As soon as Rachel was gone, Dean grunted and slapped his hand against the wall. "This," he said, turning to Sam, "is killing me."

Sam nodded, wearing that oh-so-patient look on his face that he was so good at. "I understand. But at least she trusts you."

"Yeah, but she can't remember anything. What happened to her, who I am, anything about us. It's.. I don't know what to do, man."

"Be patient. It's the only thing we can do."

"Well it's not enough! This is... You can't imagine, Sam. I mean, that damn demons kidnapped and raped her and took her God damn memory. Look at her! She's all banged up and bruised and looks like she's going to fall apart, and there's nothing I can do!"

"But she's alive," Sam said, voice soft. Even. Non accusing.

Still.

"Shit," Dean swore. He crossed the room and flopped on the bed. Closing his eyes, he draped on arm over his eyes. "Shit, Sam, I'm sorry. I... This is so fucked up."

"I'll give you that." The chair scraped over the colorless tile floor. Sam flicked Dean's forearm. "Dean, I'm not playing whose girlfriend had it worse. Which of us is suffering more. I mean, losing Jess was awful. The worst thing I thought could happen. And, while I'm glad Rachel didn't end up… like that, this is awful. Totally sucks. I mean… Christ."

Dean snorted. "You said it." He sat up. Rubbed his forehead. "Shit, I knew I should have stayed away from her. Knew it. Your stupid-ass joke made me slip up because I actually believed…."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't." He rolled his eyes. "I'm not blaming you. It's me. I knew. We're not meant for this, Sam." He looked at his brother, shaking his head. "You, me, Dad. We got a target painted on us. I knew that and I dragged her into it anyway."

"Yeah, because Rachel was so reluctant to get involved."

"Well, Christ, Sam, it ain't like you had to lock us in a room to get us to sleep together or anything."

Sam closed his eyes. He looked like he had a headache. And like he was trying not to pound Dean's face in. "That was different. You two were already going around 

everywhere telling everyone you were married and such. Rachel wasn't leaving. You just weren't having sex. Two different things."

He shrugged. He wasn't going to admit Sam had a point.

"Okay, so. Maybe it is my fault. Maybe I shouldn't have made that marriage license or kept it around just in case. I'm sorry. But."

When he didn't continue, Dean looked up. Sam was looking at him, waiting, serious look on his face.

"But?" Dean prompted.

"But, I haven't seen you this happy in, well. Ever. So. I'm sorry she was put in danger because of me. But I can't be sorry that the two of you are together. I just can't, Dean." He shrugged.

Dean sighed and shook his head. "Yeah, well. The hell of it is, I'm not really sorry, either." He thought about saying more, but just shrugged instead.

Silence. Doctors and nurses and patients walked passed in the hall. Idly, Dean wondered if there were any reapers around. Course, you couldn't kill death, and they were just doing their jobs. Still. The last time he'd been to a hospital, he'd almost died and Sam had said a reaper had been after him. Made the places, which had never been comfortable, downright creepy. He wanted to get out and get Rachel out as soon as possible.

"So," Sam said, breaking the silence. "You really going to fly to Connecticut?"

"What?"

"Didn't you hear Chris? Said they were going to fly Rachel home as soon as they checked her out. You going with them?"

"Ah, hell no. I'm not flying."

"I don't think they'd be willing to drive. It'd take two days and they want to get her home."

"Okay, well. They can fly. Rachel and I will drive."

"Dean. She wants to be with her parents."

"So, then, they'll fly, we'll follow."

"She wants to be with you."

"I'm not flying."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Statistically speaking…" His phone rang, interrupting. Sam pulled it from his pocket and flipped it open. "Yeah? Hey, Ash. No, I haven't." Sam frowned and looked at Dean. "He said what?" A pause, then Sam swore. "Okay, just… I'll talk about it with Dean and figure something out. Bye." He flipped his phone shut. "Nathan's about to do something stupid."

"Well, if he's anything like his sister, I'm not surprise." He rubbed his eyes. "What's he doing now?"

"He phoned Ash and said that he was going to find Rachel's things. Her laptop, her diary, everything."

"I thought Ellen said they weren't with her. And they weren't in the cave."

"Nathan thinks they must be. He thinks we missed something. That we saw the dead troll, burned it, and then left."

"We searched that cave from top to bottom, Sam. There wasn't anything there."

"I know that." Sam shrugged. "I'm going to go after him."

"What?"

"You don't need me here, and if something happens to Nathan, the Adamses are going to flip."

"Troll's dead."

"One is. What about its mate?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "We don't even know…"

"No, Dean, we don't," Sam interrupted. "We don't know if there was one troll or a clan. We don't know if the demon killed it or what. We don't know if the demon's targeting just us or their family, too, now. Seems to me that it'd be best if we don't send their son to the forest their daughter was abducted from. So. You go home with Rachel, I'll go after Nathan."

"You're just doing this so you can take the car and make me fly."

"For Christ's sake, Dean. Have a drink, take some drugs, do something. But get on the Goddamn plan with your wife and take her home, okay?"

Dean sighed. Nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, okay. Make sure that runt don't get himself killed, all right?"

Sam nodded. Smiled. "I will. And take care of her."

"I'll try."


"What are you going here?" she demanded of the bulk of a man kneeling in front of her.

Large, rough hands gently rubbed thick cream around her stuck ankle. Fingers trailed in and out of the cracks, giving a caress every time she flinched. "Looks like I'm rescuing you. Seemed like you need some help."

"That's not what I meant and you know it."

He looked up. Smiled. "I know, little girl. I…"

Rachel jerked awake, heart pounding, at the touch on her shoulder. She sat up, looked around. Her fists were clenched.

"Sorry." Dean was sitting next to her, rubbing his eyes. "Sorry, didn't mean to… Uh. To, uh. You know."

"Right." She took a deep breath. Ran shaking hands through her hair. "You okay?"

"Me? Yeah. Great. I, uh. Great." He screwed the palm of his hand against his eyes. "Stupid drugs. Jesus. Feel like my head's full of cotton."

Oh, yeah. Some of the cobwebs in her head cleared. They were in Hartfort, at her parents' house. She and Dean had both been given sedatives--Rachel because her blood pressure was through the roof and Dean because he wouldn't have been able to get on the plan otherwise. The drugs had done their work; she barely remembered the flight or getting here.

She did remember her father having to carry her up the stairs to her room and Dean having to lean heavily on her mom to get up.

"Wouldn't have thought you were such a lightweight," she said. She combed her fingers through her hair, breaking the tangles. Started to braid it back.

"Those things were would take out a horse." He picked some sleep out of his eye, then looked around the room. "What time is it?"



The clock was on the bed table next to her. "Um, ten-thirty."

He nodded. Slid off the bed and started wandering the room. "Your parents are funny. I thought parents of daughters would be more… guarded about them. Protective. But your folks just, you know. Dumped me right in bed with you. In a room with… My Little Ponies all over."

"There are three," she pointed out as Dean made one prance.

He shot her a grin. "There are three." He put it down. Started looking over her books. "Okay, so, you had a ton of books back at your apartment. There are about a million of them here. How many books do you own?"

"Like I know."

"Right." Dean turned and went back to the bed. "This triggering anything?"

Rachel shook her head. Slid her legs off the bed and picked up a figurine off the end table. It was a small sculpture of the archangel, Michael, holding his sword and looking fierce. "It's weird," she said, setting it back on the table. She picked up a picture of her family next. "I know of this is mine. When I see it, I know. But, there's no specific memory associated with any of them." She looked up at him. "With anything. Anybody."

He sat next to her and put his arm around her. "We'll get it back," he said. Pressed a kiss against her forehead. "It'll be okay. I promise."

She leaned against him. Pressed her face against his chest and breathed him in. Felt the tightness in her stomach uncoil, some of the fear and stress recede. "How did we meet?"

He rubbed her arm. Kissed her again. "On a case. Me and Sam came out to investigate some deaths at a local in. You were friends with the manager and were looking into it. We found you inside investigating and then, again, when we came back that night to hunt."

"What did you think of me? I mean, first impressions?"

"Well, first impressions, I thought you were gorgeous. You seemed kind of confused when I flirted with you, which was cute." He squeezed her arm, then reached down for her hand. "Then, uh. That night I was kind of pissed. You were in trouble and we lost the ghost. There was a lot of screaming and…. I don't know. You drove me crazy. Everything about you. The fact you knew about the world, the fact you were hunting. That you were beautiful and funny and… everything."

Rachel pulled away. Looked at him.



He smiled. Traced her lips with his thumb. "I wanted you so bad. I couldn't concentrate on anything else because all I wanted to do was take you to bed and… well. Get rid of every expression I'd seen on your face and replace it with one of satisfaction. 'Cause, believe me. You would have been very satisfied."

She could feel her face turning red. She couldn't meet his eyes.

"We didn't sleep together. I couldn't. One, we were too busy. And sharing a room with Sammy. But, uh. I might have, after, if Sammy hadn't had that dream."

"Dream?"

"That the demon killed you."

Rachel sighed. "It always comes back to him, doesn't it?"

"Kinda. I'm sorry, Rach. I really am."

"Do you love me?"

"Yeah."

She shrugged. "And I'm told I love you. And we can't live our lives worrying about what might happen. So. You left. Did we keep in touch?"

"Sorta. Mostly you and Sammy would talk and e-mail and stuff. I didn't."

"Why not?"

He shook his head. Cupped her cheek. "I couldn't get you out of my mind. It was insane. I'd never met a girl who I couldn't forget."

Rachel laughed. "Oh my God. I can't believe you said that."

"Well. You know what I mean. I mean, I've been in love before, but I guess it was different. I don't know. I can't explain it. But, I mean, I hadn't slept with you, you drove me crazy, and all I could think about was you. So. I stayed away. I stayed until Sam dragged me back on a case. And even then, I was good. You had a boyfriend and I…. But then your boyfriend turned out to be a kitsune and we had to save you and…"

"Did something happen between us then?"

"Almost. But then you reminded me why I couldn't, and I left. It was going to stay that way this time until I got hurt and they called you, thinking you were my wife." He leaned in, watching her carefully. When she didn't pull back, he kissed her. Softly. Then deeper. Mouth open, tongue gently touching hers.

Then deeper and more and… God.

His arms went around her and he lowered her to the bed. One hand was in her hair and the other stroking down her neck.

Rachel kissed Dean back but opened her eyes. She watched him as he kissed down her jaw, her neck. Kissed over her breast, still covered by her tee-shirt. Placed wet, open mouthed kisses on her arm, tracing burn marks and bruises and scratches with the tip of his tongue.

He pulled up. Hovered over her. "You okay?" he asked.

She stared up at him and, for a moment, he seemed to change. Morph into someone else, someone larger, broader, darker. And then he snapped back, green eyes gazing into hers, freckles across his nose and… just beautiful.

"Yeah, I'm fine." She raised her head and met his mouth with hers. Kissed him and wrapped her arms around his neck and just felt… safe.

There was a knock at the door. "Rachel? Dean? You awake?"

Dean was off her and across the room in the blink of an eye.

Rachel pushed herself up. Ran her hands over her hair, which Dean had pulled out of its braid. "Yeah, Mom. We're up."

The door opened and her mother came in. "We've held breakfast for you," she said, glancing at them both. "And pulled out all the photo albums. We thought you might want to look at them, see if it jogs any memories."

"Sounds good. I just need to wash up."

Her mother nodded. "Okay. See you in a few." She left, closing the door.

"Ah, man, I hate parents," Dean said. He had his hands over his crotch and a seriously pained look on his face.

She smiled crookedly. "Sorry. I guess they're kind of concerned with reviving my memory and all that."

"Maybe sex is the way to do that."

"Yeah, I don't think so. Nice try." Rachel climbed off the bed and crossed the room. "Dean. Were you my first?"



"What makes you think that?" he asked, wrapping his arms around her. "You are a gorgeous, brilliant woman that any man would be lucky to be with."

She just cocked her head and looked at him.

He laughed and rolled his eyes. "And that's why I've never been figure out how you never had sex with anyone before me." He lowered his head and kissed her. "How'd you know?"

"I don't know. I just did, I guess. Just knew."

"We're going to get your memories back, Rach." He kissed her and hugged her tightly. "I promise."

She rested her head over his heart. Listened to the steady thrum. A strange feeling of déjà vu settled over her. "I believe you," she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut. "I know we will."