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Sam didn't sleep at all, only nodding off every now and then for a few minutes at a time. Instead, he watched Rachel sleep, wasting hours of time trying to draw up the courage to tell her the truth, but failing. It was a miserably long night, one he knew would be remedied if he was able to hold her. He wanted her close, wanted to tell her the truth, but the truth seemed unfair. Still, there was nothing more he desired than to wrap his arms around her and to taste her skin to soothe her to sleep.

Rachel didn't seem to need much soothing, though. She was sleeping well, and Sam was grateful for that. He was worried she wouldn't be able to after the day she had, but exhaustion seemed to keep her under its spell. He dreaded the days to follow, when her body had more rest and more energy to remind her of the horrors she just went through. That's when the nightmares would come. And he wouldn't be there next to her to help her through them.

Staring at the ceiling, Sam contemplated his options. If Robbie and Dean weren't able to recover Rachel's soul, would he tell her the truth about them? He wanted to, in the worst way. Would she want that, though? Would she want the life she had been living? Or would it be far too much for her to handle? Would she run away, like she had tried to before?

At 7am, he finally decided to get up, cutting his losses for the sleep he missed. He quietly dressed into jeans from his sweats and tugged a navy tee over his torso, glancing over at Rachel sleeping. Despite knowing how much he messed up, he couldn't help but to hold out hope to somehow redeem himself. It was a delicate balance, making her feel wanted without overwhelming her, when all he really wanted to do was to claim her as his rightful own.

As he buttoned up a flannel shirt over his tee, Sam saw Rachel stir. He busied himself making a pot of coffee, hoping to offer it as a way to break through the uncomfortable ice he made the night before. He focused on the slow drip of the brew, seeing Rachel slowly sit up out of the corner of his eye. "Morning," he said, offering her a small smile.

Rachel pawed at her tousled hair, giving him a brief smile back. "Morning."

Awkwardness permeated through the room. Sam poured her a styrofoam cup of coffee, trying to ignore the tension he felt within and between them. He mixed in some cream and handed it to her as she crossed to him, trying not to stare at his shirt skimming over her creamy thighs.

"Thanks," Rachel murmured, taking the cup gratefully. She went to ask him how he knew how she took her coffee, then stopped, remembering what he said the night before. They were friends. They lived together. She watched Sam as he poured a second cup, focusing on his hands. She couldn't help but want to take hold of one to feel their connection he so vehemently denied. She never felt anything remotely close to what she did when he touched her.

"No problem," he said, fixing his own cup. He took a long sip, sighing as he finished. She smelled amazing, and it was driving him insane. He wanted to sink his hands into her hair, gripping it tight as he devoured her mouth. "If you want," he began after a long moment, "you can, uh, keep the shirt."

Rachel looked up, seeing how Sam was more than focused on her. The way his eyes skimmed over her body made her cheeks heat up. She nodded, burying her face into her coffee cup. "Thanks," she said after taking a sip.

The tension in the air was nearly suffocating. Rachel focused on tracing her cup with her fingertip while Sam cleared his throat and shifted away. He gripped his cup tighter, trying to think of what to do. Trying to think of anything but how delicious she looked in his favorite shirt, or how he wanted to take it off of her and hear her scream his name in ecstasy. "Rachel," he began, gaining her attention, "about last night—"

Before Sam could finish, Castiel flapped into their room. Rachel jumped, nearly sloshing her coffee as she gasped in shock. "What the hell?!" she asked, eyes wide as she backed away.

Sam set his cup down and moved to her. "It's okay," he assured gently, taking her hand. It was soft and warm, so achingly good to the touch that he nearly kissed it. "Castiel should've knocked." He eyed the angel with a look of irritation.

Rachel shook her head. "Yeah, but how the hell did he do that?!"

"He's an … he's an angel."

Looking at Sam in disbelief, Rachel set her own cup down. "Wait, what?"

"I know this is a lot to take in," Sam said, "but Cas is on our side. You don't need to worry about him."

Brow wrinkling, Rachel looked between the two men. "If he's an angel … Can I do that too?"

"Your grace level is likely insufficient for teleportation," Castiel replied.

"Oh." Rachel drew in a breath, still more than perplexed at the world that was unraveling around her, and it showed. "Excuse me." She withdrew her hand from Sam's and scooped up her jeans, shirt, and bra, ducking into the bathroom and quickly closing the door.

"Cas," Sam hissed, whirling around, "you've got to remember that this Rachel isn't our Rachel. Try not to overload her. We need to take it slow. Really slow." He sighed. "Painfully slow," he muttered to himself.

Castiel examined Sam. "She doesn't know? About you and her—"

"No," Sam interrupted. "And that's how it's staying right now." He grit his teeth. "And don't go into my head like that."

"It's kind of hard to ignore the singular thought you're practically blasting. There's no need to be embarrassed. Your sexual urges are very natural, so-"

"Why are you here, Cas?" Sam asked with as much patience as he could muster after a night of no sleep.

"We need to get back to Kansas," Castiel replied. "Robbie's powers are expanding. The tremors are quite powerful, and bound to manifest here. The aftermath will be like a beacon to all angels and demons."

Sam's expression shifted. "What are the 'tremors?' And what do you mean, manifest here? And the 'aftermath?'"

"They can be felt by those with powers, but they will also manifest on earth in some sort of 'natural' concentrated phenomenon, which will more than likely occur in Kansas."

"Like a flood, earthquake, fire?"

"Potentially. We should be at the bunker when it happens. An imprint of angelic power will be left when it's through, and it will attract attention. Rachel should be where she is safest. She is resonating again, though not as strong as before."

"Is she still a topic of discussion?"

"She's Barachiel's daughter. She never won't be."

Sam nodded. "Okay. Thanks, Cas." He watched the angel flap away, then shut his eyes with a sigh. Robbie was growing. It made him ache with regret. What if he sent his son and his brother on an impossible mission? Would they know when to throw in the towel? Or would Robbie keep growing until he was an adult all in vain?

The bathroom door opened; Sam's eyes darted to it, taking in Rachel. She had put on her jeans but kept the shirt. It was tied at the waist, twisted to sort of fit her petite frame. The sleeves were rolled, and her old shirt peeked out from underneath. "I, uh, don't know what they did with my coat," Rachel said softly, glancing at her shoes that waited on the floor. Sam quickly grabbed his duffel, fishing through it. He produced a hoodie. "Oh no," Rachel objected, feeling embarrassed, "I didn't mean you had to—"

"I know you didn't," he interrupted gently, crossing to her. He handed her the black sweatshirt with a smile. "But you've got to have something. It's cold out."

Rachel took the hoodie, smiling back as she slipped it on. "Thanks."

Sam stepped back a little and took up his coffee. "Welcome." He wet his lips, unable to help but enjoy the sight of his clothes on her. "It looks good," he said softly.

"Thanks," she replied in an equal tone, feeling her cheeks heat.

Awkwardness once again surrounded them. They each sipped at their coffees, avoiding the other while taking sneaks of glances in between. "Is the, uh, coffee okay?" Sam asked.

"It's great," Rachel replied. "Thank you."

"No need to thank me. I needed it desperately."

Guilt washed over Rachel's features. "You didn't sleep."

Sam shook his head. "No, I … It's not your fault. I usually don't sleep well."

Rachel twisted at her fingers as she held her cup. "Last night … I didn't mean to press the subject—"

"It's okay," Sam assured. "You have a right to know the … truth."

"Right," she replied meagerly, remembering his truth he revealed that left her more than empty and confused. "Truth is .. is good." She laughed softly, shrugging as she began to nervously ramble. "A bit crazy, knowing you have a duel life you don't remember. But, I mean, it's kinda like a fresh start, so … I can … figure it out. Again. Or for the first time. I-I don't know which one it would be, to be honest—"

"Rachel," Sam interrupted, moving to her. He watched the way she tried to bury her feelings, pained as he saw her struggle. "I know … I know this has to be hard, but I need you to know … What I said last night—"

A loud buzz ringtone on Sam's phone sliced through the moment; it more than startled Rachel. She watched as Sam fished out his cell, seeing his brow wrinkle. "What's wrong?" she asked softly. The tone wasn't just an ordinary notification—she recognized it as the standard emergency broadcast warning sound.

"An impending tornado," Sam replied softly. "And a blizzard."

"What?!" Rachel asked, shocked. "Both?!" Sam nodded, focused on the screen. "But … that's not … that's not possible. … Is it?"

Sam silently grabbed the remote to the small television across from them and flicked on the local broadcast channel. They both watched as the on-air anchor warned people about the impending storm that they were dubbing, "Snownado" in the red ticker tape at the bottom of the screen. "We are continuing to track the Snownado's path as it heads southwest," the news anchor said. "According to our Doppler radar, the Snownado's point of major impact will take place in Smith County, Kansas at approximately 7pm central standard time. Effects of the expected EF-4 to 5 twister and blizzard combination will be felt throughout the state and into western Missouri, northeastern Oklahoma, and southern Nebraska. Kansas' governor has called for a state of emergency, and is encouraging residents to take shelter immediately, and to utilize all precautions for an extended stay, such as adequate food and water supply, and radios and flashlights with fresh batteries. Police are highly discouraging any unlicensed storm tracking, and will be implementing roadblocks as needed to monitor incoming and outgoing activity in Kansas and along its borders. This storm is expected to be very severe, with winds ranging from 80 to 120 miles per hour. Snow accumulation is yet to be determined, but residents should expect a residual 8 to 10 inch drifts. We will continue around the clock coverage to bring you the latest updates."

Sam set his coffee down and flicked the television off, his stomach knotting. Robbie. His son had stirred up this storm. Was he okay? Why was he using so much power?

Rachel gasped, connecting the dots as she saw Sam's paled expression. "Oh my God," she whispered, setting her cup next to his. "Robbie." Her hand slid over his; he met her eyes. "Where is he camping?"

Sam managed to smile softly with fake assurance. The last thing he needed was to open the can of truth worms. "He's, uh, farther north. He'll be okay."

"Are you sure?"

With a nod, Sam set the remote down; Rachel withdrew her hand. "He'll be fine. Dean's got him."

"I'll go outside while you call Dean—"

"It's okay," Sam interrupted. "I'm not, uh, calling him."

Stunned, Rachel raised a brow. "Are you … Are you sure?"

Sam nodded stiffly. "Yep."

Rachel watched him as he moved away to recheck his duffel, a sinking feeling overcoming her. He was worried. More than worried. She could see it in his eyes. "We should get going so we can get back to the bunker," Sam said as he zipped his bag. He slung it over his shoulder and looked back at her. "You ready?"

"Yeah," Rachel replied softly with a nod. It didn't matter —Sam barely waited for her reply before striding to the door and opening it. She followed, sick with worry over both the impending storm and what Sam refused to talk about. Was Robbie in danger? Sam was hours away from being able to help, all because of her. A sudden thought burst into Rachel's mind. She grabbed Sam's jacket sleeve, halting him. "You can teleport to him!" she said, searching his eyes. "Castanel can do that, can't he?"

Sam smirked at her mispronunciation. "Cas-ti-el," he gently corrected. "And it's okay, I need to be here with you. I don't know if there will be repercussions with the demons or not, and I'd rather be able to protect you just in case."

"But—"

"It's okay," Sam interrupted. "Really. They'll be fine."

"And you?" Rachel asked, holding his gaze with expectancy.

Sam's smile was forced, and she felt it. "I will be too."

Rachel's brow knitted together as she watched Sam cross the threshold, meeting Mary and Rick as they approached. She shut the motel room door and hung back a bit, worried over what Sam wasn't saying.

"You heard about the storm?" Mary asked Sam.

Sam nodded. He looked to Castiel as he flashed in. "Cas, take everyone back to the bunker," he instructed. "I'll drive the car back."

Rachel's lips parted in surprise; she saw Mary's equal confusion. "Sam, you shouldn't be alone," his mother argued.

"I need everyone to get where they have to be before this storm hits," Sam argued back. "We've got hunters on shift that need to get home and protected. And I need you back there to help facilitate that, and to stay safe."

"I can stay," Rick offered.

Sam smiled softly. "You have a pregnant wife," he reminded him gently. "You're going."

"I'll stay," Rachel said with as much confidence as she could muster, clinging to it as the others shot her a look. She hated the way they looked at her with such doubt and skepticism.

"No," Sam objected, shaking his head.

"I'm staying with you," Rachel insisted, stepping toward him. "You need to have someone just in case. This isn't a storm you should ride through alone."

"And I need you safe," Sam argued back. "I'm not letting you stay. You need to be in the bunker."

Rachel arched a brow at him. "You don't 'let me' do anything," she reminded him. "I'm staying."

It was painfully familiar, and made Sam ache. Her stubbornness would mean she'd get her way—even if he forbade her staying, she'd find a way to. And he would rather know she was safe as she rebelled than to not. His jaw tightened. "Fine," he said with a heavy sigh, hating himself.

"That's not wise, Sam," Castiel said in a suggestive tone, looking to Rachel for a prolonged moment.

"Cas—"

Castiel returned his focus to Sam. "She shouldn't stay. It's highly unpredictable, and far too risky. She should—"

"She stays," Sam shot back, feeling nearly defeated from his stress. "And you stay with Mom at home. They don't expect it to begin until about nine hours from now. That leaves a three hour leeway. We'll be fine."

With a heavy sigh, Castiel gave Sam a nod. Sam looked to his mother, then to Rick, giving them each a nod. "Make sure everyone gets home as soon as possible," he said to them, receiving a nod in return. "And please be careful."

Rachel watched as Castiel moved next to them, catching his eyes. Was he mad at her? Why was he adamant about her leaving too? It seemed like out of the three, he thought she should be at the bunker the most. Did he not trust her? Was he scared of her having grace? Was there a reason to be scared?

Before she knew it, they were gone. She swallowed hard, feeling strange nerves biting at her. Sure, the storm was intimidating, but the nerves weren't from weather. It was as if a massive red flag shot up somewhere in her mind, but she wasn't exactly sure where or why. All she knew was, it wouldn't go away. Rachel looked to Sam, who drew in a deep breath. "Alright," he said, offering her a small smile, "let's get on the road."

The first two hours of the ride were nothing short of awkward. Between the tension from the night before and the unfinished thoughts of the morning, Rachel had more than enough mind fodder to keep her busy. She knew Sam was more than worried for his son and his brother, and she couldn't blame him one bit. But his refusal to call Dean seemed more than weird. If it was her son …

Rachel sighed as she watched the scenery breeze by, massive dead fields empty and waiting for the impending monster storm. Robbie was such an amazing boy, one she felt so drawn to right from the beginning. She saw bits of herself in his passionate spirit and his desire to belong. The way he spoke to her, the way he wanted her to be his mother …

He's a kid, she rationalized. He just wants a family again. A mom again. Rachel flicked her eyes to Sam, who had his left arm propped at the elbow along the door, his right hand on the steering wheel as his left sunk back and forth into his hair absentmindedly. Sam had been more than adamant about defining their relationship as merely friends, but his little nuances with her said anything but. Was it because she hurt him somehow? August had said his fiancée burnt to death. A horrible thought hit her. What if somehow she was to blame for her death?

Swallowing back the illness the idea made, Rachel shifted in her seat, drawing the hoodie tighter around herself. Sam seemed perfectly fine with the minimal warm air pushing through the vents, but she was freezing. She didn't want to complain, though—he already wasn't a fan of her being with him on the ride. It wasn't time to rock the boat.

Her focus returned to outside of her window. She watched the few trees she saw sway with the growing wind, dead leaves swirled into massive clouds of brown. Or was she imagining that? Being from New York, she had never experienced a tornado. The concept more than frightened her. Was it really like Twister? Maybe that's why Sam isn't afraid. He's used to it. The darkened skies and whip of air across the Impala did nothing to settle her nerves, though. Even if he was used to it, she certainly wasn't. The car seemed to jerk a bit, but she wasn't sure if it was because of its age or size, or if the conditions were worsening like she feared.

A few moments went by before Rachel sucked in a breath and readied herself. "Are you sure you're okay?" she asked, examining his profile.

Sam glanced at her, his left arm falling to his lap. "Yeah," he replied, knowing it sounded a bit unnatural. "Yeah, I'm good. You?"

"I'm … okay."

"What's wrong?" Sam asked gently.

She shrugged a shoulder. "Just a little cold," she admitted. Her toes felt like ice.

Sam's eyes darted to the panel. He seemed surprised himself at how the heat wasn't even turned on. He quickly flicked it on high, scoffing at himself. "Sorry, I … I didn't even realize it wasn't on." He looked up at her. "You should've said something."

"It's okay," she assured. "I just thought you preferred it that way."

"No, I … I wouldn't want you to be cold."

"It's not a big deal." Rachel watched as he resumed his focus on the road ahead. "Do you … Do you feel like the sky's darker?"

"Yeah," Sam murmured. "But it's only four more hours to Lebanon. Which should give us plenty of time to …" His voice trailed off as his brow wrinkled.

Rachel looked him over, panic rising within. She was already on edge enough. "What's wrong?"

"Cops," Sam murmured.

"You weren't speeding."

Shaking his head, Sam exhaled heavily. "No, it's a roadblock."

"A roadblock?"

Sam swallowed. "Yeah. For storm chasers."

Eyes widened, Rachel looked out the windshield as she narrowed in on the tiny flickering lights ahead. Sam slowed the car, joining several others in a dead stop behind the police blockage. Her heart raced as she felt the wind press angrily against the Impala. Now that they were stopped, it was easier to determine just how much of the car's jerking was from age or from weather. And it was mostly weather.

They inched forward, processing at a snail's pace as the wind continued to whip across the landscape. "This isn't good, is it?" Rachel whispered after a few minutes, her fingertips digging into the seat under her.

"No," Sam admitted. "It doesn't seem to be."

When it was their turn to talk to the police, Sam cranked his window down. The cold air blasted through the car, extinguishing any heat that had accumulated in the little bit of time it was on. Rachel tried to see the officer but her view was blocked by Sam. "Sir," the officer said, sounding more than a bit tired of repeating himself, "where are you headed?"

"Home, sir. We're not storm chasers," Sam insisted.

The officer cocked a brow at him. "Just decided to take the scenic route back to Ohio?"

"No, uh, we're headed to Kansas."

"Uh huh. Just as I thought."

Sam winced. "No, no, no—home. We live in Kansas, sir."

"Which is why your car has Ohio plates."

Rachel swallowed hard. This was not playing out well. "Sir, I can assure you, we aren't chasing the storm," Sam repeated.

As Sam went to reach for his wallet, the officer barked, "Hands where I can see them! On the wheel!"

Sam froze, keeping his hands on the wheel. "Sir, I was reaching for my wallet."

"Yeah, and I'm Santa Claus. If you're not chasing the storm, then you won't mind popping the trunk."

Rachel caught how Sam's jaw ticked. It was likely where he stored his weapons. "Sir, there's nothing—"

The officer pulled out his gun; Rachel gasped. "Park the car, and step out of the vehicle," he barked to Sam. "Now!"

With a look of stiff compliance, Sam swallowed and moved the car into park. "Step out of the vehicle," the officer repeated.

A butt of a nightstick banged on Rachel's window. She jumped, turning to it to see another officer eyeing her. "Hands up! Step out of the car, ma'am," she heard him say, his voice muffled a bit from the glass.

"She hasn't done anything," Sam snapped, glaring at both officers.

"She's with you. It's suspect enough," the officer on his side replied. "Out of the car."

Rachel's heart raced, the odd feeling she had earlier coming to the surface. It was as if a radar had been flicked in her mind, and something besides the obvious was triggering it wildly—something unseen.

Sam caught Rachel's eyes, hesitating. There was genuine fear in them. "Step out of the vehicle, now!" both officers snapped in near tandem with each other.

"Sam," she breathed, shaking her head a little. She couldn't get the words out fast enough.

"Now!"

Rachel and Sam slowly unbuckled their belts and raised their hands; the officer on Rachel's side opened the door and yanked her out. "Hey!" Sam growled. "Get your hands off of her!"

The driver's side officer snagged Sam by the arm and pulled him out, slamming him against the backseat door, his stomach pressed to the car. "Hands behind your back," the officer warned him.

"He didn't do anything!" Rachel shouted.

"Quiet," the officer holding her barked.

"We didn't— " Rachel stopped. Her eyes widened as she caught sight of the officer behind Sam; his face was grotesque, a grin spreading over it as he kept Sam pinned. Demon.