Lebanon, Kansas

Two Hours Earlier

"What the hell is wrong with him?" Dean shouted to Castiel, slamming his beer on the kitchen table as Castiel sat and listened. "How the fuck can he just sit there and let her go? I know that asshole loves her, but he still lets her go? Saying, 'it's what she wants?'" If I didn't know better, I'd say he was brain dead after being hit in the head too many times, the stupid son of a—"

"Bitch," Sam finished, sighing heavily as he leaned on the door frame. Dean whirled around, not expecting Sam to be there. "Yeah. I agree. I am an idiot for letting her go. I guess love makes you do stupid shit."

Dean drank his beer, eyeing his brother. "Look, I may not want to get into her pants, but that doesn't mean I don't give a shit about her." Sam saw Dean's creased brow, his balled up fist. His concern for Rachel was more than evident, his anger seemingly out of control. "She might be too damn good for you," he spat. "Hell, she's too damn good for everyone. And now she's out there, getting on a fucking bus to hide from you, because you let her down."

Sam drew in a deep breath, willing himself to let Dean have his time without interrupting him or defending himself. Though it was hard to hear, it wasn't anything he hadn't already thought, or already knew. "I know. Believe me."

"That girl has been through more shit than any one person should ever go through," Dean continued, taking a step to his brother. "So you'd better be in here telling me we are going after her and that you're going to keep that girl safe, because if you're not, then get the hell out until you are."

"I am," Sam said firmly, jaw ticking. His cheeks were still damp from his tears shed earlier in his room. "So, are you coming, or not?"

Lincoln, Nebraska

Early the next morning, Rachel woke in the Super 8 motel after three hours of sleep. She skipped her shower, opting to roll her hair into a thick bun, dressing in her FBI suit. She knew she had to access both police and public records if she wanted to find out where Vance Matthews was buried. Sam had told her in the hospital they didn't salt and burn the body due to their rush to get her treatment. She knew he didn't mean it that way, but she couldn't help but feel the additional guilt on her plate now that Vance's spirit was terrorizing people.

Eating a free bagel from the continental breakfast, Rachel walked to the bus, taking the connection to the police station. Once at the stairs to the building, she drew in a deep breath and straightened her shoulders, marching up the stairs. She was prepared for the role she needed to play in order to get the information she wanted.

Walking up to the counter, she gave a friendly smile to the officer. She expected possible resistance. What she wasn't prepared for was what he said after greeting her. "Agent Markson, I remember you." The officer smiled back. "Agents Elliott and Russell just went to the archives on the second floor."

Rachel's heart stopped. "They did?"

"Yeah." The officer looked confused. "Didn't you know that?"

"Sure," Rachel laughed, shaking her head. "Just haven't had enough coffee yet. Thanks, officer."

The young man smiled, buzzing her through. Rachel's palms coated with sweat as she slowly walked to the elevator. There was no avoiding Sam now. The very records he and Dean were accessing were what she needed to keep them safe. She had no choice. She would work with them to end Vance.

With a gulp, she stepped off the elevator onto the second floor, pinching at the fabric of her blazer as she approached the department. She drew in a deep breath and quietly opened the door, seeing Sam's thick hair curtained around his face as he read over a file across the room at a table with Dean.

As if she signaled a radar, his eyes shot up to the sound of the door, honing in on her. His jaw flexed as he looked her over from across the room for a brief moment before tossing the file at Dean and striding over to her. She felt impossibly small the closer he came, his large hand finding the her lower back. "Outside," he whispered in her ear. She knew he was trying to remain professional for appearances as he guided her out of the room. Still, in that moment, with his burly aura and his intense eyes, she didn't know whether to be relieved or afraid.

Sam turned Rachel to face him when they found a quiet corner of the hall. His eyes were rimmed with dark circles he hadn't even bothered to try to hide, unlike hers. Still, the hazels of them shone with a comforting clarity as he looked down at her. His thumb ran over her cheek, his lips pressed together as he studied her in silence.

Drawing her deeper into the darkened corner, Sam pulled her to himself, pressing his lips over her cheek before trapping her mouth in his. She whimpered under his demanding kiss, her heart aching for both his close touch and his distant safety. He cupped her face as he nipped at her lower lip. "Rachel," he whispered, the way he said her name sending a shiver up her spine, "I missed you so damn much."

"Sam," she whispered as he focused on kissing her jawline, "you're not safe. It's-"

"Vance Matthews," he finished, keeping her close though he pulled away a little to look into her eyes. "We know." She saw the hints of pain he wrestled with as he examined her. "And you were what, planning on salting and burning him yourself? A poltergeist, who happens to be severely pissed off at all of us?"

"You in particular," she replied, swallowing back her smart ass reply she almost opted for, knowing he was right. It was a dumb plan. But love made you do really stupid shit, didn't it?

"Why do you say that?"

Rachel moved out of his grasp and took out the folded picture from the case file from her pocket, showing him as she traced the letters. "I … I knew as soon as I saw the file last night that he was trying to draw you out. I didn't want you to come."

"Because you wanted to keep me safe," he concluded as he tucked the photo into his suit jacket pocket, running his fingers over the nape of her neck exposed by her bun. He leaned in, his warm breath coasting over her ear. "Welcome to my world, baby girl."

Rachel squeezed her eyes shut as he gently sucked on her earlobe. "I know," she shuddered. The silent treatment, the distance, the secretive way of existing-everything Sam chose the last three weeks made sense to her now. She could no longer blame him for wanting to keep her at arm's length out of a strong desire to protect her. "I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for. I never wanted you to feel like I didn't want you, or I didn't care about you. And I'm sorry I did. You're everything to me. I wanted to keep you safe."

"I understand now," she assured. "And I'm sorry I ran, and tried to do this by myself. I didn't want you to get hurt."

Despite their moment, Sam seemed to have his own agenda, holding her still as she threatened to jump from his tongue flicking over her neck, his fingers gliding over her hips.

"Sam, this really isn't the place," she scolded, trying to squirm away from him.

He laughed gently as she nearly squeaked when he grabbed her backside. "Then later, my bed," he said into her ear. "I've got time to make up and apologies to repeatedly give you." He nipped at her neck. "Dammit, I need you." His public friskiness and command was both nerve-racking and intoxicating.

"When you two are done making out, I've got a location for the body."

They both turned to Dean, seeing his raised brow as he looked them over, casually leaning against the wall. "Hey, don't let me stop you," he teased with a smirk. "No need to rush."

Rachel wrinkled her nose. "Gross, Dean."

"Yeah, Dean. Gross," Sam agreed, somewhere between warning and pissed.

Dean shrugged. "Hey, you're the ones publically making out in a police station."

Sam held Rachel's hand as they crossed over to Dean. "So, where is the body?"

"In a marked grave in the southeast end of a graveyard about twenty-five miles from here. The site is suppose to be pretty big."

"They knew who he was?"

"Chances are, they ran DNA."

"Where are you staying?" Sam asked Rachel.

"The Super 8," Rachel replied.

"Good. So are we. We'll head back, get changed, and go dig up a grave."

Dean nodded, grinning back at them as he led the charge out of the station. "Just, uh, no hanky panky in between. I want to get this done. There's supposed to be good adult entertainment options available tonight at the Rusty Nail."

"The 'Rusty Nail' sounds like somewhere you go to get a guaranteed STD," Rachel quipped.

Sam laughed; it was more than comforting to hear after so many weeks of hardships. "She's not wrong," he agreed.

"Whatever," Dean said with a shrug.

Sam rolled his eyes, tightening his grip on Rachel's hand as they followed. "I've got all the entertainment I could ever need right here," he teased in her ear, satisfied when he saw her cheeks flush.

Changed into jeans, casual tops, and boots, the three exited the Impala at the poorly kept graveyard where Vance's body was supposed to have been buried. "According to the file, this graveyard is for people who have no next of kin that can be tracked."

"I bet this place is a fun time on Halloween," Rachel murmured.

Dean threw open the Impala's trunk, tossing a shovel to Sam and grabbing one for himself. "Sorry, sweetheart," he said, "no extra shovel. We don't usually have company for S and Bs."

"It's alright." She smirked at Sam. "I'll just have to enjoy the view, I guess."

Dean gave Sam a shotgun, slinging one over his own shoulder. "Oh no. You get to carry the salt bag," Dean corrected, tossing it to her. She caught it with an oomph, the bag heavier than she expected.

"Easy," Sam grumbled. "She's like 95 pounds, Dean. The bag probably weighs more than her."

"God, I love that you think I'm 95 pounds," Rachel sighed.

"I think I might be 95 pounds after all that damn rabbit food your boyfriend cooked," Dean added as they started for the massive lining of graves.

"Please," Sam replied. "You ate your fair share. And I know you were sneaking burgers in between."

"Wings sometimes too."

"I'm pretty sure food will be your undoing, not anything we ever fight."

"Not everyone needs to run to stay sexy," Dean smirked. "Isn't that right, Rach?" He winked at her.

"I hate running," Rachel admitted, laughing at the look of mock horror from Sam. "Nope. You won't get me to go with you, even if it means I miss out on seeing your ass at work."

"Damn," Sam pouted. "I was really hoping to get you into a pair of hot pants."

As they looked for potential fresh graves, Rachel passed by a tombstone that had a large, flat surface, like a wide shelf. "Either of you ever done it in a graveyard?" she asked, maintaining a flirty innocence that went straight through Sam, making his member twitch.

"Nope," Sam said, clearing his throat.

"I plead the fifth," Dean replied.

"Really?" Sam asked, surprised.

Dean shrugged. "Kinda just happened."

Rachel's face wrinkled. "Gross."

"Hey, you asked."

"I didn't expect the answer to be yes."

"Well, what about you, Princess?" Dean asked with a grin.

Rachel hesitated, glancing over at Sam. "A makeout once on a dare."

Dean laughed at Sam's raised brow. "Atta girl." He elbowed his brother. "You snagged a fun one."

Sam gave a toothy smile, dimples creased. "I snagged the best," he corrected, grabbed Rachel around the waist and indulging in a slow, deep kiss.

Dean kept going, rolling his eyes. "For fuck sake," he grumbled, trudging ahead and leaving them. "No, no—don't worry," he said, his voice loud and dripping with sarcasm, "I'll keep looking for the bones of the poltergeist intent on killing us while you two swap spit."

Sam ignored Dean, slipping his tongue into Rachel's mouth with a groan as he ran his free hand over her flannel-covered waist. "You stole my shirt," he murmured as he broke the kiss.

Rachel blushed. "Sorry."

"It's okay. You'll make it up to me later."

"Oh, I will, will I?"

"Yes you will, little girl." His heady tone made gooseflesh run over her arms. He leaned in. "No one steals from me and gets away with it." His lips sank onto her jaw in a wet kiss.

"Yes, sir," she teased, tilting her head to give him better access.

"Fuck," he murmured, not expecting the blazing heat that stirred within from what she said. "Say that again."

"Yes, sir."

Sam practically growled as he attacked her neck. "Let's go find this son of a bitch so I can show you just what that's doing to me." He pulled away, leading her forward.

"So, someone likes being called, 'sir,'" Rachel noted with a flirty tone.

"Apparently."

She laughed, receiving a light smack on her backside that took her breath away. "And someone likes to be spanked," Sam said, licking his lips as he saw how her mouth rounded. "Two-way street, darling."

"Get the hell over here, you two," Dean shouted back at them. "I let you have your freaky moment. Now move it." They heard Dean grumbling as they got closer. "Fucking have to play principal with your asses."

The three walked for a while in comfortable silence, trying to locate a grave marked with Vance's name. The graveyard was massive, though, so the afternoon sun was already well overhead by the time they found the grave. "Finally," Dean growled, flopping down onto the grass.

"Come on, jerk," Sam said, thrusting his shovel into the grass and slicing through the newly grown sod, "get up."

"Shut it, bitch."

"If you didn't eat all those burgers, you wouldn't be so tired."

"I'm tired because we walked five miles to get here. Fucking hell."

Rachel finally caught up, groaning as she sat in the grass. "Sam, how the hell are you okay right now?"

"I'm motivated to get done and back to the motel," he replied with a sly wink.

Dean grumbled as he stood up, joining Sam in digging. The two brothers dug for a solid ten minutes before Rachel waved at them to stop. "What?" Dean asked, panting.

"Shh. Do you hear that?" she asked, eyes wide as she looked around.

"Hear what?" Sam said.

Rachel waited a moment. "That," she said, pointing her finger toward the sound. She walked over toward it, Sam watching her in worry as he tossed his shovel down.

"What the hell does she hear?" Dean asked.

"No clue," Sam replied as he followed her.

Rachel screamed with suddenness as her body was lifted, whizzing in the air past Sam into a tree trunk. Vance's spirit had her in his control. "Son of a bitch!" Sam shouted, racing after her. "Dig, Dean!" He rushed over to Rachel, who was gasping for breath, suspended in the air against the trunk. He aimed his shotgun into the open field, trying to spot Vance to weaken him with rocksalt.

Sam finally heard what Rachel did, a chilling whisper of a laugh as Rachel gasped harder to breath. "Dig!" Sam growled, eyes wild as he looked around. He spotted a blurred movement, aiming and firing at it. Rocksalt penetrated through it, and Rachel fell to the ground, sucking in air. "You okay?" Sam asked, kneeling down to her and moving her hair out of her face.

Rachel's eyes rounded. "Behind you!" she managed through a rasp. Sam turned, blasting his shotgun at the apparition, dissolving it with a whoosh. Rachel leaned her head against the tree trunk, still panting as Sam grabbed her hand.

"Come on," he said, tugging her toward the grave, where Dean was furiously digging. He handed Rachel the shotgun; she reloaded it, readying it as Sam grabbed his shovel and dug. Her eyes scanned the area, dirt flying behind her as the boys tried to reach the box with Vance's bones.

A mostly invisible figure appeared right next to Sam. "Sam, get down!" she yelled, blasting a shot at it as Sam lowered to the ground. Still, despite her hit, she felt a hand wrap around her throat. She gasped, dropping the shotgun as she tried to free herself from the invisible grasp.

"Shit!" Sam growled, stopping and grabbing the shotgun, loading it with salt.

"We're there!" Dean shouted as he cracked through the wood.

"Hurry, Dean!"

"Sorry, I wasn't aware I was taking my damn time!"

As Sam went to aim the shotgun, it flew from his hand across the field, his body thrown roughly in the opposite direction. He landed on his back, groaning as his spine collided with a grave marker.

Rachel pawed at her throat, her eyes watering as she tried to free herself. Sam pushed to his feet and dove after Dean's shotgun, cocking it and firing a round at the blur he spotted. Rachel was released—she gasped, coughing as Sam bent to her, examining her. "Breathe, baby," he urged, fearing the paleness of her complexion.

Behind them, Dean furiously salted what he could see of the bones, the box they were in only partially opened. Squeezing lighter fluid over it, he tossed a match and watched it light up. He glanced over to Sam, who was stroking Rachel's back.

Sam stood, pulling Rachel up next to him and steadying her with an arm around her waist. They slowly stepped toward the fire, watching the box burn. Rachel clung to Sam's shirt, drawing in shaky breaths as she balanced herself against him. "This will do it?" she asked, glancing between the brothers.

Dean nodded. "It has before." He left them to collect Sam's shotgun across from them.

Rachel tried to calm the fear in her as she studied the flames, drinking in Sam's caress and warmth. "Let's go," Sam said to her, stooping to grab the salt bag, slinging it over his shoulder with Dean's shotgun.

"I can get that," Rachel murmured.

"You just focus on breathing," he insisted, taking up his shovel. Dean rejoined them, shotgun on his back as he picked up his own shovel and led the charge back to the Impala.