She should've felt much more guilty for doing this to Bobby. She was sorely reminded of the stories he'd often tell about Shelby Corcoran, her mother. One day she was there, seeking the care of Bobby Singer. And when Rachel came home she left, burdening him with the job of raising her. And here Rachel was in her bedroom, stuffing clothes and other necessities in a hideously pink duffel bag because Dean Winchester knocked on her door asking for her help; John Winchester was out on a hunt, and he hasn't been home in a few days.
Rachel was sure if Dean came to her, simply asking for a ride to the bus station(not that he'd ever need one with the Impala on his side), she'd jump tenfold to do so. Dean was her weak spot that she hated to have. But this was bigger than a ride; John Winchester was the best hunter she knew besides Bobby. If he hadn't come home and Dean was worried, that was something to be investigated.
Bobby was out for the night; he had told her the day previously he wouldn't be back until the following Monday. He left her enough cash to get food, and her only instructions were to ensure Rumsfeld was properly fed and watered. Rachel had been doing that with little trouble.
It was rainy tonight, and Rachel felt she'd settle in with a book and a glass of wine. Bobby thought wine was for wusses, so he often didn't allow it; Rachel had to hide it at the back of the fridge where he couldn't see it. Bundled up with her comforter on the couch, she was already lost in the words of the author, only to be pulled out when there was a pounding at the front door. After checking the clock and seeing it was after midnight, Rachel slipped her hand underneath the couch cushion, closing her fist around the hilt of her gun. She had about three, one in her bedroom, one in her little Volkswagen Beetle, and one here since this was her favorite spot in the house.
Kicking off the comforter, she got to her feet and slowly made her way to the door. Stopping a good five feet away, she pointed the gun after switching the safety off.
"Who is it?" Rachel demanded, keeping her voice as steady as possible.
"Rach, it's me, let me in," Dean's gruff voice commanded through the wood. Rachel was surprised. It's been a while since she'd seen Dean, about a whole month in fact. Since Sam had left the hunters' life(as well as his father and brother), she'd seen less and less of Dean, almost as though she was a painful reminder he was gone to Stanford. Then again, it was probably because she told Dean she didn't blame Sam for going and she was proud of him for finding solace in something that wasn't hunting.
But Rachel was always known for saying the wrong things. That was probably why Bobby, Dean, and Sam(at the time) were her only friends. They knew her mannerisms enough to not hold it completely against her. Rachel can only recall one time she finally got socked across the nose at a bar because she made a snide comment at a girl for the way she dressed. Thinking back on it, Rachel deserved it. Not every woman wanted to be modest. And not every guy preferred the modesty; Dean was living proof of that, and that burdened Rachel greatly.
"Dean? What are you doing here?" Rachel asked, lowering the gun.
"Rachel, it's pouring outside, can you open the door before you interrogate me?" Dean asked, clearly annoyed.
Rachel winced. Unlocking the door, she yanked it open, met with the sight of Dean Winchester soaked by the rain standing on her doorstep. He gave her his signature smile, welcoming himself in before shaking like a dog to get the water off. Rachel squeaked, ducking away.
"What is your problem? Bobby's not even here!" Rachel snapped, glaring down at the wet spots gathering on her pajamas. With an irritable sigh, she switched the safety back on for her gun before going to replace it where she had left it last. Dean didn't follow her, instead, taking the time to look around, get a good look at the place. It had been about three months since he'd been here last, a month since he's seen Rachel.
"He left you to take care of the fort yourself?" Dean asked, surprised.
"Don't sound so shocked; it was either that or take me with him. As I'm not yet accustomed to the outside aspect to this whole thing, he prefers me inside, keeping his house standing and his dog alive," Rachel said, plopping herself back down. "How bad is the storm?"
"You've seen the worst of it. Should die down in an hour or two," Dean said, trailing off toward the kitchen. Rachel got up to follow him; she knew Dean wouldn't do anything, but Bobby was very particular on how things were executed under his roof, and if Dean somehow treaded that line and left Rachel to pick up the pieces, she'd be very angry, and Dean definitely did not like her when she was angry. But all he did was open the refrigerator and grab one of the beers, popping it open with the edge of the counter and taking a swig.
"Are you gonna talk?" Rachel asked. "It's late, Dean. Where's Mr. Winchester?"
Dean grimaced. "Dude, keep the prissy suck-up routine when Bobby and Dad are around. No need to call him anything other than John. Or Pops works for him, too."
Rachel pouted. "I guess I respect...him, so I don't feel the need to say otherwise. And...you haven't answered my question."
Dean stared at her, studying her face before shifting his gaze downward. Rachel felt a little self conscious, crossing her arms. When he met her eyes again, he took another swig and opened his mouth to speak, "I...actually didn't come here for Bobby, Berry. I came here for you."
Rachel was surprised, and flattered. "What? Why?"
"I need...I need your help," Dean said, dumping himself down into one of the chairs available. Rachel grimaced. He was still wet. "Dad's...gone on a hunting trip, and he hasn't gotten back. It's been a few days, and, frankly, I'm worried."
Rachel's eyes narrowed. "Your dad's missing?"
"I don't know yet," Dean shrugs, "which is why I want your help to go find him."
"If we need to find him, then he is missing, Dean. It's common sense. Lost things are found," Rachel said. She walked over and plopped herself down across from him. "What happened?"
Dean didn't answer right away. Studying her for a moment, he downed the rest of his beer and began toying with the bottle, twirling it across the table. Rachel got a sense he was struggling with this. Rachel rarely ever saw Dean afraid, not where his dad was concerned, anyway. The boy blindly followed him with unwavering pride, something Rachel both admired and pitied. Given Bobby's tall tales of John Winchester, her opinion on the man was rather controversial, and she would never tell them to Dean.
"I had gone on to Louisiana and him to California. He had a line of missing men over the years that he wanted to investigate. He should've been back before I was, but...obviously that didn't happen. Got a weird voicemail, too, said he's tailing somethin' important...somethin' about my mom,. But there's just somethin' fishy, I know it," Dean explained short and sweet, keeping the unnecessary details vague so Rachel could just fill in the rest. She was very much aware of the story on Mary Winchester, pinned to the ceiling of her baby's room with her stomach ripped open, left alive long enough to force John to see before the house burnt down. It was something horrific, and Dean had survived it, having carried his own baby brother out of the ruins, followed close behind by his poor father who had witnessed the death of his own wife. That being said, he submitted his sons forcefully to a life of survival and inconsistency, so the amount of pity he got from Rachel was slim. Respect, for sure. Pity, not so much.
"And...you need my help to...find him." Rachel said slowly, flattered. "Um...why not Bobby? He'll be back Monday."
"I don't think Bobby'll see it as an emergency. He'll just tell me to sit tight and wait for my dad to tell me the next move. Thing is, I don't know if he will if there's something wrong." Dean muttered, wracking his bitten nails across the table top. "Plus it won't just be me and you. I also need you to help me...go round up Sammy from Stanford."
Rachel's eyes widened. "You...you're going to pick up Sam? Your brother, Sam?"
"Yeah, obviously. He'll want to help Dad, too," Dean said as if it were obvious.
"Has he been in contact with you?" Rachel asked.
Dean glowered. "You know the answer to that. Look, we'll drive up there, tell him what's up, go find Dad, everyone gets to go back home. It's an in-and-out situation. I would do this for you."
"Dean, I just don't think...what are you hoping to accomplish with this? Your father would've left you some kind of notice or warning; he precedents for any kind of emergency, no?" Rachel asked, still finding the situation to be a little fishy. "I don't want to stir any trouble."
Dean huffed in annoyance. Clearly this wasn't going the way he thought it would. And Rachel felt guilty, but she wasn't going to up and abandon Bobby to search for John Winchester with Dean and the prodigal son. That is, until Dean suddenly leaned over and took one of Rachel's hands in his.
"Rach...look, I wouldn't be askin' if I wasn't worried. I need my friend on, this alright? And somehow fate decided to make you my only real friend outside of my brother," Dean whispered, his green eyes staring determinedly into her brown ones. He knew exactly what he was doing, and it was selfish and egotistical and disappointing. But Rachel couldn't refuse him.
Her hand felt so warm in his, despite the coolness from the rain. At last she sighed, taking it back and running it through her hair.
"I'll need to pack a bag," Rachel said.
"Wait...for real?" Dean asked, his smile lengthening.
Rachel rolled her eyes. "I just hope Sam doesn't make you as disappointed as I predict."
Dean's eye slightly twitched, and Rachel was ready to hear the instinctive dismissal of her pessimism, but he clearly wanted her to be on his side on this, so he remained silent.
That was how she ended up back in her bedroom, stuffing all three of her guns inside along with clothes and other bathroom necessities. She wasn't sure how long this would take, but she didn't have much to choose from. Her entire wardrobe consisted of blouses and skirts from the local boutique in town, and Rachel definitely did not want to complain to Bobby on personal preference for fashion. For one, he didn't understand it. For another, she never could stand making him feel guilty. The guilt was all on her instead now, her right hand scribbling across the pink paper she had ripped from her diary.
'Bobby, I'm sorry. I hope you can forgive me for this once I return. But Dean needs me. If something is really wrong with his dad, I really want to help. I've packed a bag and I have my own flow of cash from my drawer that I've been saving up over the last few months. I've left Rumsfeld enough food and water to last him until you return Monday, and everything in the house is locked up and guarded. Nobody will be able to come in except for you. You have my number; I will call you when I can, too. We're getting Sam, can you believe it? Maybe I'll be able to bring him back, too, so you can talk to him. I love you, and I'll be back soon. -Rachel ✩'
Rachel pinned it to the fridge with a magnet and stepped back, her duffel bag noticeably heavier than before. Dean was sitting on the table completely now, watching her as he munched on a candy bar he had found in Bobby's toolbox.
"You make it sound like you're going to war," he said through his mouthful.
Rachel scoffed, rolling her eyes. "I'm sorry I respect Bobby enough to let him know I'm sorry."
"What's with the star?"
Rachel looked at the note. "I dunno. I've always signed my name with a star. I just like it."
Dean nodded, finishing the candy bar and disposing the wrapper into the trashcan.
"So...we ready to go?" he asked after dusting his hands off.
Rachel turned to him and nodded.
Rumsfeld had received four bowls of food that should keep him well occupied along with a salad bowl full of water that Dean charitably laughed at because, 'Really, Rach?'.
The house was clean(as clean as it could be, considering the circumstances), and it was guarded with the same runes that have been carved into the ceiling, walls, floors, door jams, and in other inconspicuous places as they've been for years.
As Dean had predicted, the outside was drying up considerably, all that was left being a little trickle of water here and there. They waited for Rachel to lock the front door behind her before following Dean to the familiar sight of the Impala, sleek and shining from its makeshift bath.
"Let's hit the road, Rach. I'll stop at a 24-hour diner. There's one about two hours from here. We'll recuperate, get our grub on, then grab Sammy," Dean happily announced, clearly beside himself that Rachel was coming. She smiled ecstatically, probably a little more excited than she should be. But seeing a smile like that on Dean Winchester was enough to put her in a good mood.
They were embarking on an adventure, much like the protagonist of the novel Rachel was ready that she had stuffed down to the bottom of her bag so she could see where 'Prudence Amastaire' would end up and whether she'd end up with 'Goliath Collins' or not. Rachel quickly stuffed herself into the passenger seat after tossing her duffel into the back seat. Dean followed into the driver's seat, quickly starting her up and backing out of Bobby's garage.
She wondered, momentarily in her haze for Dean Winchester, whether Sam would be just as eager to attend alongside them.