S15 SPOILER! WARNING! DON'T READ THE BOLD BELOW IF YOU DO NOT WANT TO HEAR ABOUT CURRENT S15 HAPPENINGS.

SPOILER WARNING
SPOIlER WARNING
SPOILER WARNING
SPOILER WARNING

So, I admit, I'm behind a few eps in S15, but I'm seeing a LOT of posts about the Sam/Eileen ship. I don't hate it, but I just don't quite fully see it either. ANYWAY, naturally I was thinking about this fic, and my commitment to weaving in episodes through the end of the series, but depending on what happens, that whole plot line might be eliminated or altered here. And it also depends on where this fic itself goes. I'm currently still in S14 here. Does Sam lose/leave Rachel and end up with Eileen? You tell me! Leave me a review, let me know your thoughts. Do you think Rachel is better for him, or Eileen (though it isn't proven that anything is there yet)? Leave some love!

About three hours into their eight hour trip, Sam studied his mother from behind. She looked more than tired as she drove, and he caught the yawn she tried to stifle. "Mom," he said quietly, "why don't we get some rooms for the night?"

Mary nodded. She was exhausted-she had spent hours worried over the condition she found Sam in, not to mention what she assumed was August Lentz's body. She knew Sam had to have been pushed pretty hard to reach the level he had, but she feared what got him there. It was a more violent scene than she ever witnessed with him. "There's a Super 8 in about ten miles," she noted. Her eyes flicked to Rick, who was asleep on Sam's right. "I think we all need some good rest." She moved her attention back to Sam. "How is she?"

Sam looked down at Rachel, who was nestled into the crook of his left arm, sleeping soundly. "Okay, I think."

"She took the grace, though?" Castiel asked from the front passenger seat.

"Yeah," Sam nodded. "About a half of a vial."

"Might not be enough to truly affect her."

"She has strength, though. And some ability. She burned three demons."

Castiel glanced back at Rachel, concern evident on his face. "Have you told her what she took?" he asked, looking up at Sam.

"No," Sam said, stroking her arm methodically. "She … I don't even know if she knows what the demons were. Too much happened."

"What, exactly, happened?"

Sam swallowed, hesitating. "Too much," he decided to reply, knowing his repeated answer didn't give his mother or Castiel any peace. Even after three hours of silence, he couldn't rid himself of the horrors of that night. "Get a single for yourself, and two doubles," he said to his mother. "She's not leaving my sight." Sam leaned his head back, continuing to gently massage Rachel as she slept. He drank in the nourishment that came from holding her. The details of their relationship didn't matter in that moment. He knew she had been surprised with his intimacy earlier using pet names, but she also seemed to soak it in. It relieved him.

When they pulled into the lot, everyone left the car except for Sam and Rachel. Sam gently increased the pressure of his movements, hoping to peacefully wake her. Instead, she jumped with a scream, yanking herself away from him. "Shh," he urged, taking her arm and holding her with reassurance. "You're okay."

Rachel blinked, focusing on Sam's partially lit face in the darkness of the car. "I'm sorry," she managed, still trying to calm her heart.

"Don't apologize," Sam urged. "Remember?"

"... Yeah."

Sam caught himself as he nearly chided her for not repeating the security phrase they used to use of, "yes sir." He cleared his throat, offering her a smile. "We're stopping for the night," he explained. "Everyone needs some good rest."

With a nod, Rachel silently opened the car door and exited. Sam watched, worried as he observed her. He followed her, closing the Impala door behind himself and coming to stand next to Mary. She handed him a key. "They only had three singles. But each room has an armchair."

Sam took the key. "Get some sleep," he urged her, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. He caught Rachel's hesitant look, knowing she was unsure where she'd be sleeping. "The bed is yours," he said, gesturing with a nod to the door he approached as they all went their separate ways.

Rachel wanted to object, knowing he needed the bed because of his size, but knew Sam would likely not hear it anyway. She walked into the room as Sam held the door open, fidgeting with her hands as he locked it behind them and flicked the bedside lamp on. She saw him put a duffel on the bed, pausing for a moment. "I've got a few extra shirts in here if you want to use one for tonight." He looked to her, sighing. Her bag was left with the car she took, both likely stolen by now. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "You've lost literally everything. I … I can't imagine how that feels."

Not wanting to break down in front of him, Rachel shrugged it off. "It's okay. It's just stuff, you know?" She moved away a little and busied herself studying the furniture, tracing her fingertips along the surfaces to feel the textures. Anything to keep from losing it. She took a glance over her shoulder. "Do you, uh … have something with long sleeves?"

Sam rifled through the bag, producing his favorite blue flannel. It was well worn, the cotton more than comforting. Just what she needed. He held it out to her. "This okay?" Rachel nodded, swallowing as she took it. Sam added a bottle each of shampoo and conditioner, and a brush, "Go on," he urged. "Go first. So you can rest."

"Thanks," she murmured, taking the items to the bathroom as quickly as she could. She wasn't sure why she felt incredibly nervous about sharing a room with Sam. But she was absolutely certain she needed his presence, which he seemed to know.

Rachel let the hot shower spray run over her back and hair as she soaked in the heat. She wasn't cold, but she couldn't stop shivering. It was all from emotions, and she knew that, but it didn't make it any less difficult to ease her mind.

His shampoo and conditioner smelled like him—an herbal scent that was homey and relaxing. She rubbed it into her hair, closing her eyes as she tried to focus on anything but the sounds of August dying. She began to cry when she thought about Elizabeth. Were they still married? No. Rachel remembered what his hands looked like—there was no ring on his finger. It helped to ease the guilt a bit, but she was still an overall mess. The tears kept coming, but she made sure to be quiet. She didn't want to upset Sam. He didn't need any more burdens from her.

Once finished, Rachel shut off the water and toweled herself off. She slipped on her panties she wore before, leaving her bra in the pile of her laundry. With hesitation, she took up Sam's shirt. The fabric nearly immediately acted like a security blanket. It was so familiar to the touch that it eased her heart. Why did it feel that way? It was just a wash worn shirt. Wasn't it? She slipped it on and buttoned the tiny white buttons up, leaving a couple undone at the top. It was huge on her. The hem hit at mid thigh, and the arms were ridiculously long. It was perfect. She wrapped her arms around herself as she looked into the mirror. There was a power in the shirt she couldn't explain, but it relieved some of the darkness, and she couldn't deny that.

When she was finally done brushing her hair, she exited the bathroom with hesitation. She held her pile of dirty laundry to her chest, catching Sam's eyes. He held a bundle of his own clothes and offered her a small smile as he passed by her and took her place in the bathroom.

As the door shut and the shower water began to run again, Rachel put her clothes on the floor near Sam's duffel bag and glanced to the bed. She wanted nothing more than to sleep, but it wouldn't be that easy. Not for a long time. And there was no way she could take the bed. Sam was well over six feet tall. He would never fit on the chair comfortably. She, on the other hand, could make do.

Rachel flicked off the bedside light and took a blanket from the small closet next to the bathroom. Curling up into the armchair, she draped it over herself and attempted to sleep, failing miserably. Instead, she stared at the wall and listened to the relaxing sounds of the shower, recalling the last two days. What she thought she knew was completely wrong, and what she thought wasn't safe was all that kept her alive. It was more than confusing. There was no reasonable explanation as to why she felt the way she did with Sam. It was far beyond a simple crush, or a circumstantial attraction. It was fire, lightning, passion. It was an intense heat, blazing with intimate power. It was soft, familiar, and safe. It was for her. For no one else. Or so it felt.

When the bathroom light flicked off, Rachel shifted her focus from the wall to the door. Her lips parted as she saw Sam shutting it. Oh sweet baby Jesus. He wore only a pair of gray sweatpants low on his hips, his broad back and torso bare as he gave his damp hair a final ruffle. After he chucked the towel onto the bathroom counter, he turned around, and it got worse. Or better. She couldn't decide. His body was more than fit, the power she had felt evident in its grooves and carving. His arms were thick and muscular; they seemed to call to her, teasing her with their safety and security.

Sam met Rachel's eyes, quickly realizing the issue when he saw her expression. "Shit," he murmured, panicked. "I'll put on … hang on—"

"It's okay," she assured, cursing herself for her weirdly eager undertone to her voice. "It's fine. Really."

He paused. "Are you sure?"

Rachel nodded. "Yeah." She gulped, her cheeks heating rapidly. "Nice, uh, tat. What does it mean?"

"Thanks," Sam murmured. "It's, um, an anti-possession symbol."

"Oh."

An awkward silence spread between them, the room only lit by the bright milky white parking lot lighting visible through the thin curtains on the window. "Well," Rachel said, tugging the blanket a little higher, hoping it covered her warm flush as she cleared her throat, "goodnight."

Sam laughed. "You're joking, right?"

Rachel felt her heart clench. "What do you mean?"

"You're not sleeping there," Sam replied. "You're taking the bed. I'm taking the chair."

This time, Rachel laughed. "Uh, no. Have you seen your legs? You'd wake up in the shape of a pretzel."

Sam smiled down at her, a teasing nature taking over. "That's cute. Now get in the bed."

She smirked back. "Make me."

His grin got wider, a hint of his dimples showing. He quickly wet his lips. "Don't tempt me, sweetheart," he murmured in a husky tone.

A fierce shiver ran up her spine as a heat simultaneously bloomed within. Rachel was a bit surprised at his boldness, delayed in her reply. In that moment, as she searched his eyes, she realized what she felt was very real. She saw it reflected back in his eyes, a familiarity and bond that couldn't be manufactured for a stranger. She was something more to him. Much more. "I'll take the bed on one condition," she said, eyeing him. "Tell me the truth."

Sam was caught completely off guard. Her demand would damage everything. He drew in a deep breath. "The truth?"

She nodded. "About us."

"Us?"

"Yes, us."

"What about us?"

Rachel growled in frustration. "I know there's something you're not telling me. I need to know what that is."

Sam knew she wouldn't be fooled any longer. "Now … really isn't …"

Rachel's heart stopped. There IS more! "Sam!" she begged, abandoning the chair and the blanket, rushing to him. She grabbed his hands, desperate. "Tell me. I can't hear any more lies. Please."

Jaw tightening, Sam slowly led Rachel to the edge of the bed, sitting down next to her. He shut his eyes, rubbing his temples as he tried to think of how to proceed. "You were a hunter, and … and we … Dean, you, me … we lived together, and we …" He stopped, shaking his head. He knew she would reject the truth.

Her small hand slid over his. She was willing to believe. She had to be. He was willing to die for her. There was so much more she didn't know, that much she at least was certain of. "Tell me," she said, giving his hand a squeeze. "I promise, I'll listen."

"It's going to be a lot," Sam warned, joining their hands together.

"Start from the beginning," Rachel encouraged, relishing his touch.

"I will seem like a really bad lie."

"I don't care."

"You say that now, but I don't know if you understand—"

"Just shut up and tell me, dufus," she snipped. The way Sam chuckled in response made her confused. "What?"

"What you said," he explained. "It's so you." His admiration made her blush. Sam blew out a breath. "The long and short of it is, you were a hunter … and you're a nephilim." He watched for her reaction, not missing how her eyes widened. "We didn't know that until recently. Maybe about a couple months ago. Your family … they aren't your biological family. That's why you came to live with us, because you had nowhere to go. And we cared about you. We wanted to keep you safe."

Rachel's brow shot up. "A nephilim? I'm a … nephilim? Like, a half angel?"

Sam nodded. "We don't know who your father is, but your mother is the archangel Barachiel. August intended to give you back your grace to activate your power, so he could market you as a miracle healer."

Rachel rushed for her jeans, pulling out the glowing vial. "This … is … grace?" Sam nodded; he plucked it from her fingers and stowed it in a safe spot in his duffel. Rachel sat back down next to him, stunned. "I'm an angel? … Wait, angels are real?" It more than made sense. She remembered Sam's initial conversation with August, and the feelings she had when she was in the abandoned house. It was nearly celestial. It was celestial. "So …" She swallowed hard. "What does that mean?"

"It means you're a very powerful person," Sam replied. "And that power has attracted a lot of attention." He dared to tuck her wet hair behind her ear; she soaked in his tender touch before his hand returned to his lap. "If you take more grace, you'll lose your soul. You … seemed to have found a 'sweet spot' with the amount."

"That's why you didn't want me to take it," Rachel concluded.

"Yeah."

"So August knew I was a nephilim. Is that … why he hated me?"

"I don't know," Sam replied with a sad look.

"You said I was a hunter," she reminded him, seeing his instant tension. "Why don't I remember anything about it?"

Sam wet his lips, taking her hand. He went to speak, but words failed him. "It's … You went on a search for your grace to help us fight a powerful enemy. Only, you took yours and another darker angel's essence by accident. It was too much power for one host. So, you had a choice. You would either submit and become the other angel, or protect everyone else and become a full angel with your own grace, in turn losing your soul. And … you chose to sacrifice yourself."

Rachel shook her head. "I-I don't understand."

"You lost … You lost your soul to gain the power to expel the other angel from your body," he explained. "You gave up your life as you knew it to keep us safe, so you wouldn't host the dark angel. After that, you were rebirthed. To an extent. Part of your original soul is still in you. The part of you that lived up to the moment Alex died. The rest … is new."

Shutting her eyes, Rachel hung her head. Though she had been thoroughly warned, it was far too much to process. "So … I was someone else before I woke up." She opened her eyes, scanning his as he nodded. A heavy silence formed between them. It would explain why she felt how she did with Sam, why his touch was so familiar, so healing. It would explain the overwhelming feelings of connection that stirred within. Only partially, though. If they were just friends, why was he ready to kiss her on the first day they met? There was more. She knew it. "I was someone else to you, wasn't I?" she dared to ask after a long moment. Jaw flexing, Sam didn't reply. "What was I?" she whispered, holding his gaze.

Sam drank her in, barely able to resist tasting her mouth. She wasn't his anymore, but she was so close, and it was so familiar that it made him ache for her in the worst way. But it wasn't right. He couldn't expect her to love him again. He couldn't just take her, like he desperately wanted to. He would need to earn that. "You were our friend," he said, wetting his throat.

He's holding back, Rachel thought. He had to be. He looked like he was in pain. Plus their connection was too unbelievable to just be one between friends. "Sam, what was I to you?" she repeated.

"A friend," Sam replied, clenching the sheets under them in his fist. There was a roughness to his tone that she hadn't expected. Then, it softened. "You were a friend. A good friend." His fingers dug into the cheap material next to him, trying to brace the unbearable pain of dismissing her true meaning. "We both cared about you very much. You saved our asses on hunts, and patched us up. You made us laugh. You took care of us. You were … an invaluable part of our team."

Rachel looked down at her bare knees, tracing the squares on Sam's plaid shirt over her thigh. She was just a friend. She was wrong, and it stung more than she knew it could. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw how Sam's knuckles whitened in his grip on the sheets. "I'm sorry," she managed, an overwhelming feeling of embarrassment washing over her.

Sam turned to her, facing her. "What are you sorry for?" he asked tenderly.

"I just …" Rachel met his eyes. "I'm just sorry I brought it up."

"Don't be," Sam insisted.

"It's painful for you, I can tell."

"It's okay."

Rachel pushed to her feet, drawing in a shaky breath. "I, um, am … gonna go to sleep." She forced a smile; it made Sam's stomach sink as he stood. "Goodnight."

Sam grabbed her hand as she turned for the chair. "Rachel," he whispered, suddenly unable to continue begging for her forgiveness. He made her feel unwanted, and he knew it. How could she expect him to tell her what she truly was? It would be even more awkward. "Take the bed," he finally said, hating himself for his cowardice.

"It's fine," she insisted. "I, uh, feel better on the chair."

Her hand slipped from his. Sam watched her return to the chair and take up the blanket, settling in. You're such an idiot! he shouted at himself. Still, how was it fair to her to expect her to pick up where they left off without even knowing who he was?

Defeated, Sam flopped on the bed, exhaling deeply as he stared up at the ceiling. God dammit! There was no coming back from it now. Anything he'd do now would feel like charity to her. He knew her. That's how she would perceive it. He missed his shot, all because he refused to take advantage of the present by using their past.

Dean wore a scowl as he sat bound to a sleek gray steel chair, watching as Robbie followed the lead angel toward a large picture window in the room they were in. The building was unlike anything he had ever seen—he couldn't recall entering an actual physical building, but somehow ended up in an interior that lacked any sort of charm. It was bathed in hues of gray, utilitarian in style. It matched the Guardians personalities. They were stiff, silent as the lead one, who identified herself as Soranel, spoke.

"So you have no interest in your mother's soul?" Soranel asked, examining the boy.

Robbie shook his head. "Not really. I mean, it would be kinda cool to see it. But that's it, really."

Soranel smiled. "You're looking at it," she said as she gestured to the scenery outside the window.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Oh perfect. You made it into plants." He eyed the angels who approached him with warning looks. "Dicks," he muttered.

With a glare, Soranel returned her focus to Robbie. "His shortcoming as a human makes him unable to see it. But I know you do, Robert."

Robbie nodded, staring out of the window at the ball of energy that manifested itself into a beautiful white flaming tree. "Yeah. It's cool, I guess. But I would've picked something other than a tree."

"It's merely a tree in the moment," Soranel said, amused. "It can be whatever we wish it to."

"How?"

"Well, it requires a great deal of power. Our existence together is what manifested this version of the plane you're on. I imagine when your mother brought you here, it looked different."

"Yeah. It was a beach."

"And smaller, I'm certain."

"I guess." Robbie looked her over. "So, this place is basically whatever I want it to be?"

"What we want it to be," Soranel corrected. "The power it takes is more than any one Guardian has alone."

"Must be why you wanted Rachel's soul," Dean remarked. "See, our girl made an entire beach by herself. She's definitely stronger than you dicks."

"Be that as it may," Soranel replied to him, "she made one facet of a world. We have created multiple." She turned to Robbie. "And with your help, we could create much more. Think of all the humans you could help by giving them the safety of a Guardian protected world."

"Don't listen to her, Robbie," Dean warned. "She doesn't want to help anyone but herself." He growled as an angel gave him a shockwave through a touch to his shoulder. "Touch me again, and you die," he snarled, panting as he tried to recover.

"Your uncle is misguided," Soranel said to Robbie. "You are our Father's most precious creations. It has been our job since the dawn of time to protect you."

"Yeah, great job on that," Dean remarked, receiving another shock in return. "Ooh, you sonofabitch. You'd better be ready for me," he said to the angel.

"So, I could make more worlds?" Robbie asked.

"With your power, I'm certain whatever you could imagine would be possible."

Robbie nodded in thought. "Can I try to make something?" he asked Soranel. He looked to Dean. "I want to see what I can do!"

Soranel smiled. "Of course."

With a grin, Robbie held out his palms. He looked down at his right one, focusing for a long moment before he produced a glowing cube. "Very good," Soranel said.

"Oh, I'm not done," Robbie said as he focused on his left palm, producing another cube.

"With some practice, I think you could certainly do great things."

Robbie grinned, looking straight at Dean. "I don't need practice," he replied to Soranel, holding his uncle's gaze.

Dean was confused; his brow wrinkled as he saw Robbie lift his palm, still looking at him. "What are you doing, Robbie?" Dean asked, feeling more than panicked by his nephew's mental state and current silence. "Robbie?!" With a deep breath, Robbie cast out the cube toward Dean. "No!" Dean shouted, shutting his eyes and grimacing as the light enveloped him.

A few moments later, Dean dared to blink his eyes open. Wait, he thought, I'm not dead. He looked around himself, feeling his wrists were free. And I'm not bound. His pulse raced, surveying the thick glass cube he was encased in. "What the hell?" he muttered. His eyes widened as he saw Robbie smirking from the other side. The angels were still around them, but they looked worried instead of smug.

Before Dean could beg to be freed, he watched the boy raise his free hand up, his palm facing out as he closed his eyes. With suddenness, the Guardians around him collapsed, each pawing at their throats with wide eyed. Dean gasped, watching as the bright essence of each angel was drawn out of their vessel and absorbed into Robbie's palm. A glowing orb of energy built; the boy held it in place as the vessels became lifeless on the ground. Then, Robbie took the orb and curled his fingers around it. The boy began to grimace, focusing on the power he had within as the orb slowly reduced in size. He's killing them, Dean thought, shocked.

Little by little, the orb of the angel's essences was reduced to nothing. Robbie collapsed onto the floor, panting. Dean finally understood what his nephew had done—he got them into the heart of their lair, located his mother's soul, and kept him safe. The berries might have changed his mental state for a small bit of time, but somewhere along the way, he used their power to his advantage, even after it wore off. With his lies, he was able to protect his plan from being read in Dean's mind. It was more than clever.

Dean's heart broke as the boy shuddered, still holding the second cube. It was to carry his mother's soul. Blood ran down Robbie's nose, his dark hair stuck to his brow. "Get me out of here!" Dean shouted. "Come on, Robbie! Let me out so I can help you!"

Robbie ignored his uncle and instead pushed slowly to his knees. He reached toward the massive glowing tree, shouting in pain as he stretched his fingers toward it and began to pull it with his power. The boy growled in agony as he slowly absorbed the energy of the tree into his palm. Tears leaked down Robbie's cheeks as he fought with everything he had. It was heartbreaking for Dean to watch. He had never felt more helpless in his life. Dean pounded and kicked on the cube he was trapped in, desperate to get to his nephew.

With a final cry, Robbie seized all of Rachel's soul. He shook a little as he slowly pressed it to the cube in his other hand. It became a small steel box with no visible opening. Robbie's face was soaked with blood and tears. The pain of growing and using his power so extremely nearly killed him. "Robbie!" he heard Dean shout from behind the glass he used to protect him. "Let me out so I can help you!"

Panting, Robbie dissolved the cube, freeing Dean. "There are more coming, Uncle Dean!" he warned, still on the ground as he clutched the small box to his chest. He sounded like he was normal again, the sweet little boy Dean adored back in his tone.

"Okay easy, Buddy," Dean urged as he stooped down and held Robbie steady, brushing the hair from his eyes. "Just take a breath."

"No! I need more power so I can get us home!" Robbie narrowed his green eyes on Dean. "You've gotta keep them out of here until I can grow more!"

Dean saw the subtle changes in Robbie. He was still very much a small boy, but there were differences in his appearance. He had grown, but only to the minimum he needed. He suffered through it for Sam. Dean had never been more sure that Robbie was the purest soul he ever met. "How much time do you need?" he asked gently as he clutched his nephew close.

"I don't know," Robbie admitted, still somewhat out of breath. He searched Dean's eyes, blood dripping from his nose. "But they're coming, Uncle Dean. You've got to stop them, or they'll kill us both."