It was pitch black by the time they crossed into Indianapolis. Sam pulled the car into the Raceway Motel, parking it and shutting off the ignition. Ketch exited the car, sighing as he stretched his legs and shut the door. "I'll go get the rooms," he said, walking toward the office.

Sam glanced into the backseat, smiling when he saw Rachel asleep still, his jacket still balled up under her head as a pillow. He had given it to her a couple hours back when he noticed her trying to get comfortable.

He reached into the backseat, gently stroking her arm. His breath hitched; her skin was warm, soft, familiar. "Rachel," he whispered, seeing her stir. He watched as she blinked her eyes open, focusing on him. "We're at the motel." He retracted his hand, looking toward the steering wheel and taking out the keys, trying to ignore how good it felt to touch her. If he wanted any shot of winning her a second time, he needed to respect the divide between them. Though everything in him wanted to claim her as his rightful own, he fought it, hating Lucifer more with each moment than he thought ever possible.

Ketch tried to get two rooms, but ended up with one double on availability. As the three entered it, Sam sighed, looking at the armchair in the corner. He was stiff from the night prior spent in an awkward position, then from driving for twelve hours. He was not looking forward to another night on a chair. Knowing Ketch would never give up his bed because of how he threatened him regarding Rachel, Sam tossed his bag on the floor next to the chair, craning his neck from side to side.

Rachel didn't fail to notice Sam's reluctance. She rested the paper shopping bag containing her few belongings Sam bought her on the bed, hesitating with what to do. Ketch had already claimed the other bed with his duffel, and the bathroom, the shower running behind the closed door. "You go next," she heard Sam say, watching him as he sunk into the armchair. "Hopefully he won't use all the hot water on you on principal."

"He's an asshole," Rachel blurted, pausing right after. "I mean, he's just …"

Sam laughed through his nose. "No, you're right. He is."

"Why do you work with him, then?"

"Long story. Basically we've never had much of a choice."

"Ah." Rachel sat on the edge of the bed. "Did, uh, you want me to drive tomorrow?"

"No license, remember?"

"Right." She sighed.

"It's okay. I'm used to long drives," he assured gently.

"You roadtrip a lot?"

Sam shifted in his seat. "My brother and I don't tend to stay local for cases. We've crossed the country more times than I can count."

"Ah." She twisted at her fingers as her hands rested in her lap, feeling him looking her over. "I've never really gone further than Illinois. But I haven't been hunting long."

"When did you start?"

"About two years ago." Rachel flicked her eyes up to Sam. For whatever reason, it felt comfortable talking to him, forgetting for the moment that he would likely act like he knew her story anyway. "My boyfriend at the time got bit by a werewolf. He was okay at first, but then he changed." She paused. "I … I shot him with silver, but missed his heart. Another hunter finished the job."

Sam's brow arched subtly. He didn't know that detail. "I'm sorry," he offered.

"He wasn't Alex," she replied with a small shrug.

Sam watched her, observing the way she tried to brush aside the memory with no consequence. In so many ways, she reminded him of Dean. She would rarely take no for an answer, didn't deal with her feelings very easily, and had an appetite for bacon. It was a wonder she didn't initially fall for Dean based on similarities instead of him. Rachel seemed soothed by the opposite qualities in Sam, though. Or, at least, she once was—when she knew him. "I'm here if you want to talk about it," he murmured, catching the slight surprise in her reaction.

"I'm okay," Rachel insisted, forcing a smile. It faded a little when she held Sam's intent gaze. "Thanks, though."

The bathroom door opened, Ketch exiting wordlessly and slumping onto his bed. Sam nodded to it to Rachel, politely looking away as she passed by him and closed the door shut. He drew in a deep breath, rubbing his temples. When he initially heard from Rowena what Lucifer had done to Rachel's mind, he was worried, but he didn't realize the full scope of things until he interacted with her. He had just assumed she'd see him and it would come back to her. Instead, she regarded him like a virtual stranger, likely only trusting of him thus far for the sake of the baby inside of her. He knew how she thought—she was using him for resources, and nothing more. He couldn't be mad at her. It was the hunter way. Still, it stung. After having her in such an intimate capacity, then seeing her like this, it was enough to drive him wild, and to break him.

Lucifer knew what he was doing.

It was nearly an hour later when Sam finally settled in for the remaining few hours of night, freshly washed but still fully dressed. He didn't allow himself the luxury of full relaxation, not with so many threats against Rachel in such a short span of time. Dressed in his jeans, a flannel shirt, and boots, Sam leaned into the armchair, unable to help but observe Rachel as she slept on the bed across from him. He'd give anything to lay with her, just to hold her, to feel her close. She was right within reach, but thousands of miles away.

His brow furrowed when he saw her squirm under the blanket. Lifting his chin, he watched, standing when she began to thrash. He crossed to the bedside, squatting beside her and hesitantly reaching out to stroke her. "Rachel," he whispered, her curled up form only partially lit by the moonlight. "It's okay. Wake up."

Sam jumped back when Rachel bolted awake, afraid she might deck him again. She just stared at him, though, lips parted as she sucked in short breaths. Her heart raced, fists tight around the blankets over her as she examined Sam's face. "Who is Arioch?" she whispered.

Sam wet his lips, hesitating with the response he'd use. "He was a Watcher, a grigori. A fallen angel."

Rachel stared blankly at him. "Was … was he the poltergeist?"

Mouth open, Sam swiped his hand over his face. "No," he finally admitted. "But he was part of that case."

"Oh." Rachel felt a shiver run through her, trying to suppress it. She shifted her legs, gritting her molars together to try to find strength. Still, Sam's broad frame called to her, beckoning to partake in the peace it seemed to offer. "He was a nasty son of a bitch, wasn't he?" she whispered, seeing the pain in Sam's face.

Sam nodded, unable to swallow the bitterness. "I've never been more happy to gank something." Though his eyes were open, he momentarily saw Rachel's limp, bloody body after he stabbed it, wishing he could reverse the damage the memory did by holding her now.

Rachel swallowed. Sam didn't seem in a hurry to leave her side. It was now or never. "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

She froze. Was this right? "I, uh …" She shivered.

"You cold?" Sam asked. Before she could reply, he stood, grabbing his coat and putting it over her shoulders.

"Thanks," she murmured, wishing it were his arms instead.

Sam nodded, glancing to Ketch, who was sound asleep. "I'd happily rip a blanket off of him, but we still have to deal with him for a day or so."

Rachel smiled softly. "Yeah, I definitely don't want to hear him whine."

Her hair had moved a bit near her eyes; Sam reached to fix it, yanking his hand back immediately when he realized what he was doing. "Get some rest," he said, straightening. Before he could screw things up, he retreated to the armchair, avoiding eye contact with Rachel.

He wouldn't be sleeping tonight. He had far too much ache within to rest.

The closer they got to Kansas, the more afraid Rachel became. There was so much she would have to deal with—at least two other people who would claim to know her, according to Sam, and the awkwardness of being around all of them at once. If Sam was right, though, the bunker was her best bet to regroup, then figure out her next move. She'd have the resources to track down Vance, hopeful he had the answers she sought. Sure, Sam had given her explanations, but they were almost too wild to believe. Or maybe she just didn't want to believe them.

Still, she couldn't help but wonder about Sam, about the things he said. Despite her status as a hunter, she wasn't keen on believing things willy nilly. He seemed so sure, though, and he also seemed like an honest person. He wasn't the pathological liar type. Or, if he was, then he was damn good at what he did.

Rachel watched Sam as he drove, the sky darkening as they neared Jacksonville, Illinois. They ran into trouble when they got a flat at the Illinois border; locating a shop with a tire that fit a classic car wasn't easy, fast, or cheap. "What's it, like eight or nine hours to Lebanon?" she asked.

"Just about," Sam replied, stifling a yawn.

"Maybe we should do a layover."

"I'll be alright."

Rachel eyed Ketch's slumped figure as he slept in the front seat. "Don't know why he can't drive."

"It's okay."

"For someone who's supposed to be helpful, he only seems to be a pain in the ass."

Sam couldn't help but smirk. "Good to know some things don't change."

"Oh, right." Rachel nodded. "We didn't get along before, huh?"

"Cats and dogs. Oil and water." Sam sighed, feeling the ache in his back from the day. "Maybe you're right. There's a motel about five miles from here. It'll be more comfortable for you too."

"I wasn't … thinking about—"

"I know," he assured, flicking his eyes to the mirror and catching hers. "I was."

His simple response stuck with her, even after they pulled into the Seasons Motel lot. Ketch wasn't all that keen on sleeping overnight, but he stayed quiet for the most part.

"Two rooms, please," Sam said to the elderly man wearing overalls at the front desk. "One double, one single."

"Sorry, son," the man replied. "I've got two singles with a queen in each. No double twins."

Nodding, Sam took out his card and gave it to the attendant. "We'll take it." He watched as the card was rung through, scribbling out a sloppy signature and taking the keys he was handed. "Thanks."

Back outside, the trio headed to the rooms; Sam was relieved they were next to each other. He handed Rachel a key. "Come over if you need anything."

"Okay," she replied, her fingers brushing his palm as she took the key. She immediately felt bad as she watched Sam follow Ketch into the room, seeing how he tried to conceal the stiff ache the last 48 hours bestowed on him.

Closing herself in the motel room, Rachel sighed, twisting the lock shut and tossing her bag near the bed. She was too tired to shower, so she just stripped down and freshened up, flopping in bed ten minutes later.

As she laid, she stared at the far wall, wondering if Ketch would be less of a dick and let Sam use the bed. Probably not. He'd rather let Sam suffer, the asshole. Why hadn't Sam and his brother killed him yet?

Forty-five minutes passed before Rachel groaned and sat up, unable to sleep. It was mostly her guilt over Sam keeping her awake, though the idea of demons around every corner wasn't exactly helping. We're adults. We can share a bed without complications.

Slipping on her tennis shoes, she palmed her key and left her room, hesitating before knocking on the guys' door. Sam greeted her, still fully dressed though the room was dark. "You okay?" he asked, clearly concerned.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she replied. "I, uh …" Rachel paused, realizing she was wearing the shorts and tank top he bought her out in public. And in front of him. "I … Come to my room," she blurted out, swallowing hard after. Oh God. You're an idiot.

Sam's brow creased as he examined her. "Is there something wrong with it?"

Oh my God, stop making this harder than it already is. "No. I … just … um …" She paused, shutting her eyes. "Just, come."

Sam watched Rachel as she turned and quickly ducked back into her room. With a glance over his shoulder, he followed her out with a wrinkled brow, leaving the key with Ketch.