He couldn't believe it. His father was awake. Just like that. They took the demon parts out and then, bam. He's awake.

"Dad," he said again. His hands hovered over his father, not sure where--or if--he should touch. He finally settled on gripping Dad's hand tightly. "It's good to see you awake."

John blinked and opened and closed his mouth a few times. He made a face. "Water?" His voice was hoarse.

Sam nodded and poured him a glass. John swallowed it down easily. His hand didn't even shake.

"How long have I been out?" he asked. His gaze was clear and steady on Sam's face.

"Almost two weeks. When the demon left you, it left some of itself inside you. I guess that's the only reason you haven't woke up. Rachel and I just got it out of you, just now. And now you're awake."

Dad looked at him through narrowed eyes for a long, silent moment. Then he asked, "Who the hell is Rachel? Where's Dean?"

"Owe, fuck!" Rachel exclaimed, as if right on cue.

Sam sighed in exasperation. "What is it now?"

Rachel stood, her right hand held out. There was a deep slash across the palm which was bleeding freely. "I cut it on the glass."

"Why were you touching the glass?"

"I want to bag it and send it back to my dad. He knows people who can analyze it."

"Analyze it?" John said.

Rachel flushed and nodded. "Yeah. The more information on the demon the better, right? Besides. That thing broke this box. It was over three thousand years old, and designed to hold demons. What kind of demon is this?"

John looked at her, long and considering. He blinked. "Who are you? Where's Dean?"

She looked at Sam.

"Dad, this is Rachel Adams. Dean and I worked with her back in New Haven a couple times. We told you about her, remember? The haunted photograph and the kitsune?"

He nodded. "Right. With the psychic grandfather and the family of scholar-hunters."

Rachel's cheeks turned red. "More scholars than hunters, but yeah."

John held out his hand. "Nice to meet you."

"You too." Her right hand was bloody and swollen; she got it halfway out before she remembered her injuries. "Um. Here." She awkwardly shook with her left hand.

Sam saw his father make note of the wedding right, but he didn't say anything. No reason that he should, of course. He had no idea what had been going on the past two weeks, and he didn't know Rachel.

He was about to say something, to explain about making her their medical proxy and fake-marrying her off to Dean, when the door opened and the doctor came in. He and Rachel were shooed out so they could run tests and ask questions--Dad was still in the ICU and there were protocols to follow that didn't include a bleeding, banged-up girl and a newly bruised son with a sore back.

He didn't want to leave Dad's side. But, on the other hand, it did give him a moment alone with Rachel.

"Hey, um. I wanted to ask you something," he said.

"I need to fix my hand. Come with me."

The hospital was becoming their second home. Rachel had no problem walking into an empty room and rummaging through the cabinet for gauze, tape, and an antiseptic wipe. She also took out an ace bandage and handed them all to him.

"Sit."

She obeyed, and Sam found himself playing doctor with a girl he still couldn't quite shake demon-dream induced feelings for.

"So," Sam said as he cleaned and bandaged the cut. "While we were in there. When the demon was coming after us? I sorta... felt something."

Rachel bit her bottom lip. "Like what?" she asked, eyes on her hand.

"I don't know. But you know how I went under the bed? I didn't do that. It felt like someone grabbed me and threw me there. Pushed me away from the demon."

"Yeah," Rachel whispered. "Me too. And threw the chairs around me."

Sam taped the gauze to the cut, then picked up the ace bandage. "What do you think?"

"I don't know. But I know that it was on the stairwell with me. When I fell, I was going to keep going, but it grabbed me around the ankles, stopped me from going further. And then there was this... cold spot on my elbow all the way down."

"You don't think..."

"I hope not." Rachel's eyes were full of fear.

"If he's... wandering around, out of his body. What does that mean?"

"I don't know. This isn't my area."

"Well, what the fuck is your area, Rachel?" he practically shouted at her.

"England! English history and ghosts and legends," she shouted back. "That's my area of expertise. Not demons that break through prisons designed to trap them and astral projection and husbands who're in a coma and walking around out of their body! I don't know any of this, I'm just winging it. Just like you. So just stop."

Sam nodded and let out a sigh. "Right. Sorry." He reached out and wiped the tear rolling down her cheek. "It might not be bad. People report out of body experiences all the time."

"I guess."

"And we don't really know."

"I know." She wiped her eyes. "No sense worrying, right?"

"Right. Dean is fine. Except for the coma." He frowned and chewed on his lower lip. "This sucks. Dad finally wakes up, and we lose Dean again. It's not fair."

Rachel shook her head.

Sam sighed. "Let's go back. See if they're done with Dad."

Silent, they walked down the hall, side by side. The doctor was still in with John, but he was simply marveling at the vastly improved condition.

"We'll move you out of the ICU in a few hours, provided you continue to show improvement." Then, he gave directions for John to drink water slowly, call if he needed to go to the bathroom, and take it easy before leaving.

"Where's Dean?" John asked as soon as the door had closed.

Sam and Rachel exchanged glances.

"He's in a coma," Sam said. "He was messed up badly in the crash. He was doing better. He was awake and everything, and then, yesterday, he snuck out of his room. Came to visit you." He rubbed his head. "His stitches tore, and he fell out of the wheelchair, hit his head. And, apparently, he may have brain damage. Doctor doesn't know if he's gonna wake up."

"Christ," John said under his breath. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Any supernatural activity around him lately?"

"Not since four days ago," Rachel said. "Him, Sam, and I were all attacked by the demon in our dreams. It shook Dean up pretty badly, bad enough that he stopped breathing. But, once he woke up, he was fine. Improving."

John looked at her. "And what exactly is your involvement in all this?"

Sam smothered a laugh. Rachel looked like a deer caught in headlights, and he knew it was wrong to laugh at her for that--he was, after all, the one who'd put her in this situation. Still. She looked almost as terrified as she had when facing down the ghost in that picture.

"I, uh," she said, shooting Sam a look of death. "Sam sort of called me in. To help out."

John looked at her closely. "To help out."

She swallowed. "Yeah." Her eyes pleaded with Sam.

He sighed. "Look, Dad. There's something you should know. I, uh. A couple of months ago, I made this marriage certificate saying that Dean and Rachel were married. It started out as a joke, but after Chicago, I thought it might be nice to, you know. Have some insurance. For Dean."

"Insurance."

"I'm rich," Rachel said.

"It wasn't just that," Sam protested. "I knew you'd take care of him. That he'd take care of you."

She gave him a look.

"Well, eventually he would." Sam sighed. "Anyway. Dean always seems the one who'd getting hurt. And badly. So, I thought that if I passed them off as married, she'd be able to take care of it. If he needed insurance or anything."

"Sam, why didn't you just call Bobby? Or any of the other people I know I can trust."

"Because I know we can trust her," Sam said, setting his jaw. No way was he going to let his father question his decision. "She's been here nonstop since the crash. She's called our contacts and her own, working to keep us all safe. To help get you better. She's lost sleep and sanity and gotten hurt, and never once complained." Then, with a glance at her, he added, "Much."

Rachel stuck her tongue out at him. "You can trust me," she said to John. "I love your son. And I'm here because I do."

"What about Dean? How does he feel about you?"

She lowered her eyes and looked away. "I don't know."

"Oh, God," Sam groaned. "He's in love with her too, Dad. Only both of them are too pig headed to tell each other, and Dean keeps trying to break up with her for her own protection."

"Maybe it's for the best," John suggested.

Rachel's eyebrows arched. "He can break up with me all he wants," she said, eyes snapping back to John's face. "I'm not going anywhere."

John held her eyes for a few heartbeats. Then he reached his hand out and took hers. "Welcome to the family, little girl."

"Thanks."

He squeezed her hand, then turned back to Sam. "Where's the Colt?"

Sam's stomach dropped. "Your son is dying and you're worried about the Colt?"

"We are still hunting, Sam. And that demon may be after us. We need insurance. Protection. Where is it?"

For the first time, Sam realized that he didn't know. He'd never asked, and how unbelievably sloppy was that? To never ask?

"It's back at the apartment," Rachel said. I cleaned out the car as best I could once the cops let me into it. The Colt was stuck underneath the driver's seat; they must have missed it."

"Sam, get it and bring it here."

"What about Dean?"

"The doctor's will take care of him," John said.

Sam shook his head. "No. No, we're not waiting for the doctor's. We've got to do something. I'll go out, I'll find someone, like I found that faith healer."

"Sam the chances of you finding anyone are almost nonexistent. We need to concentrate..."

"I can't believe you're just going to give up on him!" Sam shouted. "Jesus Christ, Dad, he's your son and he's dying."

"And we will deal with it the best we can," John said loudly. Sternly. "But right now, I need you to get that Colt here to me. Girl, you leave anything in the car?" He was still holding Rachel's hand, and he squeezed it, snapping her attention back from wherever it had wandered.

She blinked. "Uh, maybe a few things. I haven't been back to the impound yard. It's not impounded, I just didn't know where to take it."

"I'll call Bobby," Sam said. "Have him tow it. Help us out."

"Fine. Just make sure you get the Colt first."

"Fine," he sighed, exasperated. "Come on, Rachel."

"No. I need her to do something for me," John said.

Sam and Rachel looked at each other. She looked worried, so he tried to smile in as comforting a manner as he could. "It'll be fine."

She didn't look convinced, but smiled back. "It's in the closet. In a box. Here." She handed him a key.

"Thanks." He closed his hand around it. "Be back soon." At the door, though, he stopped. "Dad?"

"Yeah, Sam?"

He licked his lips and tried to quell the tremors in his heart. "The, uh. The demon said that he had plans for me. Me and all the children like me. Do you know anything about that?"

John shook his head. "No, Sam, I really don't."

Relief washed over Sam. Somehow, worse than the idea that the demon was planning something for him was the idea that his father knew, and hadn't told him. "Okay. Bye."


"Oh, yeah, you know something," Dean said, watching the look on his father's face after Sam left. He hated, absolutely hated, the idea that that demon had plans for his baby brother. He hated even more the idea that his father knew what those plans were.

Rachel broke the silence. "So," she said. "You've been hunting this thing for almost twenty-two years, and you never figured out the why behind everything?"

John glared at her.

Dean immediately came off the wall he was leaning against and crossed the room to his wife's side. "Look," he said to his father, knowing that he couldn't hear. "You don't yell at her, you don't bully her, you don't do anything because right now? I'm not so much a big fan of yours. So lay off."

"I need you to get something for me. Think you can handle it?"

Rachel pulled her hand out of John's and crossed her arms. "That depends on what you need me to do. I'm not leaving the state to go down to New Orleans and get some kinda hoodoo priest or anything."

And, yes, Dean was thrilled that both Sam and Rachel had picked up his desire for a hoodoo priest.

"No. I just need you to pick up some supplies." John scribbled something on a piece of paper that Dean had seen him beg off a nurse. "Here." He handed Rachel a list.

She read over it quickly the first time, then again more slowly. "Acacia. Oil of abramelin. What exactly are you planning on doing?"

"It's for protection."

"Not it's not," she laughed. "What kind of fucked up book are you getting..." She stopped talking abruptly. "Right. Protection. I'll just, uh..."

John sat up and grabbed her by the wrist. "Whatever you're thinking of doing, don't."

"I could say the same thing," Rachel replied. Her face was pale. Eyes wide.

"What's going on? Rachel? Rachel!" Fuck, this invisibility thing sucked.

"You don't understand."

"Right, I don't. There's only one thing the ingredients on this list are used for. And it's not protection. Why?"

"I have my reasons."

"Your son is..."

"I know, dammit!" John shouted at her. "I know my son is dying, don't lecture me!" He slid his legs over the side of the bed and pulled Rachel close to him. "You don't know thing one about my family, little girl. But know this. I am Dean and Sam's father. I am responsible for their protection and safety and I will do what is necessary. And I will not be questioned by some little slip of a child, do you understand?"

It was all Dean could do to stop from launching himself on his father. Rachel had gone bone white as he'd ranted at her, eyes filled with tears.

"Rachel," Dean whispered. He put his hands on her shoulders. Tugged her backwards, away from John.

Rachel followed the tug. The paper was clutched in her hand. Her entire body trembled.

"I'll just go..." she managed to say. Then she turned.

Dean followed her. When they got to the door, he glanced back.

John was still sitting on the edge of the bed. The fire and the fight had bled from him, and now he was just a tired man, slumped on a hospital bed, head cradled in his hands.

"This is fucked up," Dean said. Then again, that was nothing new.