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Rachel burst from her sleep from yet another haunting dream. As she was so many nights before, she was helpless to watch the officer at the roadblock fly into the trunk of a tree at a frightening speed. His head smacked against the bark, blood painting his body as it hit the ground with a lifeless thud.
Her heart racing, she searched the darkness of her room. She tapped her phone, surprised at the hour. She had slept far longer than she wanted to. Now, though, she was far too mentally burdened to sleep.
Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she stood. She didn't have a plan, but she knew the remainder of the bunker was far more interesting to pass time in than her room.
After snagging her cardigan, Rachel slipped it on over her knit pajama pants and tank top and moved down the hall quietly, minding the noise she made. It was well after midnight, and there was an eerie silence to the bunker. She knew a small team was on the night shift in the lower levels, keeping an eye on the trackers. Still, at that moment, she felt painfully alone.
People had shunned her after what had happened in Missouri, and she couldn't blame them. When Sam began to distance himself, though, it hurt. It was her fault, really. She pushed him away weeks ago, when he begged her to stay. She told him they wouldn't work, that she couldn't be with him. Yet, all she could think of was the powerful security of his arms, and the way he cradled her body to himself for hours in the church basement. She swore she could feel his lips on her skin and hear his tender words of affection at times, ghostly reminders of the spark he lit within that made her shiver.
Tugging her sweater tightly over herself, Rachel forced her mind to abandon the tempting thoughts of Sam's comfort. Though she now stood in the library, she knew he was only a hallway away from him. She could go and use the excuse that they never spoke, like she wanted to. No. What she had to say wasn't a conversation to be had at midnight. Once Sam learned her plan to go to London, he would likely burst.
It was no secret to Rachel that Sam hated Ketch, nor was she blind to how territorial he got when the three of them occupied space together. Sam would puff up his chest and shoot daggers with his eyes at Ketch, who seemed to thoroughly enjoy pissing Sam off with a smug smirk in reply. There was no doubt in her mind that the two had some horrible history with each other regarding her. What it was, she didn't know. But it would likely only take her telling Sam she was leaving to find out.
Rachel took a book from one of the many shelves and sat with a sigh at the first desk. A gentle yellow light from dim sconces cast a mild glow—enough for her to see the pages as she flipped through them. She hadn't even bothered to read the spine title of the book she selected. Deep down, she hoped to have picked the most boring subject imaginable so the drone of information would relax her brain.
Instead, she quickly realized it wouldn't work. Despite her best efforts, Rachel couldn't stop seeing the bloody officer, or the faces of those who saw her and labeled her as a monster. She couldn't drown out August's words, or the way he choked on his own blood as he died behind her. She couldn't erase Sam's hungry kiss from her mouth, or the feeling of his hands on her body as he pressed her to himself with possessiveness.
Rachel slammed the book shut, glancing in the direction of the first hall, where Sam was. Her eyes shut, she exhaled in defeat. The only remedy was sharing her fears with someone, and she wanted him to be the one to comfort her. It was selfish, though. He needs to take care of Robbie. Not you. Reality hurt. Tears welled in her eyes as she stood, abandoning the book on the desk as she headed down the corridor to the bedroom halls.
When Rachel came to the fork in her path, she stopped, her feet suddenly lead weights. He was only a few steps away. It would be easy to go to him, to knock on his door. Shaking her head to herself, she turned right instead, heading for her own room.
"Rachel," came his voice in a whisper behind her a few moments later.
She froze, her breath caught in her throat as she turned. There wasn't enough light to see Sam's whole face, but there was more than enough to see the burning intensity of his eyes. "You okay?" he asked gently, approaching her.
Rachel nodded, taking him in. He was in a pair of sweatpants and a tee shirt, his feet bare. His hair looked like a mess, fluffy in parts and flattened in others. Was he having a hard time sleeping too? "Just … couldn't sleep. I tried a book, but it didn't work to get rid of the …" Rachel stopped, realizing her revelation had immediately concerned him, even without the full sentence.
"Nightmares," Sam concluded softly. He looked more empathetic than she knew was possible. "Me too."
"I'm sorry," Rachel said with sadness, hating how his mind was so tormented. And that was only the little slice she knew about.
"I'm sorry for you too," he offered.
Neither spoke, each focusing elsewhere. "Come with me," Sam said a few moments later. Rachel's eyes met his. "If you want to," he clarified with a bit of realization after hearing how he sounded. "I just thought we could talk, like you wanted to earlier."
Rachel's throat seemed to dry out. She looked at the hand he extended, admiring his patience through her awkward silence. Choosing not to reply with words, she crossed to him and took his hand. The contact nearly made gooseflesh sprout over her arms. His skin was so warm, his grip so sure. She let him lead her to his room, walking in first as he held the door open for her. Keeping her back to him, she listened to him shut it with a quiet click. Her heart raced, her palms growing sweaty. He had nightmares he was already plagued with. How could she tell him what she needed to without him getting more upset?
Sam came to her side; he gestured to the mattress. They sat at the same time, Rachel's body markedly tense. "Talk to me," he urged.
She looked at him, realizing he was far closer than he had been to her in several weeks. "I don't know if this is a good time," she admitted.
"I've got nothing but time for you," Sam assured in a gentle voice. The corners of his mouth quirked up a little as he brushed some hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear.
"Sam," Rachel murmured, her eyes shutting as she drank in his touch. His fingers traced gently over her skin, following the outline of her jaw, then the curve of her cheeks. "I can't." He paused, his hand freezing. She reopened her eyes, sad as she looked into his. "I can't … Not after what I tell you."
Sam's brow wrinkled, his hand slowly lowering. "What do you mean?"
Drawing in a deep breath, Rachel mustered up as much courage as she could find. "I'm leaving," she whispered.
His lips parted. "What?"
"I'm leaving. With … With Arthur."
Rachel held her breath as she watched Sam's reaction. He instantly looked gutted. His jaw ticked from how he clenched his teeth. An evident rage that had grown molten hot at light speed bubbled just under the surface, his eyes turning steely. She knew his anger wasn't aimed directly at her, but she couldn't help but feel intimidated by it.
Sam loathed the way she used his first name, and the way Ketch snaked his way into her head. "Why?" he demanded, aware of the harshness in his tone but not caring about it.
Rachel's lips parted. "He … He said—"
"What did he say to you?" Sam snagged her hand.
She swallowed hard. His grip was nearly lethal. She knew deep down Sam would never hurt her, but it didn't stop her from being intimidated by his burly presence. "He said that … there's a way to hone my power. Using shock therapy. With machines the Men Of Letters used. … In London."
Sam scoffed. "That son of a bitch."
"It might help," Rachel argued softly.
"It might help him," Sam corrected, taking her free hand. He kept her drawn close to himself, his eyes boring into hers. "Sweetheart, listen to me: Ketch doesn't give a fuck about helping you. That I can promise you."
"But if the shock therapy can help—"
"No," Sam snapped, his heart clenching. "I know you're scared, but this isn't the answer."
"Then what is?" Rachel asked, exhausted, bewildered. She sighed as she pulled her hands from his, more than frustrated. "Sam, I can't stay in this bunker forever. I … I thought I could, but I can't. But if I do leave and I can't control my power … I don't want to hurt people."
"I know you don't," he assured gently. "But you need to understand that very little of what the Men Of Letters in London have done is ethical for hunters." Sam's jaw flexed as he thought about his torture from Toni Bevall. "If they knew you were a nephilim too? They'd only want to dissect you and then destroy you."
"Then why is Arthur here?" she challenged. "If what he's associated with is so evil, why are you associated with him?"
Sam wet his lips as he searched Rachel's eyes. "There's far too much from the past that you don't remember for it to make sense," he replied softly. "You need to trust me on this—what he's offering isn't for your gain."
Rachel stared at him for a few moments, wrestling with the empty answers he gave her. "That's not good enough," she said in an equal tone. Her dismissal clearly surprised him. "I need answers, Sam. I need to know why he's here."
Words left Sam momentarily. How could he explain Ketch's involvement in it all? Initially, he delivered Gabriel to him and Dean. Then, he helped Rachel with Lucifer. Then he watched her and Robbie. On the outside, what he did seemed like help. "Initially, he helped," Sam began softly. "But only to receive what he wanted in return," he clarified. "He's always had a motive, and all he's doing is taking advantage of your memory loss." Sam's chest rose and fell with his ragged breaths, his pulse racing as he saw the look of resistance in Rachel's eyes.
Rachel stood, shaking her head a little. "So you're essentially saying you're jealous, and that's a good enough reason for me to live in hiding for the rest of my life?"
Sam rose to his feet immediately after. "No," he replied firmly. "What I'm trying to say is, he doesn't have your best interest at heart."
"And you do."
"Yes." He stepped to her, hating how she shied away. "Rachel, I care for you. I'd do anything for you. Him?" He jabbed his finger toward the hall where Ketch's room was. "All that slimy son of a bitch cares about is himself."
"And how would making me safer for the entire freaking world be selfish?"
"Because that's not his motive."
"Then what is?"
Sam's nostrils flared, disgusted as he remembered Ketch's insinuations about being intimate with Rachel from their fist fight. "You. Getting close to you."
"Getting 'close' to me? What's that supposed to mean?"
Wetting his lips, Sam examined her eyes. "He wants to bed you."
Rachel scoffed, more than stunned at Sam's reasoning. "What?! Please. That's ridiculous."
"I'm dead serious," Sam insisted, taking her hands. He kept his grip despite her slight resistance. "Ever since the day he met you, he's been fixated on you. Obsessed. You're a chase for him, and he feeds off of it. That man doesn't care about helping you. He's creating an opportunity." He moved in closer, cutting her off before she could object. "Sweetheart, I know you. You want so badly to feel like others are safe around you. And he's taking advantage of that." His mind was whirling, Rachel's plan to leave joining the chaos of Castiel's truth and the impending demon attack. "Stay," he urged, drinking in the feel of her skin. "I will help you. Right here. No motives, other than to keep you safe."
Rachel was silent for a long moment, hating how badly she wanted to bury herself in his embrace. Something deep within told her to trust his judgment. Still, she couldn't help but feel like Sam just wanted to keep her locked away for himself. Maybe he did. Maybe he was scared of losing her. Did that mean he still cared, like he confessed to at the cabin? "You already have enough on your plate," she whispered sadly, trying to back away. He wouldn't let her. "Sam, you need to focus on your son. I can't stand in the way of that."
"You're not," Sam insisted eagerly.
"But Robbie—"
"Robbie needs his mother," Sam countered. His blood instantly ran cold as he watched Rachel's lips part in shock. He hadn't meant to slip, but his mind was so skewed that it came right out.
Rachel paled; she examined Sam, horrified. "What did you say?" she gasped, a quiver to her voice.
Sam was pained as he saw her terror. "I said … Robbie needs his mother. Which is … you."
Blinding white light struck Rachel's temples with no mercy. She gasped, her eyes shutting as she tried to fight the searing pain it caused. Sam faded into the background, his voice disappearing despite his fevered pleas.
When she reopened her eyes, she was lying in bed. Sam was beside her, kneeling down to her level and blotting her sweaty forehead with a towel. Several others were around her, each consumed with their own tasks to help ease the burden of her labor.
A contraction rolled through her body, assaulting it with its unnatural power against her womb. She must have been pushing for an hour at least. Yet, she couldn't stop. She wouldn't. Despite the unfair advantage the child in her womb had, she would fight to the literal death to deliver him.
Her face creased with each push that followed, wrinkling her nose. Sam watched her in awe. "You're amazing," he whispered into her ear as she rested for a moment. She didn't audibly reply, just searched Sam's eyes for a moment before Mary coached her through yet another push. "You're mine. And I love you so much. You're going to be fine."
She swallowed, panting as she listened. "Sam …"
"Mine," he repeated. "Always. You're not alone. I'm right here."
Screaming through another monstrous push, the world around her became a blur to her. She heard Sam whispering love into her ear, the chaos of those around her, the ringing of Castiel's and Jack's attempts at healing her, and Mary's demands at the foot of the bed. She saw Dean's round, green eyes, Bobby's wiry beard, Jack's creased brow, and the white fill her eyes more with each push. Her heart palpitated, alternating between racing and slowing, each time leaning more to each extreme. Her vision was murky, light fading ever so slowly as their voices piled into one big mess of sound.
"Push!" Mary shouted.
Sam kissed her damp cheek. "I love you."
"He's resisting me!" Castiel growled.
"Me as well," Jack added.
"Rach!" Dean called out, desperate. "She's slipping!"
"No!" Sam pleaded. "Fuck! No! Heal her now!"
"I can't," Castiel stammered.
"I'm trying, but Robbie is fighting me!" Jack quivered.
"We need to get the baby out now!" Mary ordered.
"Use as much of your juice as you can," Bobby demanded of the angels.
With a gasp, her eyes flashed open. "Oh God," Sam breathed, agonized as he saw how pale she was. "Baby girl, please. Please hold on. Just a little more. You can do it. You'll be fine."
She couldn't do it, though. She knew the next push would free Robbie enough for Mary, but kill her. Leaning her head to the side, she looked at Sam with as much of a smile as she could. "I love you," she whispered, her cheeks wet from tears.
Sam gripped her hand tighter, devastated as he searched her eyes. "Marry me," he whispered back.
"What?" she asked, surprised.
"Marry me."
"Sam, I'm dying."
"No, you're not. Marry me," he repeated with gentle firmness.
Lips parted, she nodded. Her response was barely audible. "Yes."
Sam covered her mouth with his own, his body racking with sobs as he tasted her. She felt the contraction come, but delayed the push, indulging in one last kiss with Sam. "Take care of him," she whispered against his mouth as they parted.
"You're not going anywhere," he argued, stroking her hair from her face. It was midnight silk between his fingers.
"Sam, promise me."
"Rachel—"
"He's a good boy," she continued as firmly. "He's good like his daddy."
"No," Sam said, sniffing back as many tears as he could as he stroked her cheek. "He's perfect, like his mommy."
Somewhere in the haze, she could hear Mary's urgings, her pleas to push Robbie out so he didn't die. "I love you, Sammy," she said, searching his hazel eyes.
"I love you. You're mine, baby girl. Always and forever mine."
She smiled. "Yes, sir."
Before he could speak, she grimaced and pushed with everything she had, nothing left to give but her life.
Rachel slowly blinked, the white veil of light fading away to reveal Sam's agonized face. She nearly looked through him as she stared down at his tee shirt, her stomach sick. Not only was she Robbie's mother, but Sam's fiancée. The one he lost. The one he loved.
Rachel sucked in a breath of air, her pulse racing. A tremble ran through her entire being, gooseflesh covering her forearms. After a moment, she heard Sam's desperate pleas, focusing on his face. His tan skin glowed in the yellow light of his bedside lamp, the flecks of amber, green, and gold in his eyes nearly shimmering. Every detail about him seemed as if it was in extreme clarity. Her senses felt on overdrive, picking up on tiny sounds she never noticed, like the bob of Sam's Adam's apple as he swallowed. She felt the scrape of the calluses on his hands as he gripped hers. She smelled the aged leather of his desk chair, and the residue of salt from his hunting bag. She even caught some notes of lavender in the mix. Each decibel of his baritone voice rang with sharpness and clarity that pierced her ears. She was nearly certain that if she kissed him, she'd taste the coffee he had that morning over eighteen hours ago on his lips.
"Rachel," Sam begged, more than desperate to hear her voice. "Please. Say something."
Rachel blinked a few more times, her lip quivering. The overwhelming sensations lessened a bit, allowing her to concentrate on his words. "I remember," she whispered. "I mean, I … I think I just got that memory back. And my grace … feels … stronger."
Sam let go of his breath he had been holding. He squeezed her hands. "What do you remember?"
"Robbie's labor. And you … proposing." Rachel swallowed hard. "Why didn't you tell me?" she asked, clearly confused and even a bit hurt.
"I was afraid you would run," Sam whispered back, stroking her skin. "You've been so scared to hurt people. I didn't want you to be afraid to be here because of … our son."
Rachel's tears spilled down her cheeks. It all made so much more sense. Everything that was said, everything Sam did—it fit. Her head pounded, her nausea nearly doubled. She was a mother. And a fiancée.
"I know how complicated this makes things," Sam assured, wiping her tears. "Please don't be scared. Please." He waited through her silence, anxious as he watched her process it all. "Please, baby girl," he begged. "Say something."
"My head is killing me," she finally whispered. She looked up at him through teary eyes. "The memories don't feel like my own. But they feel so real at the same time."
"Cas," Sam said as he looked away from Rachel. He shut his eyes as the angel flapped into the room. "Please help her. She has another … headache."
Castiel examined Sam; he saw sheer desperation and equal amounts of guilt and terror in him. He knew from Sam's racing thoughts his only concern was to help Rachel process, especially not looking forward to the next bombshell he would be dropping on her. With a heaviness that was more than evident, Castiel relieved Rachel from the powerful ache of her vision. He looked to Sam. Seeing his obvious agony, he chose not to add to it. Instead, he flapped away, leaving the two in thick silence, hands joined.
"Better?" Sam dared to ask, finally meeting Rachel's eyes. She nodded. "Good," he whispered, blinking through fresh tears.
"He's a grown boy," she murmured. "How … How could he be mine? You said we met a year ago." Before he could answer, she cut him off. "And-And I died, Sam." Shaking her head, she searched his eyes. "I died. How am I here?"
Sam studied her. "Robbie brought you back. He's … he's a nephilim. Like you. They … They can fully mature in a matter of hours."
"But I can only heal people. I can't bring them back. How can he?"
Sam drew in a heavy breath, her bewildered look straining his heart. "Because he's not just a nephilim. He's … he's part demon. Like me."
Her jaw dropped, her skin paling. "What?"
Sam kept hold of her as she tried to free her hands. "Please," he begged, "just … just hear me out." He wet his throat, his heart aching at her fear. "I never had a choice. I never asked to have demon blood. But I've had it since I was six months old. I was supposed to be a warrior for a demon named Azazel. I was supposed to lead a war, but I chose not to. I'm not like them. I swear to you, I'm not. And neither is our son."
Rachel's stomach knotted at his truth. He looked more pained than she had ever seen him, the ache of carrying such a burden more than visible in his look of physical defeat. She knew there was a duality to Sam—she saw it when he killed August. Now she knew what it was from. Still, he had done nothing but help and protect her. And he was a leader of so many hunters. They trusted him. And so did she. "I trust you," she whispered, seeing his immediate relief. She freed one of her hands and wiped his tears. "It's okay."
"I'm so sorry I kept it from you," he whispered back.
"I know why you did."
"I've wanted nothing more than to have you in my arms. But I was so afraid you'd run, and that—" He stopped, sucking in a small breath. "I wanted you to be safe. Even if it meant keeping you away from me."
Her fingers reached up to brush his hair from his temples, tracing over his skin. "This changes everything," she said, clearly overwhelmed. "I'm … a mother." She laughed, it feeling awkward as her hand lowered. "And we're … we're engaged?"
Sam nodded, smiling through the pain of the truth he still withheld. "You are. And we are." He drew in a deep breath, retaking her hand into his. "There's … There's more," he admitted, grimacing against her surprise. "And this I … I only found out today."
"What?" she asked, panicked.
Suddenly, the bunker alarm blared. Rachel jumped, the loud warning ringing in her ears as the room was bathed in blood red light. Sam stood, pulling her to stand next to him, his breath quickening. "Fuck," he shuddered. Then he looked down at her. Demons. He just finally got her fully back, and was only a step away from the burden of secrets. His stomach lurched at the idea of what he now stood to lose. He let her go, sprinting toward his personal weapons drawer and withdrawing a gun. "Listen to me," he said as he checked the clip, then returned to her. He handed her the gun, ignoring her shaking hands as he instructed her. "Take this and go to Robbie's room. Immediately."
"Sam—"
"It has angel bullets," he continued, closing her hand around the gun. "Keep the door bolted. But if that doesn't work, you shoot. Shoot anyone that comes in the room you don't know. I don't care what they say. They will lie. Believe me. So you just shoot them. Got it?"
"Sam, I—"
"Baby girl," he said desperately, "go. Go now!"
"No!" Rachel argued, halting Sam.
"Rachel—"
"I can help with the demons!" Rachel interrupted.
Sam stiffened. "I know you can. But it's you they want. You and Robbie. And I'll be damned if I let them have you."
"I have power, Sam. I need to use it!"
Looking her over for a moment, Sam shook his head. "No. Go. Robbie's room. Now!" He gripped her biceps through her hesitation. "Baby, please," he begged, feeling gutted from the hurt in her eyes. "I can't risk this. You're not …" He squeezed his eyes shut. "It's different now. I just can't risk what it will do."
"What's different? And what what will do?" Rachel asked.
"Go," Sam ordered in a firm tone. "Protect Robbie. Protect yourself. Please."
Searching his eyes, she stepped out of his grip and slowly backed a couple steps to the door. She turned and threw it open, leaving with her teeth clenched as she sought out Robbie's room.
Sam angrily swiped away the fresh tear that dripped down his cheek. He couldn't let her fight on the frontlines. Not knowing what he now knew. He quickly shrugged his jeans and boots on, arming himself and sprinting down the hall. He met up with Dean, whose brow wrinkled. "Rach?"
"With Robbie," Sam answered. "She has a gun with angel bullets."
"We need her here. She could blast those fuckers with a snap," Dean argued.
"No," Sam growled, confusing Dean as they entered the maps room. "She … She can't. Not this time."
Dean paused and narrowed his eyes. "What the hell is going on?"
Grimacing, Sam sighed. "I will tell you, Dean. Just not now."
"Demons, Sam," Dean argued. "We've got fucking demons coming. We need her. And maybe even Robbie."
"No!" Sam shouted, his tone filled with ice. Everyone who congregated in the maps room stopped for a moment, hesitating at Sam's rage. "She stays behind." He looked at Tom and Rick. "I want two hunters posted at the entrances to the bedroom halls," he ordered. He shifted his focus to the remaining hunters. "We're going with the original circular defense I drew up three weeks ago," he instructed. "We hold off on using Robbie until I make the call. Rachel isn't to leave the room under any circumstances. Got it?"
The hunters gave him back weak nods and yeses of agreement, though they were each surprised about Sam's reluctance to use both of the nephilims' powers. They quickly scattered into the formation Sam had drafted, leaving Sam and Dean alone. "Tell me again why Rachel isn't out there?" Dean asked, clearly irritated. "I mean, she was on the draft three weeks ago. What changed?"
Sam gave him a look. "She just isn't now, okay?" He huffed, passing by his brother as he took up his post on the outside of the bunker.
