Rachel blinked her eyes open, swallowing to wet her dry throat as she looked at her surroundings. She was back in the bunker, laying on Sam's bed. She remembered the drinking, and the weird man who tried to tell her he knew her, but she didn't remember how she got back home.

"Sam?" she called softly, standing. She was in her pajamas; it must have been late because there wasn't a single peep in the hallway when she peeked out. Making her way through the darkness, she saw a glow emanating from the kitchen. "Sam?" she asked again.

Sam turned around, smiling down at her. "Hey," he said, coming over to her and giving her a kiss on the forehead. "What are you doing up?"

Rachel's brows were knit together, still perplexed by the mystery of how they got home. "I don't remember getting home," she replied. "How did we get home?"

"Dean drove," Sam said, eyeing her. "You okay?"

"But … Dean was with Vance."

"You were pretty buzzed. You fell asleep, so I guess you missed it all."

Rachel looked around the kitchen, blinking hard. She couldn't tell if it was from the haze of sleep or not, but the room seemed to have a thick fog over it. "Why is it foggy in here?"

"Foggy?" Sam asked, confused.

"Yeah."

Sam moved closer, stroking her cheek. "I'm worried about you," he said gently. "You seem distressed."

She felt herself relax under his touch, the fog fading a little. "It just scared me."

"Why would it scare you? You're home, and you're safe."

"Because … I should remember getting here."

"Buzzed, remember?"

Rachel nodded slowly, still not fully convinced. "Yeah. I guess."

Sam took her hand. "Come on. Let's get you back to bed." He led her down the hall and into his room, gently shutting the door behind them and drawing her close. His lips met hers, and she accepted his kiss, linking her arms around his neck.

With suddenness, she pulled away. "You … You taste different," she whispered.

Sam laughed. "I what?"

She took a step backwards. "You taste like … like ash. But you don't smoke."

He eyed her; she noticed the subtle change in his mood. "Why are you being so difficult?"

She was a little surprised by his snippy tone. "I'm not trying to be. It just … It feels weird."

Sam pulled her to himself, crushing her mouth on his. "Stop overthinking everything, Rachel," he urged between kisses. "Just relax."

Rachel kissed him, trying to ignore the ashy taste of his mouth and the cool touch of his fingers. None of it felt right, or good, but she was determined to try to forget her worries for his sake. He guided her down onto the bed, pulling her shirt off and going to unhook her bra when she saw a flare of orange in his eyes. With a gasp, she rolled out from under him, backing toward the door with shaky breaths. "You aren't Sam," she shuddered, twisting the knob. It wouldn't move. She yanked on it, desperate to free herself. Still, the door remained closed.

Sam slowly approached, a smile on his face. "I am Sam, sweetheart," he said, reaching out to touch her cheek, making contact. She paused, his touch somehow sedating her a little. "Who else would I be?"

"Arioch," Rachel shuddered, darting away from his touch and kicking at the door. "Help me! Someone-"

Arioch grabbed her from behind, one hand over her mouth, the other with two fingers pressed to her forehead. "Shh," he urged, her body falling limp in his arms. He was disgusted as he tossed her body onto the bed, eyeing her. "I guess we'll have to give you more drugs, won't we? Because you have to enjoy yourself for it to work, you little whore." Arioch sighed, his eyes flaring orange in rage. "Can't make it easy on me, can you? Just let me fuck you without a second thought. Nooo. Have to fight." He strolled over to her, examining her body. "If you weren't so perfect, I'd suck you dry right now and let you rot." His finger trailed over the rise of her breasts. "I sure hope you're worth the trouble, Rachel."

Sam was a panicked mess by the time Dean parked the Impala in front of the bar where Rachel disappeared. His hair was unkempt, his eyes red and wet, his hands shaking in his jacket pockets. "I reviewed the security tapes," he said as soon as Dean walked over to him, showing him his phone. "I was able to get a good frame, but we need to get this pic to someone who can do something with it." He jittered, tension riddling his body. "We'll have to go back to the police, but what can we even say? We witnessed him? I mean, what do we do?"

"Sam," Dean said gently, putting his hand on his brother's arm, "just … just breathe." He held Sam's gaze, forcing him to remain still. "We're going to get her back," he said, watching Sam's jaw tick. "Alive. Whole. We will. I promise you."

Sam looked down, gritting his teeth. "There's no way you can promise that, Dean."

He looked up when he heard Vance approaching. "Nice job," Vance growled, more than pissed. "Glad she was so safe with you."

Sam lunged for Vance, Dean stopping him short. "Hey," he shouted at Vance while holding Sam, "give me one good reason why I shouldn't let him deck you in the face." Dean glared at Vance, waiting.

Vance scoffed, turning away. After a moment, Dean let Sam go, who squeezed his eyes shut and moved the opposite way. "Okay," Dean continued, mainly addressing Sam in his natural big brother voice of assurance, "now, we're going to get this to the local PD for them to identify the man. It's all we can do right now. So, let's get a motel and we'll go first thing in the morning. Alright?"

Sam nodded, still looking out into the streets at the shops along the walkway. "Yeah."

The three got two hotel rooms, Sam and Dean sharing a double bed room. Dean had stripped down for bed, but Sam paced by the window near his bed, restless and anxious. "Sammy," Dean said, empathy filling him as he watched his brother's distress, "you need to get rest. For her. You need to stay sharp."

"I lost her, Dean," Sam whispered, pausing as he stared down at the motel carpet. "I lost her."

"You did your best. I know you did."

"I still lost her."

"We'll find her."

"Will we?" Sam asked incredulously, eyeing Dean. "I mean, how the hell can you sit there and say we'll find her when you had to put a bullet in her cousin's head? You honestly think he's going to keep her alive for shits and giggles?"

"You've got to keep hope, Sam," Dean replied firmly.

Sam shook his head. "By now, he's probably raped her and fed on her." He growled, his fist colliding with the wall, an impression left in the plaster.

"You've got to try. It's what she would want you to do."

Sam looked back over at Dean. "She would want the truth, Dean. And it is the truth. She's gone. And it's my fault."

He sat down on the mattress, his back to Dean as he hung his head, raking his fingers through his hair. Dean watched, pained as he tried to assess what to say, what to do. "I'll do everything we can, Sam. I promise you."

"Thanks," Sam managed, still hunched over.

Dean ran his hand over his face, watching Sam for a long moment before quietly getting into bed. Right now, there wasn't anything he could do, though. There wasn't anything left to say. Sam was right-the truth was pretty damn grim.

Dean woke early the next morning, not surprised that Sam was already dressed in his FBI suit they kept in the trunk of the Impala. His own was waiting for him on a hanger. Sam stared out of the window, wringing his hands.

"You're up early," Dean murmured, sitting up with a small groan.

"Didn't really sleep," Sam replied, keeping his focus on the view of the parking lot.

Dean dressed quickly, knowing Sam was anxious to get to the police station. He was too, though he knew it didn't compare to how Sam felt. It had been half of forever since he saw Sam so passionate about a woman, or really anything, for that matter. He wasn't a praying man and didn't expect it to be received, but he sent up one to Chuck on Sam's and Rachel's behalves anyway.

The brothers left their hotel room, Vance waiting outside. Sam didn't stop—he breezed by Vance without a second look, still bitter at the remark he made the night before. Guilt gnawed at him, stress compounding the hopeless situation he put himself in, and put her in. There was no way he could live with himself if Rachel wasn't found alive and unharmed.

The three drove in silence to the police station, Sam ahead of the pack as they parked and walked to the entrance. He barely waited for Dean to come to his side before he flashed his FBI badge. "Agent Elliott, Agent Russell," he said, ignoring Vance. "We need to speak with the Chief regarding utilizing your resources for an investigation."

The officer up front in the station let them in, Sam leading the charge to the Chief's office. Chief Denning's brow furrowed as he looked at the three. "Did Agent Markson withdraw from the investigation?"

"No," Sam replied, clearly upset but attempting to keep himself controlled. "She was kidnapped. And we need your office resources to identify this man she was last seen with. We have reason to believe it's the same man who took the other women."

Sam showed the Chief the picture from his phone. "We've got a couple resident digital artists," Chief Denning said as he looked at the screen. "They should be able to run facial recognition against this."

"Good. Where are they located?"

"Second floor, first door off the elevator to the left." The Chief eyed Sam. "I'm terribly sorry about Agent Markson. I'll have my men in it as well."

"Thanks," Sam offered, holding his gaze for a brief moment. His eyes flicked down to a picture on the Chief's desk, his brow arching subtly. "Your family?"

"Yep, that's all of us," the Chief replied with a smile. "At the family farm, not too farm from here."

"Is that your daughter?" Sam asked, pointing to a young girl with dark brown hair standing in front of a younger version of Chief Denning.

"It is. She was so small. That's from about … oh gosh, probably thirteen years ago." He laughed. "Probably the last time we all were in the same place at the same time."

Sam gave him a forced smile, then left the office. Dean was right behind him; Sam yanked him closer before Vance could catch up. "Gray was in the picture," he murmured to Dean.

"Are you sure?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded. "It's him."

"So if he's related to Gray—"

"Who's related to Gray?" Vance asked, stopping the two.

"Looks like the Chief is," Sam replied stiffly.

"Son of a bitch!"

"Easy," Dean urged with a glare. "Keep it down."

"Then he knows more than he's letting on."

"Maybe. Maybe not," Sam said. "Either way, it wouldn't hurt to run some background on the Chief."

"Sammy, you're better at that than me," Dean said gently as the elevator opened. They all stepped in, Dean hitting the second floor button. "Vance and I will run the scan. You go get on a computer and see what you can dig up."

Reluctantly, Sam nodded. He knew Dean's division was for the best, but he was consumed by finding Rachel. He didn't care about Chief Denning's relationship to James Gray. Still, it could be a valuable connection, and he wouldn't have to be near Vance.

They split off, Sam entering the computer lab at the far end of the hall. A short, stocky young man in a dated suit stood up as soon as Sam flashed his badge. "Chief Denning gave us permission to utilize your resources for an investigation," Sam explained. "I'm going to need a computer to run background checks."

"I can do that for you, if you'd like," the young man said eagerly.

"Thanks, but I'd rather run them myself."

The young man nodded, a little intimidated by Sam's stiffness. He led Sam to a computer in the rear of the lab, watching as Sam sat down. "Just, um, let me know if you need anything," he said, insanely curious about what Sam would look up.

"Thanks."

Sam waited until the young man left, quickly pulling up one of the unfiltered databases he used frequently on hunts. He plugged in the Chief's information, pulling up a family lineage chart. "Shit," he whispered as he clicked through, reading his file. James Gray was listed as not only the Chief's brother in law, but Gray's own wife, Denning's sister, was listed as deceased. And she fit Arioch's type to a T.

With renewed determination, Sam immediately texted Dean:

Gray is Chief Denning's brother in law. They have Gray's wife listed as deceased. She fits Arioch's type.

Dean only took a minute to respond.

Then that means Denning worked with Arioch or at least knows something.

Sam replied:

We need to grill him now. He's involved in this.

Dean typed back:

Sammy, we can't bust into the Chief's office with cops all around. We need to get him alone.

Sam clenched his jaw. He knew Dean was right. But time was of the essence:

How? We need to move on this now.

Dean wrote back:

We call him up with a tip. Claim we tracked our suspect down to insider, and need to talk to him in private. Then we get the info we want out of him alone.

Sam drew in a deep breath:

He's orchestrated this from the day Rachel walked into his office. I'm going to fucking kill him.

Dean typed:

Easy, Sammy. We will get him. But we need to be smart.

Sam nearly growled:

Fine. But I'm still killing the son of a bitch.

Rachel's head throbbed as she woke, Sam laying next to her in bed. "Hey," he said gently. "How are you feeling?"

Memories of what happened before flashed through her mind's eye. She backed away from Sam, her pulse quickening. Sam's brow furrowed. "Baby girl, what's wrong?"

"You're … You're not him," she said, though she began to doubt herself as she saw the gentle familiarity of his eyes.

"Sweetheart, I know you've been having nightmares the last couple days," Sam said gently, taking her hand in his as they sat up. "But I'm real. I'm right here."

Rachel blinked heavily, focusing on Sam's vibrant eyes. He reached out and stroked her cheek with his free hand, his warmth soothing her. "Sam, I thought you were him," she whispered.

"Who?"

"... Arioch."

Sam examined her with empathy. "He would try to trick you like that. I'm so sorry, baby girl."

"But … You're not, right?"

He drew her to himself, his lips finding hers. She whimpered, the taste more than familiar. "Of course not. I'm me," he whispered when they parted. He cupped her cheeks, trapping her lips again and pulling her to her knees to sit her on his lap. Working his mouth over hers and across her cheek, he gently ran his hands up the sides of her waist, playing with the waistband of her shorts and dipping his thick fingers under it to feel her soft skin. "God, you're beautiful," he groaned as he attacked her neck.

Rachel slowly regained her senses as she realized she was still without a shirt, just like when the supposed "Sam" had tried to have sex with her before. This wasn't Sam either. Sure, he was more accurate version, but it couldn't have been him. He wouldn't have let her sleep like that. Her stomach churned, as if the removal of her layer also withdrew a mask over reality. A look at his chest confirmed her fears:

There was no tattoo.

Her heart froze as she felt Sam kissing down to her shoulder to her bra strap. She let him, knowing what she had to do in order to escape. Gently, she lifted his head back up for a kiss to his lips, drawing him close. With a sudden burst of strength, she dug her fingers into his eyes until she saw blood. Sam howled in pain and she bolted off the bed, grabbing the knob of the door and yanking it open.

Rachel fled into a dark, open space. She was no longer in the bunker, but somewhere she didn't know. Somewhere cold and damp, like a basement. Frantically, she searched for an exit, a window or a door that would lead outside. Her heart stopped when she saw a slice of daylight through cellar doors up a small flight of stairs.

"You think you can escape me, Rachel?" Sam's voice called from behind her, a maniacal laugh following. "I'd love to see you try."

She spotted a broken piece of pipe on the ground and grabbed it, the steel heavy in her hands as she ran for the door. Still, her body was thrown to the ground, and she screamed as she was dragged backwards on her stomach, clinging to the pipe for as long as she could, until it slipped from her fingers just as she stopped. Arioch rolled her over and yanked to stand, the man from the church looking down at her. His eyes were filled with blood, but slowly healing. Rachel's head throbbed as she struggled to free herself.

Arioch laughed. "You want him so badly," he whispered. "And I almost had you." Keeping her under a firm grip, Arioch yanked Rachel's hair down, forcing her to look up. "Now you can forget about this happening the easy way. I'll take you as many times as I need to, you little bitch. I was trying to be nice to you, but you don't deserve it."

With a firm kick to his groin, Rachel freed herself and fled, taking up the pipe a few feet away and swinging it madly at the man. She knocked him in the head, his body dropping to the ground. She kept hold of the pipe and fled for the stairs, banging the pipe against the doors until they burst open. Bright rays of sunlight blinded her eyes and she screamed, hoping someone-anyone-would hear her.

Barefoot and in a bra and shorts, Rachel ran to the road, realizing she was on the property of a large farmhouse pretty isolated from the rest of the town. She spotted houses in the very far distance and immediately headed for them.

Her efforts were in vain, though. Arioch drug Rachel back to the basement with his invisible power, the pipe rolling away from her hands as she clawed at the grass, trying to keep purchase. She screamed as her chin smacked against each of the wooden stairs on her way back down as he forced her back into the basement, throwing her across the room with his power and rendering her unconscious.