A loud bang broke Rachel out of her sleep. She jumped against Sam's chest, her eyes flashing open. Sam's arms immediately tightened around her. "It's okay," he reassured her gently, keeping her close. "Just debris."

"Did the tornado come yet?"

"Not yet." Sam glanced around the room around him, dread lining his stomach. "It will soon, though." His focus shifted to the television in the corner, a small archaic looking box with rabbit ear antennas that barely brought in a clear picture. A few people were gathered around it, intently watching the news broadcast.

"So … what do we do?"

Sam looked down at Rachel. Her voice was so small, so unsure. It was then that he realized she had no experience with tornadoes. Growing up in New York wouldn't give her that opportunity. "We stay down here until it fully passes," he replied gently, keeping her cradled in his arms. "They move pretty quick. The build-up is usually longer than the actual tornado."

"Are we safe down here?"

"As safe as we can be, considering. A cellar would be better but this is a solid building. We should be just fine."

Rachel focused on the weave of Sam's shirt. "Does this area usually get freak storms?"

Sam winced. "It's a bit … unusual," he admitted, hoping she wouldn't ask any questions he couldn't answer without complicating things. A fierce shiver traveled throughout Rachel's body as he held her. "Still cold?" he asked, tightening the blankets over her.

She nodded, her cheek pressed against the soft flannel of his shirt. His scent relaxed her a bit. "A little. I'm … I'm sorry."

Sam shook his head. "What are you sorry for?"

"I can't help but feel like this is all my fault somehow."

Swallowing, Sam pressed her even tighter to himself. She was right—it was because of her, technically. But more so, it was because of him. "You have nothing to apologize for," he replied, his nose grazing through her hair as he kept their conversation as secret as he could. "Nothing at all." He kept his face partially buried in her locks, drawing in her scent with a suppressed groan. "How are you feeling?"

"A bit better."

"Good. Rest is key. Your body will replenish grace faster with sleep."

Rachel gently traced her finger around the button on Sam's shirt. "You seem to know a lot about nephilims," she remarked quietly, the steady beat of his heart drumming peace into her as he held her.

"I've studied them a lot," Sam said, trying to resist kissing her forehead.

"Why?"

"When we first found out you were one, I wanted to know all I could to … protect you."

His admission made her stomach birth butterflies. "Protect me from what?"

"Other angels," he replied. "Demons. Anyone who would want to harm you."

"Why would demons care about a half angel?"

It was a fair question, one that had a fair answer. Only, he couldn't give her that answer without revealing their truth. "You're the daughter of an archangel. Any time a demon can get possession of an angel, they will. Especially an archangel."

"For money?"

"Some. Some do it for fame. For killing them."

"So, I'm a target," she concluded, guilt ladening her voice.

"You're not a burden," he assured her with a firmness that surprised her. "So don't you dare think that. You hear?" She nodded against him; he didn't catch himself in time to avoid correcting her. "Uh-uh. Say it."

Her brow wrinkled. She lifted her head off his chest a little, her confusion evident. "Say … what?" she asked as she looked into his eyes. His lips were dangerously close to hers.

Sam gulped, backpedaling furiously in his mind. "I said, 'So don't say it,'" he lied.

Rachel wasn't buying what he was selling. She heard him—he clearly refused to accept her nod in place of words. Specific words. But what words did he want to hear? And why? The tone he used was commanding, dominate. It made her body tingle as much as it confused her. "Oh," she said, slowly resting her head against his chest. She heard how his heartbeat sped up; it seemed to thump wildly in his chest. What was he lying about? He had to be lying. She knew what he heard.

An awkward silence clung to the air around them. Rachel shifted her legs, her body twisting a little in Sam's lap as she tucked them into the fetal position. Her heart stopped when she felt something stiff hit her hip. Oh God. It wasn't a phone, or a gun. Oh God. She froze, trying not to draw attention to her discovery. Yet, it was all she could think about. He was clearly reacting to her. Very clearly. Of course he is. You're on his freaking lap, pressing against him. Like he's not going to react.

She shivered involuntarily, which made her press against his member more. Fuck my life. She felt her cheeks heat up, swearing she was on fire from her embarrassment. Was he embarrassed? She was too scared to look. He had to be feeling what she felt. Yet, he kept her close to himself as if nothing happened. The rigidness pressed against her hip, and she swallowed hard. Not only did she feel him, but she felt a lot of him.

Closing her eyes, Rachel silently willed herself to ignore it, focusing on the rhythmic strokes Sam made over her arm. Guess I'll just add this to the list of awkward, unaddressed things between us. The man swore they were merely friends, but she also heard the husky timbre in his voice as he told her to say … something. It wasn't a request. It was a clear demand, one of familiar dominance, of loving command. Let it go. If she tried to make heads or tails of it all, she'd only hurt herself. Whatever she heard or felt, it meant nothing. They were friends. That was all. Wasn't it?

Meanwhile, Sam was more than embarrassed about his clear reaction to her body on his. Blood. Guts. Vamps. Dean eating. Dean farting. Dean doing anything. He kept chanting the forced images in his mind over and over, trying to think of anything but how good it felt that she was pressed against him. He relaxed his mind, feeling the sudden urge that had overcome him slowly dissipate. She's not well. She's only on you because she's sick. She's not yours. She's NOT yours.

His thoughts drifted, the cool reality flooding over him as he repeated it in his mind. She's NOT yours. It hurt. It more than hurt—it made him ache. The truth was a bitter pill to swallow, but he had to. Otherwise, he would ruin any shot he had of her staying at the bunker. Maybe over time, things could change. That is, if Robbie and Dean didn't find her soul.

Sam shut his eyes, seeing his son in his mind. Was he okay? Was Dean? The storm outside was a harrowing reminder of the danger they were both in. Acquiring Rachel's soul almost wasn't as important as getting them home safely. If he had to choose, he would rather them be safe and take his chances on winning Rachel over. He would dearly miss his original connection with her, but his son's and Dean's lives were far too important to him to lose on only a possibility. And she was still alive.

His hand had unconsciously found Rachel's hair, his fingertips stroking through it against her scalp. He felt how she had tensed, knowing his reaction was the reason. His desire for her was becoming more difficult to ignore. He knew she was onto him, and the more he denied their relationship, the less chance he had of building a second life with her if her soul couldn't be found. Sam drew in a deep breath, sighing as he shut his eyes momentarily. "Rachel?" he asked softly.

Rachel hesitated, feeling nervous as she clutched his shirt, the flannel soothing under her fingertips. "Yeah?"

"About … About last night … I … I wanted to tell you that—"

A roar of wind swirled up and beat against the church, shaking the basement entrance door at the stop of the stairwell they were adjacent to. Immediately, the power went out. A backup generator flickered on and cast a faint glow over some minimal corners of the space, leaving theirs in darkness based on the distance from the emergency lighting. People rustled about and clicked on flashlights, chattering about the change as small beams of light sliced through the blackness. Their voices joined the roaring storm and a few emergency radios, the noise proving too much emotionally for Rachel. She stiffened; Sam's embrace grew nearly fierce, his hands digging into her as he kept her close. His fingers pressed her head to his chest, his chin resting on the top to tuck her under his own.

"Is this it?" Rachel asked, hating the way the darkness scared her so much.

"Think so."

Rachel gasped loudly as debris crashed the upper level of the church, more pronounced in sound from where they sat. Sam tried to pull her even closer, shutting his eyes as the fierce weather howled in rage. He heard her sniffle, knowing she was trying to resist crying. "It's alright, sweetheart," he whispered, catching how she shuddered with a bit of relief at his recognition of her fear. "I'm right here."

Sam readjusted the blankets, keeping Rachel close as his lips brushed her cheek. She relaxed in his intimate, powerful embrace. He was literally sheltering her, keeping her close to keep her safe. It felt incredible—fiery hot and soothing all at once. Was he comfortable? Or was it awkward, given what their relationship was, and the state he was in only moments earlier? Was he just that nice of a guy? Did he only feel guilty?

The tornado above became nearly deafening, every loose object it could lift being hurled against the walls above them like an angry child throwing a tirade. It was terrifying. It made Rachel feel millimeters small. Blackness swallowed everything, only blips of people visible across from them. Still, his scent enveloped her, making her eyes flutter shut as she drew it in. Sam's arms wrapped fiercely around her, his fingers absentmindedly brushing her side above her hip, teasing close to her backside. His hot breath coasted over her cheek, the steady rise and fall of his chest chasing away her nerves.

Rachel gasped softly as she felt Sam's lips sink down onto her forehead. He tenderly kissed her multiple times, making the ache within her grow. Everything about how they were screamed perfection. He's just comforting me, she reminded herself. Still, as his mouth inched painstakingly across her skin, the warm want she felt only grew more fervently. "You're safe, baby girl," he whispered against her, sending a tingle down her spine. Despite the violent volume of the storm, his voice was all she heard. "I've got you."

Tears filled Rachel's eyes. Everything about his touch, his kiss, and his words made her ache for the truth. In his own way, he seemed to be confessing. She wanted to hear him actually say it, to own it, to tell her the truth of who they were. But she also didn't want to ruin the beautiful shelter he gave her. The words didn't matter in that moment. Closing her eyes, Rachel nestled against him, exhaling. "Thank you," she whispered.

"Stop thanking me," he instructed. His voice was firm but still tender.

"Sorry."

"And stop apologizing," he smirked.

"Okay."

Sam wet his lips as he held her. "Last night," he began softly, feeling his nerves flare, "I said something I didn't mean. And I want you to know the truth."

Rachel swallowed hard, her own fears rising. What did he mean by that?

Before he could continue, a loud shout of realization from across the room filled the space. "Anna!" Jim said; Sam looked up from Rachel and saw him stand, though he was mostly shrouded in darkness. "What kind of car was he driving?"

Sam's nostrils flared as he realized he was the "he" Jim referred to. "A big black one," he heard Anna reply. "A long, older looking one."

"Son of a bitch!"

Sam quickly pulled Rachel to stand as he saw Jim move; she was more than confused. "Sam?" she asked softly, eyes wide at his sudden tension.

"Stay behind me," Sam instructed her, shoving her behind himself as Jim approached, the blankets that had been wrapped over her falling to the ground.

"What's wrong, Jim?" Anna asked, her desperate question nearly lost among the noise of the storm and the rising murmurs of the crowd.

Sam held out his arms and shielded Rachel behind himself as Jim moved closer. "That son of a bitch killed my cousin!" Jim snapped to Anna, drawing his gun and aiming at Sam.

A gasp flowed over the crowd, echoed by Rachel as Jim came dangerously close. Sam felt his heart race. "Easy," Sam said in a calm tone, his hands up as he kept Rachel back.

"You killed Greg," Jim snapped.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Sam said, though he knew there was a possibility of being guilty. He and Dean had worked a couple cases not too far from where they were regarding demon possession.

"You were there that night," Jim growled. "At the lodge. Funny how you and your buddy didn't stick around for the police after the brawl."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Sam repeated, keeping his expression even. He did know what Jim was talking about, though. The demons were on a warpath through the town, killing teens who stupidly summoned them. Then they went to a bar in the next town over. He and Dean followed them there, managing to take most of them out before some exorcised themselves. They had tried to exorcise them, but some vessels had to be killed in brutal self defense. It was a bloody mess, a night neither of the brothers cared to relive. Taking a deep breath, Sam felt Rachel clutch his jacket from behind, immediately trying to think of how he was going to keep her safe.

"The hell you don't! I remember you. You were there! And you killed him, and a bunch of others. You sick bastard."

"Jim," another man shouted, briefly gaining his attention. "Come listen to this!"

Sam watched Jim back up a tiny bit, his aim still on him. Another man held up an emergency radio. Silence fell over the room as everyone listened. "The two suspects were last seen on Interstate 70 heading west, driving a vintage black Chevy Impala. The first suspect is a Caucasian woman between 21-30, approximately five feet tall with dark brown hair and brown eyes, weighing approximately 115lbs. The second suspect is a Caucasian male, approximately six feet two inches tall with long brown hair and hazel eyes, weighing approximately 220lbs. They are considered armed and dangerous, and should not be approached. If you have any information on them, please call your local police."

Sam's stomach lined with dread. Someone reported them from the blockage. Everyone's eyes focused on him and what little of Rachel they could see. "They say she killed two officers at a roadblock not too far from here," the man with the radio said with disgust.

"Sam," Rachel whispered, a shake to her voice. She felt more than sick. The human officer had died because of her. And now a mob was intent on killing them. "We have to run."

Sam kept his hands up, listening to the storm above them. To take her outside was near suicide. Not to mention how he would get her out there. But they had no choice, other than to pray he could talk Jim down. "It's not what you think," Sam told the crowd, his jaw ticking.

"Yeah right," Jim snarled. "He killed Greg! Him and his buddy! And she killed cops!"

"There was blood on her shirt," Anna said softly, looking at Sam and Rachel with disgust.

"Sam," Rachel said quickly and softly, "let me try to put them to sleep. Then we can make a break for it."

Her plan was definite suicide for her. She didn't have the strength to do that without damaging herself. "Look," Sam continued to the crowd, "those officers … they weren't what you think. They were demons."

"Demons," Jim repeated flatly.

Sam nodded, pained. "Yes. They were possessed. Like … Like Greg."

"Bullshit!" Jim snapped, cocking his gun. Sam saw others readied to take out their weapons. "He's insane!"

"We can prove it!" Rachel shouted, the room growing quiet as she stepped around Sam's back.

"Get back!" Sam hissed.

"I can prove that it's real," Rachel continued, taking another step away. She felt Sam's eyes boring into her, knowing he wasn't a fan of her vulnerability. "Because I'm … I'm an angel."

Sam kept his hands up, watching for the crowd's reaction. A moment of silence lingered before a mixture of callous laughter and confused murmurs erupted. "An angel?" Jim growled. "You're a psycho!"

"I have proof!" Rachel insisted, silencing everyone. "I can show you. If you will let me."

Sam's eyes widened. She was going to show them her grace. She'd recklessly burn herself dry without a second thought. "Rachel, no!" he begged.

"The cop killer is named Rachel!" a woman sneered.

"And he's Sam!" another agreed.

"I'm gonna try to call the police!" yet another man announced.

Jim scoffed, eyeing Rachel with disgust. "You little bitch. Show us? You gonna show me how you killed those officers?"

"Please," Rachel said, a desperation in her tone. She flicked her eyes to the crowd. "Is anyone here sick or injured?"

Jim stepped to Rachel as she tried to inch forward. "Stay there," he warned, shifting his aim on her. "You ain't touching anybody."

"Hey!" Sam growled. "Put the gun down!"

"Fine," Rachel said, ignoring Sam's obvious disagreement and opening her palm. She closed her eyes, focusing on what she wanted. I want to restore the power. Slowly, she reached out and touched the switchplate on the wall next to her. A spark charged from her hand; the crowd gasped as the lights flickered on overhead. They were weak, but holding as Rachel kept the connection. It singed her skin, and made her grimace.

"Rachel, stop!" Sam begged. She was in clear pain, and far too weak-she'd surely damaged herself, maybe even beyond what her reserve of grace could repair.

A surge of coolness rushed through Rachel's veins. She broke the connection, gasping as it clawed at her throat. It almost felt like a deep gash running up her from inside. She rested her hand on her neck as she backed toward Sam. "She's a freak," she heard other people murmur. "She's using witchcraft!"

Sam took hold of her and drew her close, terrified of her weakened look. "We don't want trouble. We'll leave," Sam said to Jim, keeping his tone and mannerisms as calm as possible.

Jim kept his aim on them. "You ain't going anywhere," he seethed. "You try, and I'll shoot her."

"Please," Sam replied with a pained look. "She's weak. Let her go at least. She didn't kill them. I did."

"That ain't true!" the man holding the radio shouted. "They got video of her using witchcraft on 'em. The little cop-killing bitch is guilty."

"Stay there," Jim warned, narrowing his eyes at Sam. "Somebody get the cops on the phone!" he barked to those behind himself.

Rachel fought the incredible searing burn in her throat, mustering up courage and strength as she silently flexed her fingers at her side. She couldn't leave it to chance. Jim wouldn't relent, nor would he likely wait for the police to take Sam. They would die.

Time slowed, as it seemed to when she used her powers. She felt every molecule of her being ignite in one final push of power. It flowed through her body like an icy current, the strength both scorching and frozen as it emanated from her fingertips. It ached ferociously, stealing every ounce of her strength, but she knew she had to suffer to keep them safe. She couldn't let Sam die.

Breaking away from Sam, Rachel lifted her hand, shutting her eyes as she focused. She couldn't repeat what happened on the highway. There, she hadn't taken the time to hone her power. She reacted out of pure fear. This time, she would make sure no one got hurt. A wave of iridescent blue light stretched from her fingers, widening over the entire room. It swept over the group, who gasped as they braced for pain. Instead, their bodies slumped down, their eyes shutting as they fell into a deep sleep. Jim, too, fell, his gun skittering away before he could get a shot off as he succumbed to her power.

Rachel broke the connection, sucking a deep breath of air to counteract the simultaneous fire and freezing of her veins. It didn't work. Instead, she felt worse, a fog settling over her head. The room swayed to her, even though she stood still. "He's okay?" Rachel asked Sam meekly, trying to avoid showing the damage she had done to herself as he checked Jim's pulse.

Sam nodded. "Just in a deep sleep." He straightened, examining her. Despite the still raging storm, her carelessness was his focus. "You shouldn't have done that," he said firmly as he approached.

His anger confused Rachel. She had helped without hurting anyone. "I got us a way out," she replied, defensiveness tainting her tone.

"It was dangerous," Sam continued. "He could've shot you!"

Rachel felt her anger build. "But he didn't. And everyone is fine, including you. And me."

Sam's brow wrinkled as he moved directly in front of her. "You're low on grace. You can't afford to make stupid moves."

"What's wrong with you?" Rachel demanded, her pulse quickening. "I helped," she insisted. Her voice rose, competing with the storm.

"It was reckless. I was handling it."

"Sorry I didn't ask your permission first!"

"That's not the point!"

"Then what is?"

"The point is, you could've died!"

"Yeah, but we were already about to die, Sam! I didn't see any better options!" Rachel shook her head. "I thought you'd be grateful. Instead, you're acting like a dick."

Sam scoffed. "Using that last bit of power wasn't safe or smart. I could've talked him down. Instead, you'd rather stupidly risk your life to prove something, just like you always do!"

Rachel's lips parted. Her pulse skyrocketed. The lightness in her head washed through her from her rapid heart rate. She swallowed hard against the powerful sway that wanted to overcome her. "'Like I always do?'" August's words immediately rang through her head; she heard him talk about "all she was good for," and how she was never anything more. And here was Sam, echoing it. It made her want to puke. "I thought you were different," she said softly, shaking her head.

Sam was taken back by her hurt. Then he remembered how Rachel recounted the story of her rape to August, hurt by his choice of words. A horrible guilt struck him, making him nauseous. "Rachel—"

"I'm an idiot," she scoffed. "You know what? You're right. I do 'always do something.' I always seem to pick the wrong guys." Her demeanor hardened, her hands tightening at her sides. "I guess this was a thorn in your side before I woke up," she said with disdain. "Don't worry. I'll save you the trouble and leave."

As she whirled around, the room spun unforgivingly. She didn't hear Sam as he called out to her, or the storm as it beat against the world above her. She didn't feel the cold linoleum against her cheek as she fell to the floor. All she felt was the lightness consuming her in a cool bath over her body as everything went black.