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S14 E5 "Nightmare Logic" Weave
(I didn't write the ep; don't sue me-believe me, you won't get much.)

I only own the fill-in-the-blanks parts and my characters. Oh, and I might have named some unnamed people from the episodes, because it's easier that way. ;)

Rachel gasped and fought as the man dragged her to the side of the bar. "Let me go!" she demanded, trying to reach for her knife in her back pocket.

"Easy," the man said above her. He stopped, stilling her as he held her by her shoulders. "Rachel. What the hell are you doing in Kansas still?"

Rachel blinked, seeing Chris Douglas in front of her. Her lips parted. When Alex was losing his grip on werewolf management, she found a hunting contact who connected her with Chris. She met him once before, seeking advice about Alex during his second full moon shift. "Chris Douglas?"

"Yeah," he huffed, letting go of her. "So what the hell are you doing here?" he demanded.

"I …" She shook her head. How could she answer that? She barely knew what she was doing in Kansas.

"You still with the Winchesters?" Chris asked with a sneer.

"I … I am."

Shaking his head, Chris scoffed. "What the fuck happened to you, Rachel?" he asked, giving her a dirty look as she took a step back. "After what they did? You're still palling around with them?"

Rachel's brow wrinkled. "What they did?"

"Jesus," Chris spat. "You forget already? Wow. You're just as shitty as I thought." He sniffed, looking over his shoulder, approaching her and grabbing her arm. "So where are they, huh? Sam and Dean?"

Before she could answer, Ketch ripped Chris away from her. "Stay away from her," he warned, shoving Chris backward.

"Who the fuck is this twat?" Chris asked Rachel, glaring at Ketch.

"It's more like, who the hell are you?" Ketch shot back.

"An ex fuck buddy of hers," Chris smirked, seeing Ketch's surprise. "She's a good lay."

Rachel grabbed Ketch's arm before he could punch Chris. "Stop," she said, though her focus was on Chris. Her heart ricocheted off her chest. "What the hell do you mean, ex fuck buddy? I barely know you! You were someone I met with once for advice on Alex."

Chris flexed his jaw. "Wow. You really are delusional."

"She lost most of her of memories, you moron," Ketch sneered. "So she thankfully forgot you and whatever you want an answer for."

It was Chris' turn to look surprised. "Seriously?" He huffed. "Well, whatever. Then you tell me where the Winchesters are," he said to Ketch.

"That's none of your concern."

"The hell it isn't! I've got unfinished business with those sonsabitches!"

"I don't care. Now walk away," Ketch warned, keeping himself mostly in front of Rachel.

"You don't tell me what to do, prick," Chris shot back. "Where are they?"

"Last chance," Ketch said, remaining firm. "Leave."

Before Chris could lunge at Ketch, he was thrown backward by a wave of iridescent purple-blue power. The ripples grew as it blasted outward, the force of them flinging Chris several yards away on the gravel parking lot. He slid on impact, his back grinding across the stones with fury, skidding to a stop with a harsh thud. The wave washed over him, drawing upward and creating a huge burst in the sky, turning into a beam of piercing white light before it disappeared.

Immediately, Ketch turned and looked at Rachel, who looked just as shocked as he did. "I didn't do it!" she immediately said, panic spreading through her. She looked around, seeing no one else. They were alone. "I swear, it wasn't me."

"I believe you," Ketch assured quietly. He turned, looking back to Chris, who slowly stood, enraged as he stalked toward them.

"You little bitch!" he sneered. "I saw you on TV. You gonna kill me too? Fucking cop killing whore."

Ketch gave Rachel the car keys, shoving her back toward the parked car at the front of the bar. "Go, get in the car now," he ordered. "I'll meet you there." Rachel took the keys but hesitated as she saw Chris nearing. He looked crazed, his eyes fixed on her. "Go!" she heard Ketch shout, bringing her out of her shock.

She tore off toward the lot, her boots kicking up dust as she pounded over the gravel. Her hands shook as she neared the car, fumbling with the key at the lock until she successfully opened it. Slamming the door shut, she revved the engine to life. Ketch came into view, but it didn't stop her heart from racing or her body from quivering in fear. She hadn't felt the power that took Chris down run through her, but what else could the strike have been from? Ketch didn't have powers. It had to be from her. And I didn't even feel it. It was more than upsetting. She was right all along—she was as dangerous as she thought. As dangerous as everyone believed her to be.

Ketch jumped into the passenger's seat and Rachel ripped out of the lot onto the highway. "Are you alright?" he asked, catching his breath in between.

"Am I?!" She looked at him for a brief moment. "Are you?"

"I'm fine," he insisted.

"What did you do to him?"

"He's … taking a nap."

"Jesus Christ!" Her hands tightened around the wheel, tears forming at light speed. "I didn't even feel it!" she sobbed. "I could've killed him!"

"Breathe," Ketch insisted, her duress more than concerning as she narrowly missed clipping a car.

"And-And he saw me, and knows I'm here, and the police—"

"Just breathe, Rachel," Ketch insisted in a calming tone. "It'll be alright."

"How can you say that?!" Rachel demanded, tears falling down her cheeks. "I didn't even feel the power like I have before! If I can't even feel it, there's no way I can control it! And now he can tell the cops I'm here! And I put everyone in danger!"

"I need you to breathe, Rachel," Ketch urged, seeing how her skin had reddened with her blood pressure. "You're going to hurt yourself. Just relax for me, alright?"

Slowly, Rachel calmed her racing heart, focusing on the highway she drove down. Her headache only increased, her palms sweaty on the steering wheel. "I told Sam I didn't belong here," she said softly after a long pause of silence. Her voice was broken, her stomach sick.

"You do," Ketch replied.

"I can't possibly," she argued, though the hysterical fight she once had seemed long gone. It was replaced by utter defeat. Devastation. Guilt. "I can't belong here."

"Rachel—"

"Please," she interrupted, her tone a bit sharper. Then it softened. "Please don't. If you want to be a friend, then just … don't."

Ketch remained silent, contemplating whether he should say what came to mind. Then he dared to speak. "There are ways to re-route the brain, you know," he said quietly a few moments later. Rachel glanced over at him, then refocused on the road. "Though it was never done with a nephilim, the Men Of Letters have been able to reprogram individuals' mindsets through methodical manipulation."

"Brainwashing," Rachel spat. "Just say brainwashing."

"Fine," Ketch replied. "Call it brainwashing, but those who received the treatments were turned from incapable civilians to extremely talented warriors. Perhaps the reverse could be done on you."

Rachel flexed her hands over the steering wheel. Between feeling out of control and the terrible ache in her head, she was certain that any possibility of making her a normal person again was worth consideration. "I'm listening."

Studying her profile, Ketch continued. "It's a long shot, but repeated treatments to the particular center of the brain that triggers the fight or flight response may disable the 'fight' mechanism in you."

"Mine is supernatural," she argued. "Inherent."

"We've all a bit of inherent killer in us as humans. Perhaps this will be enough for you to better control the power."

It sounded more than risky, and pretty impossible. Still, the idea of hurting more people wasn't something she could bear. "How is it done?"

"The means isn't something I'd be able to access here. It would require sophisticated, exclusive technology."

"Where is it?"

"London."

Rachel swallowed, not daring to look at him. London. He wanted me to go to London before all this. "Is this just a ploy?"

"Why would it be?" Ketch asked, confused.

"You asked me to go with you to London before all of this."

With a nod, Ketch replied, "I did. However, this is entirely for your own safety, since you're concerned. I'm merely offering what I have."

"I'm not concerned about me," she corrected. "I'm concerned about everyone else. So how does going to London change that?"

"You'd be able to be treated."

Rachel paused, thinking everything over. Her mind seemed to fly at a mile a minute. "How would I get there? The police are looking for me, and I don't have a passport."

Ketch shifted a little in his seat. "I've a few connections who could manage those details. All you would need is a bag and an open mind."

Rachel kept her eyes fixed on the road as she thought. Ketch was suggesting leaving the country to be brainwashed by an acquaintance with equipment made by known killers in the hopes she would maybe better control her powers. It was ridiculous. Insane. Outrageous, even. Yet, it was the last card to play, aside from sitting in the bunker for the remainder of her life so she wouldn't potentially kill someone else.

Tears formed in her eyes. Why they were there, she wasn't sure. A part of her seemed to be screaming out how she shouldn't consider it, while another begged her to do anything possible to extract the curse living in her.

Wetting her lips, Rachel looked over at Ketch. "Okay," she whispered. "I'll go."

Sam and Dean agreed to drive straight back to Kansas, more than eager to get Maggie back after they found her. Sam rested against the passenger seat, trying to formulate the right way to tell Rachel the truth. The early morning light washed over him, reminding him of their kiss in the cabin. He shut his eyes, drawing in a breath. He was dying to taste her, to feel her in his arms. It had been a month since he really had her, and it felt like an eternity.

"Sam," Dean barked, drawing Sam from his daydream. He looked at his brother. "You gonna answer your phone, or just let it annoy us?"

Sam looked down, a bit confused. He was so lost in thought that he hadn't heard it. He took his phone off the charger connected to the Impala Dean reluctantly let him install. It was Tom, and the fourth call in a row that morning. "Hey," he said softly when he answered the phone.

"Chief," Tom said softly, sounding like he regretted making the call.

Sam sat up a little, tensing. "What's wrong?"

"How far away are you from the bunker?"

"A few hours. Why?"

Tom sighed. "Remember those demons?" He studied the tracker on the screen in front of him as he held the phone to his ear. "They're back."

"They're back?"

"Yep. Looks like they're congregating toward the bunker."

Sam tightened his jaw. "Where are Robbie and Rachel?"

"Here."

"Keep them inside, no matter what," Sam ordered; gaining Dean's attention.

"Yes, sir." Tom swallowed. "Chief, it seems like the uptick happened overnight. Like some kind of signal went off and drew them in."

Drawing in a deep breath, Sam nodded. "Tell everyone to get as much prep done as you can. We'll be there soon." He hung up, seeing Dean's worried look. "Demons," he murmured, his chest clenching at the idea of not being near Rachel and Robbie. "They, uh, seemed to have found a spike in activity that drew them closer."

"Shit," Dean growled. "You think it's Michael?"

"I don't know. Even if it was, though, he'd be able to kick their asses. Doesn't add up."

"Well, Rach and Robbie have been in the bunker, so nothing else is signaling right now."

"Maybe Cas?"

"In Sarasota."

Sam ran a hand through his hair. "Whatever it is, I need to get back." He pressed his lips together, his pulse racing. "Now."

When they arrived home, Sam watched as Maggie reunited with the younger hunters, her friends embracing her with excitement and relief. His burden was more than evident on his face. "You did this," Dean reminded him, hoping to ease his stress. "You got her home."

"Yeah," Sam replied. Giving his brother a brief smile, he took off his jacket and met Tom's eyes as the hunter approached. "What does it look like?" he asked him.

"They're still trekking in," Tom said. He nodded his head to the readied supplies the crew had been working on that waited on the maps table. "The kids got pretty much everything together."

"Good." Sam smiled a little. "Thanks for covering things."

"Robbie's sleeping," Julie said as she stepped forward. She sighed. "He insisted on training, once he read our minds about the demons."

Concern spread over Sam's face. "Is he okay?"

"He's fine," Julie assured. "Just tired."

Sam exhaled in a bit of relief. "Thank you for watching him." He glanced around. "Is, uh, Rachel around?"

He saw the way Julie stiffened a little at the mention of her. "Last I heard, she was in the library." Julie leaned forward a little, peeking into the next room. "But it doesn't look like she's there now."

"Thanks," Sam replied, shifting away from the others as he made his way to the library. He was worried when he found Julie was right—Rachel wasn't anywhere to be immediately seen. His heart raced as he thought about the impending danger she and Robbie were in. So long as they stayed close to the bunker, they would be okay. There were enough hunters to fight them, since a few teams were already back from their expeditions.

As he approached the kitchen, he paused. He sniffed the air, his stomach immediately responding with a hungry rumble. With a growing smile, he continued to the kitchen. He paused in the threshold, watching Rachel for a moment as she worked on something he couldn't see. His brow arched as he looked at the array of food on the long table—a vat of stew, two loaves of bread, three pies, and a pile of muffins.

"Ow," Rachel muttered, bringing his attention back to her. She stuck her finger in her mouth, sighing. "Dammit."

"You okay?" Sam asked, moving quickly toward her.

Rachel whirled around, eyes wide as she jumped with a gasp, ripping her finger from her mouth. "Jesus, Sam!" she hissed; she closed her eyes, trying to calm her racing pulse.

"Sorry," Sam immediately apologized, wincing. "Didn't mean to scare you." He bridged the gap, taking her hand she had wounded. "That's pretty deep," he said softly, leading her to the table.

"But the potatoes—"

"Sit," he said, gently pushing her down into a seat on the bench. He slid the bread in front of her over, giving himself space to set the first aid kid down on. Opening it, he soaked a cotton ball with peroxide. "Been busy, I see," he said, taking her hand again.

Rachel braced herself, silently wincing as he disinfected the slice in her index finger. "Couldn't sleep," she admitted.

Sam examined the cut. "Well, your insomnia smells amazing. And this might need a stitch."

"It's a nick. Just stick a bandaid on it."

Sam smirked, taking her other hand as he pressed a clean pad to her finger. "Hold that here," he instructed.

"Seriously," Rachel urged, meeting his eyes. "I'm okay."

Examining her, Sam withdrew medical tape from the kit. "You don't look okay," he noted softly as he tore off a piece and wrapped it over the cotton she had kept pressed over her wound.

Rachel flicked her gaze to the table. "Just tired."

"That's not what I'm talking about." Sam finished securing the bandage, but kept hold of her hand. "What's wrong?"

Moving her focus to their joined hands, Rachel exhaled in defeat. "You were wrong about me," she managed. "I … I could've killed him."

Sam's brow wrinkled. "Who?"

"Chris."

"Our hunter?"

"No, at the bar. When I was with Arthur."

Nostrils flaring, Sam grit his teeth together. Ketch had taken her out. It wasn't that she had left the bunker that made him pissed, but that Ketch had been slimy enough to try and whisk her away while he was gone. "Chris was a contact of mine," Rachel continued. "When Alex got out of hand, I sought advice, and he was the one who sold me the silver bullets. He cornered me outside of the bar."

Sam gently tipped her chin up with his free hand. There was a lingering puffy redness to her eyes. "What happened? Did he hurt you?"

"No. He … He wanted to know where you and Dean were," she replied softly, unable to avoid his gaze. "He said he had unfinished business with you because of someone named Vance." Rachel shook her head. "He saw me on TV. He knows I'm here in Kansas, and can tell the police. I'm so sorry."

"Shh," Sam urged, stroking her cheek with his thumb. The very mention of Vance made him crazy. "Don't worry about that. We will handle it."

"It's why the demons are here, Sam," Rachel argued, mad at herself. She winced, her eyes squeezing shut as she cowered inward a little from a searing jolt of pain. The headache she developed the night before hadn't left—it only seemed to intensify. She had desperately tried to keep busy to ignore it, but Sam forcing her to be still seemed to stir it back up.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked, immediately feeling panicked. He cupped her cheek, eyes wide as she failed to respond. "Sweetheart, what's going on?"

"My head," she said, barely above a whisper. "It's killing me."

"When did it start?"

Rachel relaxed a little as the wave of pain subsided. She opened her eyes, finding a very concerned Sam close to her, his breath hot over her cheek. "Last night. At the bar."

Sam brushed away the gentle wisps of hair lingering near her eyes. "What brought it on?"

"A … A memory, I think." Rachel gripped his arm, trying to pull it from her face. He resisted. "Sam, I'm not safe," she pleaded, more than exhausted from fear and pain.

"You're fine," he assured. "I'm not going anywhere." He continued to stroke her. "Tell me about the memory."

Rachel swallowed, keeping her grip on his arm. His warm skin felt amazing under her fingertips. "It was about you and me, in a bar. Playing darts."

Sam smiled softly. "I remember that," he whispered. He raked her hair from her face, seeing how she soaked in the affection. "You're still my prize, you know."

"I can't be," Rachel whispered sadly, letting go of his arm and standing, Sam following suit. She back away a bit, the recollection terrifying her. "I-I threw Chris across a parking lot and didn't even feel it!"

Sam's brow wrinkled a tiny bit, trying to swallow back his fear. "You didn't feel it?"

"No," Rachel replied meekly. She shook her head. "I could've killed him. He was … He was angry, but—"

"So you were defending yourself," he concluded.

"I didn't have control! I'm dangerous and—"

"Stop," Sam said with a sharpness that surprised Rachel. He moved to her and cupped her cheeks. She felt small in his hold, his palms enormous against her face. "You listen to me," he whispered, his pulse wild as he repeated the information she gave him over in his mind. "You are not dangerous. You were defending yourself."

"Then why didn't I feel it?"

Sam didn't reply right away. Instead, he looked a bit over his shoulder, still holding her. "Cas," he called out, hopeful the angel could hear him. "Cas, I'm sorry. I know you're in Sarasota, but—"

Castiel's and Jack's sudden presence startled both of them. "Shit," Rachel shuddered under her breath. Sam couldn't help but smile a tiny bit at the familiarity of her reaction.

Lowering his hands from her face, Sam took Rachel's hand into his own as they faced them. "Hey Cas," he said, exhaling. "Jack. Uh, sorry to call you back, but—"

"Sarasota was a dead end," Castiel sighed. "We were headed back soon anyway."

"Is Maggie back?" Jack asked eagerly.

Sam nodded in the direction of the maps room. "She's in the maps room."

As Jack darted out of the kitchen, Castiel focused on the couple. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Can you heal her head and her finger?" Sam asked, keeping a tight grip on Rachel's non-injured hand.

"What happened?"

"She has a massive headache," Sam replied softly, catching Castiel's arched brow.

"A headache?" Castiel asked incredulously.

"Yeah," Rachel replied. "It started after this memory I had."

Castiel lifted his chin as he studied Rachel for a prolonged moment. He stiffened a little, shifting his bodyweight with a bit of evident discomfort. "I see."

"And she cut herself peeling a potato," Sam added, meeting the angel's eyes. The two shared a look, each with their own apprehension.

With a nod, Castiel reached out and touched two fingers to Rachel's forehead. He kept the connection for several long moments; Sam watched the sense of relief that flooded over Rachel as the pain left her, her eyes shut. He caught Castiel's surprised look as he focused on the angel. Nothing was said between them, but it was still far enough of a message for Sam. And it wasn't one he wanted to receive.

Turning back to Rachel, Sam reached out and stroked her cheek. Her eyes fluttered open. "How do you feel?" he asked gently.

"Better," she sighed, leaning into his touch. She stifled a yawn. Sam's presence seemed to relax her. She drew in comfort from his tender touch, hating the secret she harbored.

"You tired?" Sam asked.

Rachel nodded. "I didn't really sleep last night."

"Come on," Sam encouraged, lowering his hand from her face. He kept his grip on her with the other, leading her forward. "Let's get you in bed."

Sam quietly passed by Castiel as he led Rachel out of the kitchen. Castiel followed the couple to the bedroom halls, stopping in front of the guest room Rachel was using. He lingered back a bit, trying to give them space.

Drawing her close, Sam ran his thumb over her hand as he held it. "Get some rest," he urged.

"But—"

"You need it."

Rachel's stomach sank as she searched his eyes. "Can we … Can we talk later?" she dared to ask, on edge as she waited for his reply.

"Sure," Sam murmured. Her nerves confused him and excited him all at once. She seemed eager but hesitant at the same time. Was she ready to let him close again? The reminder of an impending demon attack flitted through his mind, making him a bit less optimistic. "Sleep," he urged, giving her hand a firm squeeze and backing away from her as he let it go.

Rachel watched him return down the hall, then twisted her door open with a sigh. Her bag was neatly packed, everything she owned in a waiting pile next to the entryway. How could she possibly tell him what her plan was? How could she sell it to him when she didn't even fully believe it herself?

As Sam made his way toward the maps room, Castiel stopped him. "Sam," he said, an urgency in his voice despite his low tone, "we need to talk."

"Later," Sam said, moving past the angel.

"Sam—"

"Later," he repeated, his tone harsh. He kept moving, pushing forward. He had to, knowing what he now knew. Otherwise, he would drown to death in his own fear.

Sam stared at a stack of papers that accumulated in the maps room, trying to distract himself. He was far too wound up, unable to rest. There was far too much swirling through his brain. The content of the letters he read didn't really matter, though for some reason, he leaned on the printed words, trying to digest them in earnest.

Dean came up from the lower level, carrying two beers. He approached Sam, noting how his brother didn't move his focus. "Well, I talked to Maggie," he said, gaining Sam's attention. "She said she's ready to get back in the saddle." He handed Sam a beer.

Sam set down the paper he was attempting to read, taking the beer. "Really?"

Dean shrugged. "Well, she learned from the best, huh?"

Sam flashed him a smile, trying to let the praise sink in. Mary and Bobby coming up the stairs grabbed his attention. Bobby was wearing a sling; Mary looked hesitant. "Boys," Mary said, sighing. "We, uh … we need to talk."

Twenty minutes later, Sam was propped on the edge of a panel, his phone to his ear. "Yeah, thank you again. Bye." He hung up, straightening as Dean, Mary, and Bobby came into the room. "Okay, so the key is under the garden gnome," he said to Mary with a chuckle.

"And you're sure she doesn't mind?" Mary asked.

"Donna said her cabin is your cabin. Take as much time as you need."

"Sam," Bobby said, gaining Sam's attention. Bobby gestured for him to follow him; Sam reluctantly followed, readying himself to be chewed out. He had purposely kept Rachel's latest struggle quiet from everyone but Dean and Castiel, but he wasn't sure if it even mattered to the weathered hunter. When they were separated, Bobby began, "Those things I said before—"

Sam held his hand up, trying to wave it all off. "Bobby, forget about it—"

"No, no," Bobby insisted. He sighed. "This job is no picnic. I don't know if I ever really had it in me. But you do." Sam looked up, meeting his eyes. "And … And I know things are nutty for your, uh, relationship, but … you'll do what's best for everyone, no matter what."

Sam managed a smile in appreciation. He didn't quite believe him, though. Not with the demons in his head telling him how he failed yet again.

A while later, both Sam and Dean hung up their phones in the kitchen. Sam sighed heavily, their latest discovery of super powered monsters trapping hunters just another added ache in his body. "Okay, that's everybody," he said.

"Traps for hunters," Dean muttered, going to the fridge and withdrawing a beer. "Friggin' awesome."

"Dean—"

"I know, I know." Dean opened the bottle. "Not my fault. It's Michael. It's all Michael." He scoffed. "You know, I've been trying to … not forget, but move on … from what I … from what we … from what he did. And I've got to be honest, I was almost starting to feel like myself again." He shook his head. "Almost."

As Dean walked away, Sam stopped him. "So we'll work harder," he insisted.

"How, Sam?" Dean asked, facing him. "You get like three hours of sleep a night."

"Alright, so … then I'll sleep two." Sam held Dean's gaze. "Dean, we're going to find Michael. And when we do, we will kill him."

Dean shook his head. "How?"

"I-I don't know," Sam admitted. "We'll track down Dark Kaia and her spear. We'll find something."

Dean nodded, still not convinced. "I hope you're right." He looked his brother over. "So, what's going on?" he asked.

Sam shook his head. "What do you mean?"

"There's something you're not saying."

Sam swallowed. "I'm … just tired," he said with a laugh.

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Rach okay?"

"Yeah, she's, uh … she's sleeping."

"Cas heal her?"

"Yeah."

"What did she remember?"

Sam hesitated. "A, uh, part of the night before she was taken by Arioch."

Dean's brows raised. "And she's okay?"

"It was a good moment," Sam assured.

"But it scared her," Dean said, waiting for an explanation.

Drawing in a breath, Sam sighed. "Her power did. She, uh, just … just got too much in her own head."

Dean nodded slowly. "You should get some rest."

Sam smiled briefly. It felt more than awkward. "Yeah. I will."

Studying him for a long moment, Dean took a drink of his beer. He was not at all convinced that things were fine. There were details Sam left out. He knew it. "G'night, Sammy," he said, leaving the kitchen.

Sam watched him leave, shutting his eyes as his brother went out of view. Castiel flapped in, exhaling as he approached Sam. "We need to talk," he said softly.

Gritting his molars together, Sam kept his eyes shut. "I …" Sam sighed, his fingers digging into his temples. "I can't do this now, Cas."

"You don't have a choice, Sam," Castiel argued.

Sam opened his eyes, staring at the floor. His hand fell to his side with an unceremonious flop. "Tell me it isn't true," he begged, his face creased in burden. "Please."

Castiel was more than pained at Sam's fear. "I'm sorry, Sam."

Silence lingered between them for a long moment. Sam swiped a hand over his face. A tear dripped onto his cheek as he briefly made eye contact with Castiel. "Yeah," he said softly. "Me too."

"Dean should know," Castiel said, taking a step forward.

"No one knows right now," Sam warned, his tone inky. "You. Me. That's it."

"How long do you think that will last with Robbie around?" Castiel pressed his lips together. "Be reasonable, Sam."

"I've got a fleet of demons coming, and Michael probably has Rachel's soul. I can't put this on my plate right now. Not in public."

"Sam—"

"I said no, Cas!" Sam shouted. His eyes watered, his hand tightening into a fist at his side. "Not now."

"Then when?" Castiel challenged.

Sam's voice softened. "When … When we are done with the demons."

Castiel was silent for a long moment. "Sam, there is still hope," he said carefully.

Nodding, Sam left the kitchen. He wasn't as convinced as the angel was. He couldn't afford to be. He had to be ready, prepared. He had to make sure every base was covered, every possibility taken into consideration and planned for.

And he had to do it all through an impending war with the angel who held his fiancée's soul.