Inside a roadside diner, Dean bit into a bacon burger while Sam and Rachel opted for wraps. "So," Dean said with a partial mouthful, "we've got a dead end with the kids. Time for you to break out the books, Sammy. Bunker?"

"Three hours away," Sam reminded. "Let's see if we can't dig locally first."

"Don't forget about James Gray," Rachel said, eating a fry.

Dean pursed his lips. "Right. Can't wait."

Sam looked at Rachel. "That reminds me, Dean and I aren't sure if we've got a shapeshifter on our hands. They tend to leave a trail of some sort. I think we're looking for something that teleports."

Rachel nodded. "Makes sense. I guess that's why they pay you the big bucks," she said, Dean grinning in return.

"So where you from?" Dean asked, picking up a fry from his plate.

"New York."

"Long way from home."

She dipped her fry in ketchup, hesitating. "It's not home. I don't really have one. I'm usually just on the road or in a cruddy motel."

"Family?" Sam asked.

"They all disowned me, except for Hailey," she sighed. "They thought I was a whack job when I told them about Alex." Dean's brow raised. "My boyfriend turned werewolf. Shot him two years ago."

Dean's eyes widened. "He would only turn on a full moon," he noted.

"He enjoyed the kill way too much," Rachel explained, her voice softening. "He wasn't Alex."

"Sorry to hear that," Dean said, looking down with a wince. He hadn't meant to pick a scab.

"It's okay." Inhaling, she continued. "So, what do we know about James Gray?" She looked to Sam, who sat across from her next to Dean; she had given him the file to read while they drove to the diner.

"Not much," Sam replied, thumbing through the pages until he landed on James Gray's photo. "Says here he worked at Kerner Meat Packing Plant for almost ten years, then quit suddenly."

"Any idea why?" Dean asked.

"Doesn't say. After that, he took up selling Bibles door to door, so I'm going to assume he had a conversion on lifestyle?"

"They say people who work in the meat industry and more susceptible to mental illness due to the repetitive exposure of the slaughtering process," Rachel noted. "The atmosphere triggers something in the psyche, switching off a certain level of humanity from the constant killing and dismemberment of animals."

Dean pulled his burger back a bit, his nose wrinkling as he looked at it for a moment. He shrugged, taking another large bite.

"You consider religion a mental illness?" Sam asked.

"No," she corrected. "I do think that his sudden trigger could have started from it, though, and then spawned into something else."

Dean nodded. "So he went nut-side, then he got a little too deep in the church?"

"Maybe," Sam said, studying James' photo. "At any rate, he's considered a Class A patient in Lincoln Central Facility, which is the highest rank for mental disturbance in their system." Sam paused, reading further. "Rachel," he murmured, "I'm not sure if it's a good idea for you to talk to Gray."

Her eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"Says here he's triggered by women. Could be unpredictable."

She leaned back against the booth. "I'll take my chances."

"Sam's right," Dean interjected gently. "If he's Class A, and you go waltzing in there with all of your …" He waved to her whole being, causing her brow to raise. "... we might not get what we need to help find your cousin."

Rachel looked between the two brothers. Both looked back at her with empathy, Sam a bit more than Dean. "Why is he triggered by women?"

Sam swallowed. "He says that 'they only exist to serve the Watchers.' It's noted here by the facility psychologist that Gray refers to all women as 'it' or 'they,' and refuses to acknowledge a woman's actual humanity outside of being 'property.'"

"Watchers," Dean murmured, pondering the title for a few moments. "Shit, are we talking a grigori here?"

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. "Damn. We might be."

"Son of a bitch."

"Wanna fill me in?" Rachel said expectantly.

Sam lowered his hand, focusing on her. "Grigoris are fallen angels, known as Watchers. According to the lure, they descended to Earth from Mount of Hermon after they turned away from Heaven."

"They were fallen because they didn't listen to Chuck and got freaky-deaky with pretty human ladies," Dean added, wagging his brows.

"Chuck?" Rachel asked, bewildered.

Sam smiled a little. "Long story. So, their union created the Nephilim, a half human, half angel race."

"Grigoris are suppose to be toast, though," Dean said. "Aren't they?"

"I thought so, but it lines up with the selection of victims."

"Shit," Dean sighed.

"What?" Rachel asked.

"Grigoris are sons 'a bitches."

"Not an easy kill," Sam added. "We'll need an angel blade or an angel sword."

Rachel looked over to Sam. "You guys are the Winchesters. You have one of those, right?"

"Yeah, sure," Dean said, leaning back, "but we'd be lucky to get close enough to the Watcher to do anything with it."

"Well," Rachel replied, "I'm fairly good with throwing knives."

"You're going to have to be stellar to nail one, sweetheart." He selected a fry from his plate. "So, you've only been hunting for two years?" he asked.

"I can hold my own," Rachel said quietly, looking at Dean.

"I don't doubt you've got some moves," he replied with a flirty smile, "but you still might be in over your head with this one, darling."

She stiffened. "I'll be fine."

"Rachel," Sam said gently, "if you come, Gray's trigger might take our chance to get valuable information."

"So, what—I sit back and make you two dinner in the kitchen?" Rachel scoffed. "I don't know how you two do things, but I don't give my witnesses or suspects that much power over me. Besides, who's to say my 'trigger' won't be beneficial to our investigation? It does involve missing women, after all." Rachel eyed them. "Maybe my having a vagina will get him riled up enough to spill some beans."

Dean's focus fell to the table as soon as the word 'vagina' was mentioned. "She's got a point, Sammy," he muttered, not looking up.

Sam ran his hand over his face. "I don't like it," he said; still, he looked defeated. "But we'll do it your way," he concluded with a sigh, holding Rachel's gaze for a long moment.

Rachel ducked her eyes away from Sam, finding sudden interest in her fork near her plate. He buried his face in the file, avoiding her. Dean looked between them. "So," he said slowly, cutting through the awkward silence, "what cruddy motel are you at around here?"

"The Super 8," Rachel replied.

"Continental?"

"I'm a broke hunter. Of course."

Dean nodded. "Sounds like a winner. We'll get a room after we talk to Hannibal Lecter."