"Dean is going to laugh in your face," Rachel said as she and Sam came back into Dean's room.
Sam shrugged. "At least I won't be able to hear it. He can laugh away."
"What am I laughing at?" Dean asked, pulling away from his corner. He'd left the girl he'd met, Tessa, at her own bedside to return to his own. He'd hoped to find his dad back by him, but Dad was nowhere to be found. Not even at his own room. Apparently, he'd been moved out of the ICU, but when Dean had looked at the room he was supposed to be in, he wasn't there.
Probably off hunting or getting drunk or something. He didn't care about Dean. Probably never had. The demon was right. Sam was clearly the favorite. Dean was just a sucker.
"He probably won't even talk to us," said Rachel, glancing at Dean's body on the bed.
"If he doesn't, we won't know if he's really here. So either he does, or we're screwed." Sam pulled a box out of a bag.
Dean walked over to Rachel. Ran his finger down her arm. It felt like he was touching cotton, but at least it was something.
"Dean, I know you're in here," Sam said. He walked almost to the wall and set the box on the ground. "Don't make fun of me for this, but there is one way we can talk."
"Oh, you've gotta be kidding me," Dean groaned when he saw what it was. Oujia, the last refugee of charlatans and teenager girls.
But, as Sam sat down and pulled the board out, Dean crossed the room and sat across from him. "I feel like I'm at a slumber party," he said. Then he glanced up at Rachel. "You coming? Might as well talk to you, too."
Rachel moved and sat next to Sam. "I've never used one of these things for real before," she said, looking down at the letters. "Will it really work?"
"We're going to find out." Sam placed his fingers on the planchette. "Dean? Are you here?"
"God," Dean groaned. He put his fingers across from Sam's. With a heavy sigh, he slid the thing over to the corner where it said, "Yes."
Sam and Rachel's eyes both went wide. Then Sam broke into a grin. "Dean! Thank God. Are you all right?"
"In a manner of speaking." Slowly, Dean moved the planchette again, spelling out the word, "hunt.
"You're hunting?" asked Sam.
"Yes."
Rachel was gnawing on her lower lip. It still hadn't completely recovered from when she'd bitten through it a few days ago, trying to stop the demon from luring Sarah here. If she did it anymore, it'd start bleeding again. Dean wanted to pull her lip from her mouth, but there was more important things to do.
Painstakingly, he began to spell reaper on the board.
"A reaper," Sam read heavily. He looked up where Dean was sitting, through him, of course, eyes far away. "Is it after you?"
He glanced at Rachel before sliding the thing to, "Yes."
"Shit," she whispered. She put her hands up to her eyes.
"Yeah, no kidding," Dean agreed.
Sam looked like someone had kicked his puppy and pissed in his Cheerios. It was pretty much how Dean had been feeling since he'd made the revelation, only a million times worse since it meant his number was up and that sucked way more than a little Cheerio piss.
"Dad will know what to do," Sam said suddenly. He jumped up, all nervous energy and wide, frightened eyes, like he used to get after a nightmare when he was a kid. "I'll go get him."
"Sam..." Rachel said, but Sam didn't appear to hear. He just ran from the room.
"Well. Nice talking to you," Dean said. He turned his eyes to Rachel and gave the planchette a shake. "You wanna talk to me, or you gonna run away, too?"
She moved over and placed her fingers on the planchette. "So. A reaper." She licked her lips. "You planning on making me a widow?"
Dean gritted his teeth at her and slid the thing over no.
"You know, when you first woke up," Rachel said, sliding the planchette to the middle, "you told me that if it turned out the doctors couldn't do anything for you, I should just let you go. That you didn't want Sam or me to go around looking for something magic to fix you. Just plan for the funeral." She bit her bottom lip, then asked, "Do you still want that?"
"No. I know what I sad, but now that I'm here, I'm..." He couldn't quite bring himself to admit he was scared, even if she couldn't hear him.
She let out a long, slow breath. "Okay then." She sniffed. "Okay." Her chin trembled.
"Rach, listen. I know... it's going to be okay. Sam and I will figure this out. Just, though. Just so you know." He took a deep, reflexive breath. Slid the planchette.
L
O
V
"Yeah," Rachel said, her cheeks blooming. "I love you, too."
Long pause.
"So. Great," Dean said. "What the hell are we supposed to do now?"
Rachel laughed suddenly and pressed both hands against her eyes. "God. Took forever for us to say it, huh, and now there's not anything we can do." She blushed. "I mean. You know what I mean."
Dean slid the planchette to yes.
She laughed again.
"Ah, fuck it. Let's give it a try." He got onto his hand and knees. Did his best to keep eye contact with someone who couldn't see him. Brushed his lips against hers.
She gasped when he did, and brought her hand to her mouth.
"You felt that," Dean said. He crawled further over her, kissing her again. He could barely feel her through the layers of numbness wrapped around his body, but he really didn't care. He and Rachel hadn't had enough time together, not really.
Carefully, he straddled her body, knowing that she could feel him by the way her eyes got wide. He took her hands, then slid up to her shoulders, producing shivers from her.
"You're cold," Rachel said, voice trembling. "Not ghost cold, but cold."
"Sorry." He kissed her on the neck.
Rachel exhaled explosively, more shudders. A bit of a moan.
"Whoa, am I interrupting something?"
"Bad timing, Sam," Dean groan. He kissed the corner of Rachel's mouth before he climbed off her.
"Um... um..." Rachel stuttered. She pushed herself to her feet and wrapped her arms around her. "Dean just... I mean, I..."
Sam smiled at her, looking amused. "I know my brother. No need to explain." He sat on the edge of the bed.
"I'm just going to go, uh... I'll be back in a minute." Rachel rushed from the room.
Feeling proud of himself--he'd managed to get her all worked up without really being able to touch her; that was good--he swaggered to Sam.
"I know what you're doing, Dean," Sam said, flipping open the book.
"Hey, I can do what I want with her," replied Dean. "She is my wife."
"And I think you're awful. What if a nurse had walked in to see Rachel practically having an orgasm over a game of Oujia? She'd be sent to the psyche ward for sure."
Dean snorted. "It would have been fine. No one was going to come in."
Sam just shook his head. "Well, I guess it's okay. No one did come in. Ah, here we go. Reapers."
Thoughts of Rachel fled and Dean leaned over Sam's shoulder, ready to get to work.
Oh, God. That had been... awful. Simply awful. She could barely feel Dean's lips on her. The weight of his body as it rested on hers. His hands on her arms, on her shoulders It was all just a whisper, a suggestion. And yet...
When he'd kissed her neck, her entire body had flamed. Her stomach had tightened and there was definite evidence of arousal in her panties.
And then Sam had walked in. Bad enough she was such a virgin that barely-there touches from a man who wasn't on the same plane of existence had excited her so much. But to have Sam come in and witness...
Rachel flushed the toilet and left the stall. The bathroom was empty, luckily. She wasn't up to facing anyone right now.
Her cheeks were so hot. She washed her face and ran her hands through her hair. Putting her hands on both sides of the sink, she looked into her reflection and breathed. Thought of unarousing things. Kitchen tile and moldy cheese. Mothballs. Holy water.
"All right," she said when her heart had slowed. "We're going." She dried her hands and left the bathroom.
The moment she set foot in the hall, she could feel something was different. Her vision went dark. Her head buzzed. Her body felt light. Her mind blanked out. She didn't know anything for what felt like a long time.
And when she came back to herself, she was somewhere dark and chilly. And on the floor, kneeling in the middle of a complicated sigil, was...
"John?"
John's head snapped up. His eyes narrowed. "Well, fuck, girl," he said.
"What are you doing?" Rachel asked, heart squeezing.
John reached behind him. "I want to talk," he said. Then he pulled out the Colt and pointed it at her.
