Lebanon, Kansas
Rachel didn't remember Sam waking her, getting out of the Impala, walking into the bunker, or how she even got into a bed. Still, when she woke up in the middle of the night from being cold, she realized somehow she had made it-more than likely because of Sam's help. She was in pajamas-a tank top and a pair of lounge pants-and not entirely sure how it happened, but she knew Sam and Dean were gentlemen, so she assumed she dressed herself.
The room was mostly empty. It clearly had never been used, since it lacked any kind of personal touch. She put on her glasses she recovered from the nightstand next to the bed and hugged herself as she shuffled to the thermostat on the wall, angrily pressing buttons, ineffective at making it change the temperature. Frustrated, she opened the door, peering down the hall to see if there were extra blankets she could use.
She reached the closet at the end of the hall, noticing a soft glow of light coming from the room next to it. Trying to be as quiet as possible, she opened the door and withdrew another blanket, clicking it gently shut. She turned, walking just past the doorway when she heard him call her name.
"Rachel," Sam murmured, a sleepy look on his face as he stood in his doorway with only a pair of sweatpants on. "What's wrong?"
"Just cold," Rachel replied, showing him the blanket. "Thermostat isn't working. Why are you up?"
"Heard you," he admitted, quickingly adding, "but it's okay, really," when he saw her embarrassed face. "I'll come with you to see if I can get it going."
He came alongside her, and they went back to the guest room, Sam pausing at the thermostat as he messed with it. Rachel was unable to help staring at his shirtless broad back and bedhead hair as she watched him from behind. With a deep sigh, Sam turned to her. "Yeah, I don't know what's going on with it." He looked really tired, his hand running through his hair. "Want to camp out in my room until I can get it fixed in the morning? You can take the bed."
"No," she replied, shaking her head. "I'm not going to make you sleep in a chair in your own room."
"It's fine," he insisted, taking her hand. "Come on." Sam's mannerisms were nearly boyish, his exhaustion creating an innocence about him as he led Rachel into his room and shut the door. It was significantly warmer and homier than the guest room. He gestured to the bed, still holding her hand. "Get in," he said with a small smile. "I'll add the extra blanket on you."
As he moved away, she pulled him back to herself. "Lay with me?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She had stayed within his arms for several hours before coming to the bunker, and it was the most peace she ever felt in her life.
The question seemed to wake him up a bit, his eyes rounding a little. "Rachel …"
"We're adults," she reasoning, shrugging one shoulder. "We can share a bed without complications, right?"
Sam nodded slowly. "Sure."
Rachel set her glasses down and climbed into the side of the bed she could tell was unused, Sam settling in behind her after he shut off his light. He had originally intended to keep his distance, but immediately gave into temptation. He drew her greedily to himself and spooned her, adjusting the blankets over them both. His nose nestled into her hair just above her shoulder, inhaling lavender and vanilla. "Thank you," he heard her murmur, seemingly comfortable with his decision.
"You don't have to thank me," he reminded, his body nearly on fire from the contact with hers.
Neither could fall asleep, each too nervous to let their guard down despite their individual boldnesses. "What's your favorite color?" Rachel murmured, her fingers gently tracing the skin of Sam's arm.
"My favorite color?" he repeated, slightly confused.
"Yeah. I mean, I figure if we're sleeping in bed together, then we should try to get to know each other, right?"
He smirked. "Makes sense. Probably blue. Yours?"
"Green."
"Favorite food?"
"Um … probably spaghetti and meatballs. Yours?"
"I actually really like salad."
Rachel couldn't help her surprised tone. "Really?"
"Really," he said with a smile. "Favorite movie?"
"Princess Bride."
"Great choice. Mine's probably The Shawshank Redemption."
She paused for a moment, considering her next question. "Favorite book?"
"Does Shakespeare count?"
"Sure," she shrugged. "I think mine would be Brave New World."
Sam ran his fingers through her hair; they both were far more relaxed than they had been before. Rachel closed her eyes against his touch as he tucked her hair behind her ear. "What did you want to be when you were a kid?" he asked quietly.
Rachel recalled flashes of her childhood in her mind's eye. "Loved," she whispered, knowing it wasn't the intended type of answer. It's all she could think of, though.
Her answered pained him. "I wanted to be normal," Sam said, gently gliding his fingers over her. "I still do, sometimes. I want to pretend what's out there doesn't exist, and just live a normal life."
"Why can't you live a normal life and hunt?" Rachel asked.
He swallowed. "It's too dangerous. It never ends well."
She wanted to see his eyes, but she was afraid to move. "Maybe it won't, though," she whispered. "Maybe it would be different now."
Sam stroked her in silence, his chest tightening as he considered a response. "Maybe," he said, settling for the safe choice.
Under his rhythmic touch, Rachel fell back to sleep. Sam listened to her gentle breaths, his fingers moving in tiny lines across her stomach. Feeling her soft body against his was incredible. It filled a void he knew he had, but didn't realize the expanse of. He couldn't seem to get close enough or hold her tightly enough; he wouldn't be able to go back to sleeping without her so long as she was around. He felt whole, as if he finally had a purpose outside of hunting. He knew she felt safe with him, and he never wanted her to be afraid again.
Sam woke several hours later, Rachel turned inward and her head on his chest, her hand on his stomach as he held her. It was surreal-he was almost certain it had been a dream. Still, there she was, curled up in his embrace, peacefully sleeping. Her skin was silk against his, soft and supple as he stroked her. He couldn't help but laugh a little as he saw how her dark hair had spread over part of his face. Gently, he combed it away, sliding the strands through his fingers. It mesmerized him-he played with her hair, listening to her breathing as he watched her locks dance.
She stirred, and he stilled, waiting to see if she woke. "Sam?" she murmured, still pressed against him.
"Yeah?" he asked, unable to stop playing with her hair.
"Thank you."
He laughed. "Stop thanking me."
"Okay." She kept her head against his chest, listening to the beats of his heart as her fingers absentmindedly found the grooves in his abdomen. "What time is it?"
"Just before eleven, I think."
Her eyes widened. "Oh shit, I'm sorry," she said. She pushed up a little, finding Sam's face a lot closer than she realized.
"And stop apologizing," he whispered with a smile.
Rachel searched his eyes. He looked well-slept, as if he, too, needed the help resting. He also was looking at her in a way that made her insides tingle-for lack of better analogy, like a hunter observing a particular prey he was after. He was so warm, so close. The way he wet his lips sent her stomach into flips. If she was brave, she could reach over with little to no effort and kiss them.
Her heart nearly stopped as he combed away her hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. "Hungry?" he asked. She was afraid to answer, for fear she might say something incredibly dumb like, "Yes, for you," so she nodded. Slowly, he sat up, balancing her as they separated.
She couldn't help but stare at the tattoo on his chest. "What is that a symbol of?" she asked quietly.
He followed her gaze, realizing what she was referring to. "It's a warding," he explained. "A way to ensure I'm not able to be used as a demon vessel."
Vessel. Warding. The two words hit her mind like a freight train. Rachel pressed her palm to her forehead, a painful slice of a memory seeping through from the night before. She heard Sam's voice somewhere in the distance, but she was focused on the events from the night before.
"Rachel!" Sam urged, snapping her back to the present. He was holding her arm in one hand, his other cupping her cheek. "What's wrong?"
"I remember something he said," she replied, staring at the blankets over Sam's lap, still feeling Arioch's thick, hazy touch. "He said that the vessel he wanted was warded."
Sam's thumb moved over her cheek. "Do you remember anything else?"
"Just that he asked me where I wanted to go because ..." She stopped, the memory sickening her. "Because he wants me to have his children." Rachel looked up into his eyes.
His jaw flexed, his face drawn tight in anger as he processed what she said. "You're safe here," he said softly, stroking her face.
"But we need to go back to Lincoln," Rachel argued. "Hailey is out there."
"And we will," Sam agreed. "For now, until we have a solid plan, we need to utilize the bunker."
Rachel stood up, putting her glasses on as Sam stood up on the opposite side of the bed. She watched as he stretched, running a hand through his hair. As he caught her looking, she ducked her eyes. "I'm going to change," she murmured, slipping quickly out of his room.
She was grateful the hall was empty so Dean didn't see her coming out of Sam's room and get the wrong idea. Her room was still cold, so she changed quickly, tugging on jeans and a blue knit top, tying her sneakers and running a brush through her hair. She tucked her gun into the back of her jeans, despite Sam's assurance about the bunker. With all that happened, she needed the comfort.
Rachel wandered down the hall, expecting to see Dean in the kitchen. Still, it was empty, except for a note on the counter:
If you two see this note here, that means I'm not here.
I went for burgers and beer. Just have clothes on when I get back, k?
She laughed, putting the note back on the counter. If Dean was one thing, it certainly wasn't shy.
"Who are you?" a man asked behind her.
Rachel drew her gun, whirling around and taking aim at the strange, dark-haired man in a trench coat. "Don't move," she warned.
The man looked perplexed, but not the least bit scared. "How did you get in here?" he asked.
"How did you get in here?"
"I just came in."
"I didn't see you come in," she growled, cocking the gun.
The man nodded to the gun. "That won't help you."
"It won't help you either."
"Rachel!" Sam shouted, coming down the hallway and approaching her. "Rachel, it's okay," he assured, taking her arm. "This is Castiel. He's a friend."
"How the hell did he get in here?" she demanded.
"Not hell," Castiel corrected.
"He's an angel," Sam explained. Rachel's eyes rounded. She lifted her gun a little higher. "No, no, no," he said quickly, "a good one."
"Dean said angels were dicks and assholes," Rachel recalled, her brow knitted tight.
Castiel's brow raised, then he shrugged with a nod. "That does sound like Dean."
Sam gently lowered Rachel's arm, taking the gun from her and setting it on the counter. "Castiel, meet Rachel Lentz. Hunter."
"I thought you said nothing gets in here," she said with a glare.
"Nothing uninvited," Sam explained. "It's okay."
"So, Arioch can't get in?"
"Arioch?" Castiel asked, stepping toward Rachel. His eyes narrowed. "Arioch is a Watcher," he murmured.
"We know," Rachel said. "We're tracking him."
"Watchers only have two motivations: souls and procreation."
"Who's procreating?" Dean asked with a grin, barging into the bunker with a giant brown bag and a case of beer, kicking the door shut.
"Apparently Arioch," Sam replied as Dean came down the stairs. His hands tensed by his sides. "Why would he want to create more nephilim?"
"Control," Castiel said. "Nephilims made from Watchers are very powerful. If Arioch can't have dominion in heaven, he can on earth."
Dean set down the bag and the beer on the table, looking to Sam. "So, not only is he sucking their souls, he's knocking them up?"
"Knocking who up?" Castiel asked, stumbling a little over the slang.
"There are a series of missing women in Lincoln, Nebraska," Sam explained. "Rachel's cousin might be included in them."
Castiel's brow furrowed. "If he's taken people, they aren't likely alive anymore. When Watchers feed, it drains a soul, and the vessel cannot recover." Sam winced, shaking his head at Castiel, urging him to shut up through a silent glare.
"We know," Dean said, "but-"
Rachel's stomach dropped from Castiel's matter-of-fact tone and Dean's admission. She backed away from the three men, her bottom lip quivering. "'You know?'" she interrupted, her voice raising. All three looked to her, their expressions somber. "What the hell do you mean, 'you know?'"
Sam swallowed, lifting his hands as he took a step toward her. "Rachel-"
"Is it true?" she demanded, glaring at him. "Is it?" After a moment's pause, her face tightened when Sam shut his eyes and hung his head. "You son of a bitch."
Sam moved in front of her and took her hands. "Rachel, we're going to find Hailey," he assured.
Rachel yanked away from his. "You didn't say anything about this. Neither of you." She glared at Dean, then back to Sam. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"We didn't want you to lose hope."
"You don't get to decide what I should know and shouldn't know," she growled.
Sam moved closer, gently taking her hands again. "I know," he said, keeping a firm grip on her. "And I'm sorry. I didn't have the right to keep that from you."
Despite her anger, Sam's touch was her only lifeline in that moment. "So she's dead?" she asked stiffly, looking between him and the others.
"Not necessarily," Sam replied. "If he hasn't fed, she's fine. Besides, we can see if—"
"But if he has, then she isn't alive."
Sam didn't reply. Rachel wasn't sure if she wanted to punch him, or for him to hold her and make her feel safe. She drew in a breath, shutting her eyes. "Where are your books on angel lure?" she asked when she opened them.
"Over here," he said gently, leading her out of sight to the library.
When they were alone, she stopped him, looking into his eyes. "Is she dead, Sam?" she whispered, clutching his hand. "Just tell me the truth."
Sam was quiet as he looked down at her. He combed her hair away from her face. "I don't know," he replied gently. "But I'm going to do whatever it takes to find her." Her eyes welled with tears, and she pressed herself to him. He wrapped his arms around her, his hands soothing her as he held her to himself. "I will, Rachel," he promised. "I'll do everything I can."
When Rachel pulled away, Sam stopped her, cupping either side of her face and wiping her tears with his thumbs. He gently bent down, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. Her stomach knotted as his lips brushed her skin. His touch was incredibly soothing, but his kiss was ten times moreso, and she had to stop herself from whimpering in disappointment as he straightened.
"Sam, Rachel," Dean called from the kitchen. "Get in here."
Sam held her face for a few beats, already more than tempted to kiss her lips before Dean yelled. Reluctantly, he let go, taking Rachel's hand and going back to the kitchen.
When they approached, Dean stood. "They just called with the autopsy findings on the body," he said quietly. "They positively I.D.'ed her as Sarah Cartwright. They're listing cause of death as cardiac arrest."
"Which is typical of drained vessels," Castiel added softly.
"They also said the body was green due to an anti-fungal chemical her body was covered in."
"What kind of anti-fungal chemical?" Sam asked, still holding Rachel's hand.
"Commercial grade for plants," Dean replied. "The green dye is specific to a brand called Gilcrest Mills."
"A sweet smell," Rachel murmured. "So, he's keeping them in a nursery?"
Sam let go of her hand, snagging his laptop from the library and returning to the kitchen table. He furiously searched online, Rachel coming to stand behind him. "There are six nurseries in a thirty mile radius," he said, still focused on his search. "If we can figure out which uses the anti-fungal, we can narrow that down." He pulled up the company's information, jotting it down on a piece of paper Dean gave him. Sam slid Dean the number, and Dean punched it into his phone, pacing away from the others as he called.
Sam kept digging, reading what he could on the company. "The anti-fungal is used in maintaining plants during overly wet conditions."
"He would preserve the bodies as he fed," Rachel concluded grimly, sinking into a chair next to him.
Castiel approached Sam. "You do know killing Arioch won't be easy," he warned. "Even with an angel blade or sword, if his power is too great, he will have a definite advantage."
Sam nodded. "I know. But we've got to do whatever we can."
Dean hung up his phone, coming back to the others. "Alright, we've got it down to four nurseries," he reported. He snagged the burgers from the bag, tossing them to each person. "Eat up. Then we'll hit the road."