"Here it is," Rachel said, hours later. She unlocked the door to the apartment and led the boys inside. "Home sweet home." She kicked off her shoes and dragged herself to the couch, which she collapsed on.

She was so tired. Exhausted. All she wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep for a million years. Only, she couldn't. Sam looked like he was still in complete shock, and Dean...

Dean was stoic. A rock. Unmovable, at least about John. An hour after his father had died, Dean had talked the doctor into discharging him. Then, he'd gone down to emergency, where Rachel had been taken, sat by her side. Listened to the doctor's instructions to give her Gatorade, soup, water, and make her rest. Held her hand until she was allowed to go, got her a change of clothes, stayed with her. When she'd tried to talk about John, he'd brushed her off and said there was time later. Right now, they had to think about her.

"You hungry?" Dean asked.

Rachel opened her eyes. Dean was crouched by her.

"No," she said. She forced herself into a sitting position. "I'm fine. Just tired." She stood. "Okay. So, this is the room I've been staying in. That's where Sam's sleeping. And that." She pointed at the room she'd figured would be John's, and faltered. "Uh. Well, Missouri was in there, but she's gone now. I mean, alive, but you know."

Dean nodded. "Where's the bathroom? I really want to shower."

"Oh, yeah. There's a bathroom down the hall. And attached to my room, because I'm selfish."

"Okay." He kissed her temple, picked up his duffle, which had been sitting by the couch since Rachel had moved in, and went into the bedroom.

Her bedroom.

She could feel her cheeks heat. It took a minute for her to feel calm enough to look at Sam.

Sam was staring into the middle distance. Tears stood in his eyes.

"Sam?" she said tentatively. "You all right?"

He blinked the tears away. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. I guess." He rubbed his eyes. "I just can't believe he's gone, you know?"

"I know."

"I don't even know what to do. We've got to plan a funeral. Get his body. Burn it."

"You could have him cremated."

Sam shook his head. "No. We need to do it ourselves. Make sure it's done right, you know?" He wiped his eyes again. "How does this work?"

"The hospital's going to do an autopsy and see what the cause of death was. Then they'll release the body. We're going to have to bury him. If you want to burn him, we'll have to dig him back up."

"When?"

"In new few days. I'll... I need to take a nap. But when I wake up, I'll call and make arrangements." She went to Sam, took his hand, and squeezed it. "I'll take care of everything. Don't worry, okay? Just... try to get some rest. We all need it."

Sam nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right." He scrubbed his face. "I'm going to get some sleep."

Rachel kissed his cheek. "Good. I'll see you later."

She waited until Sam had closed the door to his room before approaching the closed door on her own. Tentative, she pressed her ear against the door. She could hear the shower going, muffled, through the thick wood.

When she got in the room, she found Dean's bag on the bed. It was open, clothes pulled out, scattered on the bed.

Rachel picked up on of his shirts and folded it neatly. Pants were next, then another shirt. Soon, she had all his clothes out of the bag, folded, and stacked. She was just folding the last one when Dean emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, smelling of soap and shampoo, dressed in boxers and a grey tee-shirt.

He saw the pile on the bed. A smile cracked through the stoicism. "You really didn't have to do that."

She just shrugged. "Did you leave any hot water?"

"I think so." He grabbed a stack of his shirts and went to the dresser. Rachel had unpacked her clothes in the right side of the dresser; Dean loaded his stuff into the left. "What side of the bed do you sleep on?" he asked, taking his jeans.

"What?" she asked stupidly.

"Side? Left or right?"

This was seriously the hardest question anyone had ever asked her in her life. "Um, I don't know." Not ever having shared a bed before, she usually took the middle. "The, uh. The right?" That was the side her mother slept on. When Rachel had been a child, she'd assumed that all moms slept on the right side and dads on the left, simply because that was how her parents did it.

Dean nodded. "Okay." He pulled the duffle off the bed and stuffed it underneath. "I know I've been doing nothing but sleeping for the past few days, but I'm exhausted."

"You've been through a lot," Rachel said. She watched as Dean pulled down the covers on the bed and crawled inside. Then, feeling the blush start and her stomach churn, she rushed to the bathroom and locked herself in.

Oh God. Oh Godohgodohgodohgod. Dean was in her bed. Dean was in her bed. Why? He didn't remember telling her that he loved her. And his dad just died. Was he expecting pity sex? Or diversionary sex? Or... something like that? Because she didn't want their first time to be like that. She wanted it to be about them.

Not that they could have sex. Ever. Not after what the demon had told her. There were other ways it could infect her baby. And even if she and Dean were safe, what if the demon made sure she got pregnant? She could risk it. Couldn't risk Dean like that, he'd already had enough sorrow in his life. She couldn't get pregnant by him only to have the baby hijacked by a demon.

Brain working a mile a minute, Rachel showered and climbed into her pajamas which she'd left in the bathroom. They weren't sexy by any means--just a pair of blue and white flannel shorts and a Yale tee-shirt--and she almost regretted that. Because, if Dean did want to have sex with her, she at least wanted to look pretty for that.

Her heart pounded in her throat as she crossed the bedroom to the bed. It hurt to breathe. She was sweating again. Her hands shook as she pulled the blankets back and crawled onto her side of the bed.

"You okay?" Dean asked. He turned on his side, looking at her.

Rachel turned onto her side. "Um, yeah. I'm fine."

He touched her cheek with one finger. "You look freaked."

"It's just..."

"Rachel, I want you. I do. But, right now, everything is too much. I'm tired and so are you. Stop worrying."

She sighed, feeling monumentally stupid. "I'm sorry."

Dean shook his head and pulled her into his arms. "Don't be. You didn't do anything." He kissed her forehead. "Just close your eyes and go to sleep."

"Okay." She watched as he closed his eyes. Lay and listen to his breathing as it evened out. Felt his grip on her loosen.

And wondered what the hell she was supposed to do now.


Four Days Later

Everyone was dead. Everyone. Not just Mom and Jess and Dad. Rachel and Dean. Sarah. Missouri. Rebecca. Lori. Cassie. Bobby, Pastor Jim. Everyone.

Sam stood in the middle of the carnage. Bodies of his friends and family, ripped apart. Blood everywhere, over him, dripping from the walls, the ceiling. Fire burning, singeing his hair, his skin.

And a horrible emptiness inside that would never, ever fade.

Footsteps. Heavy, familiar. And Dad walked through the fire, eyes orange and slitted.

"Damn, Sammy-boy," he said. "Do you love anyone? Care for anyone but yourself? You have the power to save them all, but you didn't lift a finger. Didn't even try." The demon grabbed Sam by the hair. "I'm going to keep killing, you know. Everyone you ever met. Remember Ms. Taylor, your kindergarten teacher? Dead. Dr. Miles, the man who delivered you? Dead. Everyone, Sammy. And it'll be all your fault because you ain't using one bit of the power locked inside you."

"It's dangerous," Sam said.

The demon smiled. "Maybe, maybe not. But not figuring out how to use it is pretty dangerous too. Unless you don't think me killing that flight attendant, Amanda or Andrea and her little boy just because you talked with them once isn't dangerous."

Sam saw Andrea and her kid. The demon had them pinned to the wall. They were looking at him, begging.

"Save them," the demon ordered.

But he couldn't. He just... couldn't feel them, couldn't sense it. He tried, he really did.

"I can't."

The demon clicked its tongue on the roof of its mouth. "Too bad." It turned to them.

"No!" Sam screamed.

He shot up, heart pounding.

"Just a dream," he whispered. He swallowed, throat parched. Sweat dripped in his eyes, and he blinked it away. "Just a dream."

But it hadn't been, not really. It wasn't a vision, exactly. More like a warning. A reminder of the danger everyone Sam loved was in until he figured out how to access this power.

If Rachel was right, and that's what the demon wanted.

If it wouldn't make him evil.

Every night since Dad had died, Sam had had this dream. This warning. And it was too pressing to ignore.

He had to protect his family. He had to do the right thing.


Dean opened his eyes. Something was wrong. He'd known that, ever since Dad had died. Ever since Dad had told him...

No. Don't think about it.

They'd burned his body tonight. Burned it, salted the ground, put him back. Sam had cried almost the entire time. So had Rachel. Him? Not really. A little. But what he wasn't really grief. He didn't know what he was feeling. He just knew it was inappropriate, probably.

Not that he cared. What Dad had said before he died had just...

No.

He rolled onto his side to make sure Rachel was all right.

She seemed to be. She was sleeping peacefully. Skin a healthy color. Breathing easily. No worries. She had a doctor appointment that day, just a check-up to make sure last week's sudden illness had passed for good. Not that she'd been sick; after what had happened at the hospital, she'd been fine. Arranged for John's funeral. Paid for everything. Settled all the affairs. She'd been wonderful. And, except for a headache that wouldn't leave her, she'd been perfectly healthy.

What the hell was she doing with someone like him? She was perfect, except for the temper and the clumsiness and ink. But other than that. She knew the right way to feel after someone died. And she'd barely known his father.

Dean sighed. Kissed her cheek, and climbed out of bed.

"Dean?" Rachel mumbled. She sat up and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

Drool. That was another thing that wasn't perfect about her. She drooled.

"Something's wrong," he said.

"What?"

"I don't know. I'm going to check it out. Go back to sleep."

She rolled her eyes and climbed out of bed.

Great legs. Negated the drool factor.

Together, they left their bedroom. Went into the living room.

"Sam's door is open," Rachel said, but Dean's eyes were focused on the white slip of paper on the counter in the kitchen.

While Rachel went to Sam's room, Dean went to the counter.

"He's gone!" Rachel said, running out of Sam's room. "All his clothes are gone."

"Yeah. I know," Dean said flatly. "Dear Dean and Rachel," he read, "I've come to realize that Rachel was right. I need to figure out how to do telekinesis. If I don't, everyone I love is in danger. You are both in danger until I've figured this out. This isn't permanent. I'm coming back, I promise. But, until I know I'm safe, I can't be around either of you.

"Take care of each other. I know you will. I love you both. Sam."

Fin