted, looking her over with a curl to his lips. "Mind telling me your name now, sweetheart?"

Rachel eyed him. "Yeah, I do mind, actually." She looked down at the archangel, her heart heavy as she saw his pain. "He needs to be cleaned up," she said, moving to get the first aid kit.

Ketch snagged her. "Uh-uh. You'll stay right here, Pet."

"He's bleeding!"

"As will you if you don't follow my orders."

Rachel shoved out of his grip. "Go ahead, macho man. Take out the girl half your size, since I'm such a threat." She glared at him as she took a brazen step forward, seeing his hesitation. "Thought so." Turning on her heel, she crossed to the kitchen, snagging the first aid kit, quietly going back to the library.

Gabriel jumped as she set the kit on the table. "It's okay," she assured gently. "I won't hurt you." She opened it, Gabriel shaking his head with a whimper as she lifted a pair of scissors to cut the threads through his mouth. She swallowed as she saw his stressed look, gently touching his beaten face, examining the stitching over his lips. Gabriel shook under her, slowly calming as she stroked him. "It's okay. I'm here to help." She was desperate to free him, but she knew she couldn't do that until she removed Arthur Ketch from the equation.

With a deep breath, she quickly shifted course, lunging at Ketch with the blades. She managed to get a dull slice across his arm before he stopped her, grabbing her free hand and twisting her arm until she screamed in pain. "You little bitch," he growled. Ketch snatched the scissors from her hand, tossing them on the table. As Rachel went to bite his hand, he slapped her across the face, her neck snapping to the right. Her cheek stung as he gripped her wrists and slammed her back against the bookcase. Gabriel whimpered as he struggled to see the fight behind him, catching sight of Rachel as she tried to knee Ketch in the groin. Ketch stepped on her bare foot, and she cried out in pain. "Now, must I bind you, Pet?" He got his answer when she spit in his face. His thick hand connected with her face again, the same cheek burning as he slapped her with fervor, her glasses hitting the floor as her lip caught on her tooth, cutting it. A thin line of blood trickled down her chin. "I can see I must."

Ketch dragged her to a chair and yanked her head back by her braid, shoving her into a seat next to Gabriel as Gabriel squirmed in fear. Ketch grabbed a thick material bandage from the opened first aid kit, binding her wrists around the back spokes of the chair as she fought. "There," he said when he was finished, straightening with a sigh, watching her struggle. He smoothed his suit, stooping to retrieve her glasses. She grimaced as he put them on her. "Shall I gag you too, or can you cooperate at least that much?"

Rachel eyed him, readying a wad of spit. "If I had a dick, this is where I'd tell you to suck it," she sneered, flinging the spit at him, it landing on his upper lapel with a spray to his face.

Ketch took out his pocket square, calmly wiping the spit away. He grabbed her face with one hand and held it firm, she unable to move her jaw as he examined her. "Like I said, I'm prepared to deal with you as needed." He let her go, only to roughly backhand her with a sneer. Ketch then calmly picked up another section of cloth and cut it with the scissors, moving behind her and pulling her head back by her hair. "Enjoy your gag, Pet."