Heavy. Everything about her body felt heavy. Her eyelids felt like they weighed thousands of pounds. She could smell him, his cologne. He was next to her. Then she felt him, his warm, calloused fingertips brushing over her icy cold skin.
She wanted to push him away, to tell him to go fuck himself. She wanted to scream at him for the anger and rage he stirred within her. But she couldn't even find the strength to move her lips.
He remained, the cedar notes of his scent burning in her nostrils as the back of his hand found her forehead. She could feel the softness of sherpa under her hands, and hear the hiss and pop of a freshly stoked fire. Her body rested against a mattress that somehow felt familiar, slowly warmed by the flames burning nearby. It was a relief not to be pressed against him and his magnetic body.
Still, he wouldn't leave her alone. His fingers shifted to tuck some of her hair behind her ear. She wanted to curse him out for his bold intimacy. Somehow, though, she also wanted more. Much more. Specifically to feel his lips on hers.
Why couldn't she fully hate him, like her brain begged her to? Why did she want his shelter? He was just like all the other men in her life—fine until she had dared to be herself with them. Then she became a burden. A hassle. A freak.
She felt her chest rise and fall with every steady breath she took. She also felt something wet drip onto her neck. Wet? It was confusing, a small drop of moisture. Rain. No. A tear.
Was he crying? The idea seemed to lighten her body an ounce at a time, slowly releasing her from her weighted prison. Guilt washed over her with memories of recent moments. He had been beaten and bruised for her, willing to give his life for her safety. He had taken the bullet she shot in him, yet he still came to her rescue. He would've taken another in the church too, if it came down to it.
Her anger remained, still very much needing to be addressed, but that could come later. What gave her the strength to open her eyes was the desire to ignore everything else and lose herself in him. She knew without a doubt that he wanted to as well. She could somehow hear it, like she was siphoning it from his own head.
Rachel slowly opened her eyes, finding Sam wiping his own with a careless swipe. It was clear he didn't see her. She watched him for a prolonged moment. He looked exhausted with worry. "Sam," she whispered, seeing his immediate shock as he focused on her. His usually vibrant hazel eyes were dulled and bloodshot. These weren't the first tears he shed since she collapsed.
Sam gasped, immediately cupping both sides of her face and pressing his lips to her cool forehead. "Oh God," he whispered against her skin. Rachel smelled saline on his cheeks. "Thank God." Kissing her again, he rested his forehead against hers for a moment, sucking in and exhaling a shuddered breath of relief. A beat later, he surfaced with panic, immediately striking up a game of Twenty Questions. "How do you feel? Are you hurt? Is there pain? Are you cold? Do you need water? Are you—"
"Shut up, dufus," Rachel groaned, his frantic tone piercing her skull. "I'm fine. Just a monster headache and … I'm achy and cold. Like the flu. How long was I out?"
"Just about eight hours."
"Whoa."
"You passed out because you need grace," Sam concluded, a definite bitterness to his tone. Rachel almost challenged him on it, but then she remembered how he told her that grace had taken her away from him and Dean. Grace had ruined the good life she had with them. And grace would kill her again for good if she took too much. He had a right to be bitter.
"I can charge on my—" Before she could finish her compromise, a sharp jolt struck her head. She cowered into the pillow her head rested on, squeezing her eyes shut and wincing against it with a whimper.
When it lessened, she reopened her eyes and saw Sam digging in his bag on the floor. He returned to her bedside with the glowing vial. "A sip at a time," he instructed softly, kneeling down next to the bedside. "We stop as soon as you feel good enough to function. Deal?"
Rachel scanned his eyes. He was evidently worried about her overdosing. She didn't take offense to the limits he set, knowing he must have been terrified to be the one to give her the substance that could kill her humanity for good. She gave him a nod, watching him draw in a deep, hesitant breath. It was then she noticed he was in a plain navy tee shirt instead of his flannel. It hugged around his biceps, making her wish for the strength of his arms and their safety as they wrapped around her.
Slowly, Sam twisted off the top of the vial, holding it near Rachel's mouth. The mist traveled to her lips, entering without any effort on her part. Sam capped the vial and watched like a hawk, relieved to see a tiny bit of color return to her cheeks. Rachel took a few more sips before she gave a slight nod. Sam quickly plugged the vial shut for good, taking note of the remaining contents. It was about a quarter full.
He rested the vial back in his bag. "How are you now?" he asked, sitting on the edge of the mattress as he brushed the hair from her eyes with protective tenderness.
"I feel sorry," she whispered back, seeing his confusion. "Sorry for what I did back there."
"Don't be," Sam urged. "If anyone is going to be sorry, it's me." He sighed, resting his hand on the mattress next to her blanket-covered thigh. "I was so scared you'd … And then when you passed out, I thought I'd lost …" He couldn't finish either sentence.
"You've done nothing but help me," she insisted.
"Still, I didn't have a right to take out my fear on you." He scanned her eyes. "It's … always been my problem," he admitted.
"What has?"
"Letting you put yourself on the line," Sam explained. He sighed. "I was never good at letting you take risks. Guess I'm still not."
Rachel saw the deep ache he carried in his body, his shoulders slumped as he spoke about their past. "You said before I was a hunter," she began softly; he kept his focus on the floor. "Was I a crap one?"
Sam laughed through his nose, shaking his head. "Not in the slightest. You were amazing. Resilient. Strong. Smart. I just …" He dared to look into her eyes. "I just have never been as strong as you, when it came down to the risk you faced."
"Because you cared," she concluded softly.
"Because I care," he corrected, holding her gaze.
Rachel shifted her focus to her hands as she played with the thick tan blanket over her body. Care. Even with the loss of her identity, he still cared. Yet, his burst of anger at her risk proved he still wasn't able to let go of the Rachel he once knew, even though she wasn't that woman anymore.
A moment of silence rested between them. Rachel took note of the woodsy decor around her. It was far too homey to be a motel. "Where are we?"
"The only safe place I know that isn't Kansas," Sam replied. "We're at a friend's cabin."
"The car made it?"
"Yeah, thankfully. I didn't want to head west to home, because of the storm. And I figured the demons would head that way. So, I came here."
"Where is here?"
"Minnesota."
"Minnesota?" Rachel was surprised. It must have been well past dinner time. Her stomach growled at just the idea.
"I doubt the demons would chase us all the way up here from Missouri," Sam reasoned. "The cabin is warded, anyway. We should be okay."
"Okay." Rachel wasn't listening, though. The mention of Missouri immediately brought back the roadblock in vivid detail. She remembered how it felt, the power emanating from her fingertips. She hadn't meant to lose control. Her fear took over, somehow gasoline to the flames of what now was a permanent resident of her being. The terror she felt on the highway created a horrid disaster, a sickening tragedy. She took a life. An innocent life. A life that hadn't already been taken by demons. She killed someone.
Sam saw how pained Rachel looked. He knew what she had done at the roadblock must've been on her mind. "What happened back there," he began carefully, seeing her shift in expression, "it's not your fault."
Rachel scoffed. "How can you say that? I killed a man!"
"It's …" Sam stopped, remembering when "his" Rachel lost control of her angelic powers and killed demons. She felt just as guilty then. But Sam had tried to remove the guilt, only causing agony between them. "I'm sorry," he finally said, seeing her brow arch as she looked at the blanket on her lap. "I'm sorry you have to have that burden on you. But you need to know that it was an accident. You're not a murderer." He dared to take her hand, covering it with his own. "Talk to me," he urged.
Her lip quivered before she began a feeble attempt at expressing her emotions. "I … I feel awful. I didn't … I didn't mean to … I took someone's life." She blinked, hot tears running down her face as she looked up at him. "I killed someone."
Nodding gently, Sam carefully wiped her tears away. "I know that guilt," he replied, his thumb stroking her cheek. "I know that fight. I wouldn't wish it for anyone. Especially you. I'm sorry."
Rachel closed her eyes and drank in his touch, letting it heal a tiny portion of her battered heart. His calloused thumb was steady against her skin, gently sweeping away any remaining drops of moisture.
Silent tension blossomed in the room; Rachel opened her eyes, her chest clenching as she saw the raw pain and exhaustion in Sam's eyes. "You need sleep," she murmured, feeling herself lean into his touch.
"I'm alright." His smile was forced as he reluctantly withdrew his hand. "I've got soup on the stove for you."
"Just rest," Rachel gently argued.
"I'm getting you food," he insisted, standing. "You need to eat. You haven't eaten anything besides that protein bar this morning. Be right back."
Before she could object, he was gone. With a sigh, Rachel looked around the cabin bedroom. It was warm and rustic, as she'd expect it to be. There were plentiful amounts of plaid in pillows and soft blankets, and a pair of antlers mounted above the fireplace. It would have been a cozy getaway place with a lover.
A lover. Before she woke, she felt convinced she could hear Sam's thoughts. And one of them stuck out. He wanted to kiss her. Desperately. It made an aching heat blaze through her. She needed him. She wanted to feel whole. The world had changed so much in a matter of days, yet he was constant shelter. She craved more of it, hungry to taste it in full. Would he resist if she gave him the opportunity?
Sam brought in a bowl on a tray, setting it to the side on the bureau, then approached the bed. Despite his obvious exhaustion, he was determined to care for her. It made Rachel feel guilty. "Here," he said with a soft smile, "I'll help you up." Before she could object, Sam lifted her gently under her arms, helping her to sit up. "Hold onto me." She braced herself by clinging to his thick biceps, feeling them flex under her fingers as he worked to prop pillows against the headboard behind her. "Alright, here we go." He lifted her and seated her back against the cushions with ease, releasing her when she was stable. She was more than disappointed to let go of his arms and have it replaced by a tray. Though, the tray had hot chicken soup on it. Her stomach seemed to appreciate that more.
Rachel picked up the spoon set for her, stirring it as he backed away. "Thank you," she said softly.
"It's canned," Sam said with obvious anxiety. "I'm sorry, it's all that was in the pantry."
Her brow wrinkled. "Why are you sorry? Was it moldy?"
"No, I just … would want something better for you."
His worry over the soup was both endearing and sad. "I've eaten less and worse under normal circumstances before," she assured gently. "This is perfect. Thank you."
Sam nodded, forcing a smile after clearing his throat. "I'll, uh, be right back."
Rachel watched him leave. He was so tense, it was nearly unbearable. She pushed her soup around, eating only to silence her stomach. But the more she thought about Sam, the smaller her appetite became. He must have been sick over Robbie and Dean. And here he was, nursing her back to health while she thought about being wrapped in his arms, imagining his lips over her skin. It was horrible. Her guilt left her nauseous. She set the half-full bowl of soup aside, looking to the opposite wall at the door. She had to apologize.
Rachel swung her legs over the side of the bed, pushing to her feet. The room swayed, and she clutched the nightstand for support. Closing her eyes, she tried to figure out if flopping backward into bed or trying to push on was better. Before she could, Sam was there, his grip tight as he held her. "Easy," he urged. "You still need to get your strength back."
"I'm sorry," Rachel said in a shuddered whisper, searching his eyes.
"It's okay," Sam insisted, confused as he saw her forming tears. "I'm not mad. I just want you to be safe." He paused, shaking his head when her expression got worse. "What's wrong, sweetheart?" he urged.
Rachel swallowed hard. "I've made a huge mess, and you've done nothing but clean it up. I mean, you have to be sick over Robbie and Dean, and you're stuck here taking care of me."
Wordlessly, Sam guided Rachel back to the bed, sitting her down and drawing the blankets over her lap as she pressed her back against the headboard with a shudder. "Robbie and Dean are home," Sam said with a tender smile; it grew as he saw her surprise. He stroked her cheek, unable to help tucking her hair behind her ear as he sat on the mattress edge next to her. "I got service while you were asleep. Mom, Cas … everyone's okay. No reason to worry."
Relief washed over Rachel at the news. "Oh thank God," she breathed, her eyes shutting against his touch.
"The only person I'm worried about is you," he finished, tracing over her skin as he sat next to her.
She opened her eyes. "I'm fine. I promise. Just tired."
"You don't … feel …?"
"I feel normal." Rachel saw the relief her admission brought, a visible lift evident.
"Good," Sam murmured.
Neither spoke, yet maintained eye contact. Rachel leaned forward, bridging the small distance between them. She swore she heard Sam's breath hitch. His face looked pained, almost conflicted. Was he? Was he trying to avoid the obvious for a reason?
Just before she could trap his hand against her face, he pulled it back with an awkward urgency. She could see his fear rising to the surface, the same wall he kept constructing ever since she woke up in the bunker rising once again. He stood, clearing his throat. "I'm, uh …" He drew in a breath, giving her a smile. "I'm going to go check the wardings. You should sleep. Just call out if you need anything."
Rachel opened her mouth to speak, but words failed her as Sam quietly left the room. Exhaling, Rachel flicked off the bedside lamp and laid back down. She stared at the off white ceiling, listening to the fire as it sizzled over the dry wood. Why was he running from her? His conflicting messages were driving her insane. All she wanted was an answer. Still, she felt her eyes grow heavy, relentless in their pursuit of rest. He said sleep is the fastest way to recover the balance of grace. When she woke, she would confront him. Rachel let her eyes close, her body gradually melting into the depth of the mattress with a frustrated sigh.
The light was dim in the room when Rachel woke. The fire flickered beside her, though much smaller than it was before. The hot embers glowed a beautiful rust orange hue, the flames happily licking a small log that looked like it was just added not too long before.
Rachel drew in a deep breath and sat up. She was relieved when the room stayed still and didn't sway like a top. Physically, she felt much better. The combination of food, sleep, and grace had helped tremendously.
With a stretch, she stood, looking to the closed door. She wasn't sure where the bathroom was, but she needed to find out. Cracking it open, Rachel peered into the hallway and spotted a door slightly ajar. She headed for it, her sock covered feet quiet over the wood floor as she crossed to it. Using a careful touch, she pushed the door open further, relieved it was indeed the bathroom and not the room Sam must've been using. The last thing she wanted to do was wake him up if he was finally asleep.
When she was finished, Rachel turned off the bathroom light and left the door as she found it. It was significantly cooler in the hall than her room had been, cool enough to get goosebumps. She began for the bedroom but stopped suddenly. A flicker of light caught her eye; she looked over her shoulder toward the source, seeing the faint glow. A TV? A shiver washed over her from the cool air, and she nipped at her lip. Sam had to have been in the main living space watching television. Was he asleep out there? Leave him be, she tried to convince herself. You've done enough damage.
Nodding her head to herself, Rachel resumed heading for the door when a noise stopped her again. Her brow furrowed as she turned and listened. It was nearly heartbreaking. Her lips parted in surprise at what she heard, not realizing she was inching closer to the living room.
She stood in the archway, her heart beating faster as she saw Sam awkwardly propped on the couch. He was fully clothed, boots and all. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the morning sun just beginning to peek through the horizon, the light trickling in and highlighting the coffee table. His gun rested on it, along with an angel blade and a bottle of clear liquid. Vodka? It didn't seem to fit. Water? … Holy water. He was prepared for demons. Rachel moved closer, the sound she heard him make more pronounced. "No," Sam murmured again in his sleep, his head twisting to the opposite side with a suddenness as it rested against the sofa. It made Rachel pause for a moment. He kept repeating the word, his body growing more restless, his voice more desperate. Whatever nightmare he was having, it was doing a number to him.
Rachel carefully kneeled on the space on the couch next to him, hesitantly reaching toward Sam as he thrashed. The instant her hand made contact with his face, Sam bolted out of his sleep, grabbing her wrist with a graveled shout. "No!" He yanked her partially on his lap as he glared at her, lips parted, teeth nearly bared. It instantly reminded her of Alex, how he looked just before she shot him. A chill crept up her spine, his fingers nearly lethal around her wrist.
Rachel watched through the glow of the television as Sam's expression slowly shifted. His grip loosened, though she dare not move. He kept hold of her—she wasn't sure if it was because he still thought she was the enemy, or if he simply didn't want to. Wetting his lips, he shuddered an exhale. "Rachel," he murmured. With realization, he freed her wrist as if the touch burned him, shaking his head. "Oh God," he breathed, terrified, embarrassed. "I'm so sorry."
"It's okay," she insisted gently, remaining partially on his lap. She couldn't lie-her pulse had skyrocketed from his darkened power, her heart slamming in her chest as she looked at him. "Are you okay?" she asked, feeling tears threaten her eyes. She had never seen anyone look so tormented from a dream, or anyone fighting so hard to hide it.
Sam nodded vigorously. "Just … a, um, nightmare."
He seemed more than focused on her. She saw how his face was creased with unresolved worry. It was as if he wasn't sure of what he was seeing. "It's okay," she repeated, inching closer. She was nearly fully on him, balancing on his thighs as she stroked his cheek with a quivering hand. The words seemed to come out of her mouth making little sense to her, but feeling exactly right for him. "I'm real. I promise."
Rachel watched Sam's broad chest rise and fall, his own breath seeming to be as scant as hers felt. The sparks that had lingered between them gathered into a ball of electric energy that was nearly ready to burst. "You're okay," he repeated back, a sort of blank look in his eyes.
"Yeah," she replied, pained by the idea of his nightmare involving her. "I'm okay."
He nodded. His jaw flexed as he closed his eyes, letting her fingers stroke his cheek. He had to absorb the truth she was telling him. She was safe. Arioch was dead. She survived. Opening his eyes, he was relieved the image of Rachel in front of him was no longer spilling blood from her stomach, like she had when he stabbed her to kill the Watcher that invaded her body. Instead, she was real, warm. Her body was whole, clothed, and resting on him. It was a dream. Yet another dream about the goddamned farmhouse. They hadn't stopped since that afternoon, when he found her half naked and beaten, tied to a pole.
Realization washed over him—this Rachel knew nothing of the horrors she endured with Arioch, Vance, or Lucifer. It was a blessing she didn't. And if she never was restored, he would never tell her about it. She had untangled herself from a deadly web he'd forever be trapped in, and he wouldn't have it any other way.
"Why are you sleeping out here?" Rachel asked, bringing Sam's focus back to the present.
"I, uh, don't … really fit on the twin bed," he replied quietly.
Rachel swallowed down the lump that wanted to linger in her throat. Ask him, she tried to convince herself. Ask him to come to yours. Still, she couldn't. She clammed up, her hand lowering from his bearded cheek. "Yeah, I guess you wouldn't," she noted softly.
Sam looked her over, his brow wrinkled. "You okay? Are you feeling alright?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. I, uh … I woke up to use the bathroom, then heard you when I came out."
Nodding, he swallowed hard. "Ah."
She studied his eyes, seeing the thin veil covering his thoughts. "Want to talk about it?" she offered.
"No," he said gently. "But not because of you," he quickly clarified, seeing the twinge of hurt in her eyes. "I trust you implicitly. It's just something that …" Pausing, he sighed. "It was a memory of your life with us before. Something … something I'd rather take with me to the grave than to taint you with."
His admission made Rachel both nauseous and curious. Sam's nightmare was something that deeply affected him. And it was about her. She desperately wanted to know the contents, but respected his choice not to share. "I'm sorry," she said after a moment, feeling defeated. Not only was she responsible for the mess she made over the last few days, but for things that apparently were enough to scar Sam mentally. "I'm sorry that I-"
Sam reached to her and hooked her chin between his thumb and index finger, silencing her. He leaned in closer and gently tilted her head up, drinking in the sight of her eyes. "Listen to me," he instructed with tender firmness. "Stop apologizing. Right now. There's not a damn thing about what I dreamt that's your fault. Not a single one. So don't you dare blame yourself for anything. Even for the nightmare. Okay?"
"Okay," she replied, barely hearing herself over the wild thump of her heart.
Rachel expected Sam to left go of her chin. Instead, he kept hold of her, his gaze boring into her. He even seemed to move closer. The longer he studied her, the harder it became for her to feel at ease. She shifted on his lap, her lips parting at his tense silence. Seconds felt like hours, time passing through a sieve; she swore she'd go deaf from the assaulting drum of her pulse in her ears.
"You should rest," Sam finally said softly, his tongue snaking out to wet his lips. His hand dropped from her chin, as if he just realized what he was doing.
"You should too," Rachel countered, remaining on his lap. She was nearly fully on it; she shifted, her palm coming to rest instinctively on his chest as she steadied herself. Her fingers flexed over him, feeling the drumming of his heart. His body was so warm, so magnetic. Ask him, dammit.
She watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. Rachel's stomach tightened at his silence; it felt impossible to move backward off of him. She held her breath as he tucked some of her hair behind her ear, seeing the smile that wanted to form on his lips. As if he was fighting the need to lose himself in her safety, just like she was with his. "I'll be alright," he replied softly, smoothing the hair he combed to perfection.
"I'm worried about you," she admitted.
"Don't be," he urged back, still stroking her.
"I can't help it. You need good rest, and this can't be comfortable."
Rachel's lips parted as Sam threaded both hands through her hair, holding her head steady as he searched her eyes. "It's perfect right now," he replied, holding her gaze.
Oh fuck, Rachel thought. She held her breath as Sam sat up closer. He leaned in, his nose grazing hers as he cradled her head. His heated breath coasted over her skin. There was a definite pause; a pin dropping could've been heard. Neither moved for a long moment. "I lied," Sam finally whispered, his lips brushing hers. "You were more than just a friend."
Afraid to move, Rachel kept still in his hold and replied, "What was I?"
Sam smiled against her; it made heat blaze through her. "My everything."
With urgency, he trapped her lips, a heady groan rumbling in his throat. The ball of energy between them exploded into an undeniable white-hot fire. Sam kept Rachel close as they kissed, his grip possessive. She tasted so sweet, so achingly good. And he was starving for her.
Their union nearly took Rachel's breath away. She couldn't get enough of him, and it didn't seem like he wanted to ever stop. His hold, his hands, and his supple mouth were more than familiar. I was his, she repeated in her head, threading her fingers through his hair as she welcomed his mouth on hers. His everything. It felt more than right. It was right.
Sam's growing carnal power and control made Rachel temporarily stunned; her eyes rolled shut as she let Sam devour her lips, then her cheek and down to her jaw and neck. She clung to him as his hands roamed over her back and skimmed down her hips, his teeth scraping against her skin as he suckled her neck with a hungry growl.
With suddenness, Rachel pulled herself away a bit and cried out in pain. Sam yanked back, immediately panicked as he looked her over. "Rachel!" he urged, holding her as she squirmed and fought his hold, her eyes squeezed tightly shut. "What's wrong? Did I hurt you?!"
"No," she breathed.
Before she said anymore, she nearly screamed again. Sam's pulse shot through the roof. "Talk to me," he pleaded.
"It hurts!" she shuddered.
"What does?"
"My chest!" She yelped, trying to push Sam away. He kept a tight hold of her, afraid she would hurt herself further.
"Easy, baby girl," he urged, trying to soothe her, holding her arms down.
"I don't want to hurt you!" Rachel pleaded.
"You're not," Sam assured. "Don't hurt yourself. Just breathe. Tell me what it feels like."
Rachel swallowed hard, barely seeing him through her tears as she opened her eyes into small slants. "Like … someone is … ripping through my body," she managed.
Her soul, Sam concluded. Dean had said it was freed. It was trying to enter her being, but unable to because of the one already there. "Listen to me," he said, trying to maintain a calm voice, "I'm going to ask Castiel to bring you back to the bunker. He will be able to help you."
"You're …" Rachel strained against the searing tear she felt through her. "You're not coming?"
"I won't be far behind," he assured.
"Please," she begged, clinging to his arm, "please don't leave me."
"Baby, I need you to be safe," Sam urged, his heart breaking. "And you'll be safe with Castiel."
"What's happening to me?" Rachel asked, her eyes glassy with tears.
Sam drew in a breath. "Your original soul was recovered," he admitted. Her shock was more than evident. "It's trying to enter its host. You. But it can't, because-"
"Because my new one is there," she concluded.
"Castiel can block it if you don't want it back," Sam continued.
Before she could answer, Rachel screamed again, sobbing against the tear she felt ripping through her body. "Castiel!" Sam shouted, more than pained and desperate. "Cas! Please!" He kept her close, holding her as she fought against the pain. It felt like hours ticked by as he watched her struggle, more than helpless to fight what was hurting her. "I've got you," he whispered. "You're okay. You're going to be fine."
Castiel finally flashed into the cabin, trying to adjust to what he saw through the darkness of the room. Rachel looked wild, nearly feral, while Sam held her on his lap, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Help her," Sam begged, taking yet another swatted punch from Rachel.
"I can feel the energy," Castiel agreed. "Her soul is failing to re-enter."
"Put her to sleep!" Sam demanded as Rachel's cries pierced his ears.
"The soul won't be able to enter," Castiel countered.
"I don't care! She's in pain!"
Sam sighed in relief when Castiel touched two fingers to her forehead, supporting Rachel as she slumped against him. His breath came in pants, his heart still like a jackhammer in his chest. He pressed his face into her hair, shuddering as he drew in her scent, trying to calm himself.
Castiel took a breath. "It's gone. Or it's not trying to enter her, at least. Likely because she's asleep."
Sam looked up from Rachel's limp body lying against him to Castiel, who stood in front of the television he had forgotten was even on. "Wait, so, how does it work?"
"First, we need to remove her current soul," Castiel replied. "Then we can see if the old one re-routes itself."
"'We can see?'" Sam was livid. "What the hell do you mean, 'We can see?'"
"Sam," Castiel reasoned, "this isn't an exact science. I've never experienced this before with anyone. I'm assuming the soul won't rest until it finds her body again."
"An assumption isn't good enough!" Sam argued. "If we remove her soul, we essentially lose her for good if the old one doesn't return. And what if another angel captures it?! Then what?!"
"It's all we have," Castiel shot back. "But I do know she has to be awake to receive it."
Sam scoffed. "So, she has to experience agony?"
"Unfortunately."
Shutting his eyes, Sam kept Rachel close, hating the idea more and more with each passing moment. "I can't let her suffer," he said, shaking his head.
"She can't return to herself if you don't," Castiel argued. "We can bind her. So she doesn't flail."
"Bind her," Sam muttered. "Fucking perfect."
"Should I take her back to the bunker?"
Digging his fingers into her, Sam kept Rachel close. "Yeah, I guess." He pulled away from Castiel as the angel went to take her. "Just … Don't put her in the dungeon."
"It's safest down there," Castiel replied.
"Safest for who?" Sam eyed him. "No dungeon. Our room. Got it?"
Castiel nodded, approaching the couch. Sam hoisted Rachel up as he stood, shifting her body so he cradled her. With hesitance, he transferred her into Castiel's arms, pained as he watched him disappear.