"I don't think you can use invisible ink on plates," Nathan said. "I think that with the homemade stuff, you have to use paper."
"Why? Why wouldn't it work just as well on plates?" Rachel asked. She has a plate in her hand and is standing at the stove, holding it over a lit pilot.
Nathan frowns. Shrugs. "Um… Because?"
Rachel rolls her eyes.
"The ink bonds with the paper!" Nathan suddenly shouted. He lifted a plate from the stack and sniffed. "Besides. I think that these plates have been washed."
"You don't…"
"They smell like apples. Not lemons. Sorry, sis."
She hit him in the shoulder.
"Hey!" Nathan shoved her in retaliation.
"Watch out! Want me to set my hair on fire?"
"You wouldn't set it on fire if you cut it all ready. Or put it back. Or weren't wasting time!"
"I'm not the one wasting time!" Rachel slammed the plate on the counter; it shattered from the force, but she didn't seem to care. Instead, she turned around, glaring at Nathan. "You are the one wasting time! It doesn't matter if you don't believe me about the invisible ink, what matters is that you do what I say."
"I'm just saying that it's unlikely you wrote on the plates in invisible ink. Or smeared messages on the glasses with your fingers. Or…"
"If I can think of it now, why wouldn't I have thought of it then?" Rachel asked quietly.
Nathan fell silent. He looked at Dean, an expression of helplessness on his face.
Dean cleared his throat and set down the glass he was dusting for fingerprints. Like the last ten, there was nothing on it, not even his fingerprints since Rachel had insisted he wear gloves. "Rach," Dean said as he rose and crossed the kitchen to her. "I think it's time to call it wash. Even if you did leave yourself a message on the plates or glasses, it's not here anymore."
A stubborn expression crossed her face, but she nodded. "Okay. So, there's nothing in here. Fine. There's still the rest of the house, right?"
He wanted to tell her he doubted it. That the demon had cleared everything out pretty thoroughly. The cleaning staff had done the rest. That this was a wild goose chase and all it was going to do was drive her crazy.
But he knew she needed to do this. Needed to go through it all, looking for clues. Hoping to unlock a memory or two. Get it out of her system and then move on. Hopefully.
So, Dean reached behind her and shut off the pilot to the stove. Kissed her on the forehead. "Troops, let's move to the living room."
For a long moment, no one did anything. Then, Sam rose from the cabinet he'd been looking through. He grabbed Nathan's hand and dragged him out of the kitchen without saying anything.
The two of them have been acting weird all morning. Nathan ate off Sam's plate at breakfast. Sam kept grabbing Nathan by the hand or wrist and pulling him places. They kept standing just, like, an inch too close to each other. It was all wrong, but Dean just didn't want to think about it too hard.
Although… Sam had always been kind of weird. Like really, really open to anything. The anti-John Winchester. Not that there dad had been a raging homophobe or anything, but there were things that were okay (family) and not okay (everything else). So, Sam had gone out of his way to accept everybody.
Dean had never asked Sam how far he'd gone with any of the gay guys he'd ever been friends with. He'd never wanted to know. Still didn't, even if it was Rachel's brother he was messing around with. Only, it was easier to think about his brother being seduced by a guy about half his size then what had happened to Rachel. In fact, it was downright pleasant to think about in comparison.
But he couldn't. He was here for Rachel. Rachel, who was leaning against the stove, looking off into space. Her expression was blank, eyes a little teary.
"Rach?"
She shook her head and blinked. "There's probably nothing on the plates. I would have used eggs."
"What?"
"Invisible ink on eggs. You use vinegar and baking powder, write on the eggs. Then, you boil them, take off the shell, and there's the message. I would have used that. But they threw all the eggs away, so…" She shrugged. "Let's keep looking." She drifted past him, silent and lost in her own thoughts.
Dean followed her, stomach churning. He hated it when she got like this, all quiet and distant. She almost never did, but it seemed that's the only way she'd been ever since they'd found her. He wanted his girl back, dammit, and he wanted to get his hands around the bastard that did this to her.
Even the one who treated her okay. Nathan was convinced there were two people: the demon and whoever rescued Rachel from the cave. And Rachel remembered being happy. Thinks she cheated on him. Dean doesn't believe for a minute Rachel would cheat on him, but he does believe that whoever pulled her out of the cave knew what he was bringing Rachel here for. He brought her here to be raped by a demon. Raped by him, too. Lust spell or not, he laid his hands on Dean's girl and that just… that…
It made Dean want to kill something.
Rachel had them go through everything. They pulled cushions off of the chairs, looked under rugs, felt along the floor for hidden panels. They moved furniture, went through every magazine twice, took down the curtains, put the curtains back up, and felt along the walls for secret passages. At that, Nathan tried to draw Rachel into a story about how they'd spent on summer looking in every room in their for a secret passage (or a wardrobe to take them to Narnia), but Rachel was too far away to join in.
"I'm going in the bedroom," she said finally.
"But we're not done in here," Nathan said.
"You can finish here. I'll go in there."
"I'll go."
"No, Dean. I want to do this myself."
He felt like he'd been punched in the gut. "But… Rachel, I…"
She shook her head. Tried for a smile and missed the mark. "Dean, I want to do it myself. Please."
He looked at her, every inch of him screaming to say no. To refuse to let her back in that room alone. To face what had happened alone.
But he could feel the weight of Sam's eyes on the back of his head. And he knew what he had to do.
"Just… call if you need any help," he finally.
Some of the tension melted off of Rachel, and this time it was a real, if tiny, smile. "I will." Then she turned and death-marched to the bedroom.
Dean watched her go. Sat down. "Sam," he said, voice hoarse.
Sam sighed. Dropped the magazine he was leafing through and came to sit beside Dean. "I don't know, Dean. I have no idea what to do."
"I know I just gotta let her do this. But it's like she's going farther away."
"It's going to get worse before it gets better." Nathan, now. He came over and sat beside them, next to Sam. "I mean, that's how it goes, right?" He sighed. Shook his head and leaned against Sam's shoulder. "She's not my sister," he whispered.
Dean snorted. "Not my wife."
Sam didn't say anything. From the corner of his eye, Dean saw him put his hand over Nathan's and squeeze it.
There was a screeching sound from the other wood that Dean identified as furniture being dragged over wood.
Nathan kind of laughed. "She used to remodel her bedroom four times a year. January first, the day after school ended, the day before school started, and one kind of floating day reserved for whenever she got tired of the room. She's good at moving stuff around."
"Yeah," Sam said. "We've noticed. When we're hunting, she'll move things out of the way sometimes. Get there before either of us and just start… pushing this heavy stuff. Usually with her legs."
"Sitting on the floor." Nathan's laugh was real this time. "She moved a bookshelf full of books halfway across the room with just her legs before. She's really strong like that."
There was a bang. Another one. Frantic fumbling.
"Moved the bed we sleep in when we stay at Bobby's," Dean said. "Because…"
"She wants to sleep under the window," Nathan finished. "That's her favorite place to sleep, but she'll move the bed away sometimes. For about a week. In winter."
Dean nodded. "I thought Bobby was going to rip her a new one, but he was fine with it. Muttered something about a bride gettin' to make the room what she wanted or something. I don't know." He rubbed his forehead. "We should get this room back to normal. Let her do the bedroom."
Sam and Nathan nodded. Together, the three of them put the room back together. Sam went into the kitchen and put everything away. It took longer to put everything back in place than it had to take it apart, and by the time they were done, there was silence from the other room.
"You two go outside. See if you can find anything."
Nathan looked like he was going to make a smart remark, but Sam just nodded and dragged him outside.
Steeling himself, Dean headed to the bedroom.
It was in shambles. Drawers were pulled out of the dresser and nightstands. The bed was completely pulled apart, comforter and sheets torn from it, mattress pushed off the frame. The closet doors were open, hangers scattered on the floor or hanging empty. There was a pile of dresses on the floor. Underwear scattered across the dresser. Nightgowns ripped apart and tossed onto the bed. The bed was pulled away from the wall, as was the dresser. It looked like a hurricane had gone through here. Hurricane Rachel.
"Rach?" he called, carefully stepping over a pile of hangers and underwear.
"In here."
He went into the bathroom. It, too, had been torn apart. She was sitting in the bathtub, hair pulled into a messy ponytail, eyes wet and red.
Dean climbed into the tub so he could face her. Pulled her feet into his lap and leaned back. Waited.
She let out a soul-weary sigh. "There's no shoes."
That was not what he'd been expecting her to say. He cocked his head. "Huh?"
Her eyes focused on his. "No shoes. Dresses, underwear, even socks, but no shoes. So I couldn't run away. It's all rock and plants and dirt out there. It'd hurt my feet, and with the sprained ankle…" Her mouth crimps.
Dean puts his hand on her shin. "Did you find anything?"
"No." A tear escapes. "Nothing. Not even a scratch on the wall. I didn't…"
"I'm sure you had other things to worry about. And you didn't know you were going to forget. Didn't know it'd take your memory."
She sighed again. Tilted her head back, eyes closing. "I saw him last night."
Dean frowned. "What?"
"The demon. He came in a dream. I think it started out as a memory, but that part's gone. All I remember is he was on top of me and he told me that I'm not going to be able to remember. That I should stop trying. If I did remember something, I'd stop breathing again. And if I kept at it… if I kept at it." Her voice caught and when she spoke again, it was hoarse and rough, "He'd take me away."
His mind filled with so many questions so quickly that he couldn't say any of them.
Rachel opened her eyes and looked at him. "You won't let him take me, right?"
"No." That one was easy to say, impossible to know if he'd keep. He'd lost her once before, and now…
Rachel relaxed somewhat. Slid down further in the tub, her feet resting more firmly in Dean's lap. "I'm glad." She gave a self-deprecating smile. "Never thought I'd want someone else to take care of me. I always kind of figured I'd do it on my own."
Dean slid his hand under her calf. Rubbed. "Me too. But here you are, and I'm not gonna give you up." He gave her a lopsided smile. "I like the way you pack our bags too much."
She laughed. "You can't just cram everything into a big ball. Stuff needs to be folded. Leaves more room for the weapons and holy water and books and stuff." She rubbed one foot on his thigh. "You spent all those years carrying too many bags because you were too lazy to pack right."
He caught her foot. Ran his thumb down it. "You have shown me the error of my ways."
"I would have thought your dad would have taught you better. He was a Marine."
"Believe me, he tried. But something in me just couldn't take it. I'm all chaos."
Rachel rolled her eyes.
Dean grinned. She was looking more like herself: color back in her cheeks, life in her eyes. This was good.
But, then, her eyes went distant again. She frowned.
"What?"
"I don't know. I feel like I'm missing something. Like there's something else I'm forgetting."
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know. It just… it feels like there was something before all this I need to remember. Something that would make it all make sense. But it's gone. Just… gone." She sighed. "This is the tub, you know. Where I was with that other man."
"The man that wasn't the demon."
She nodded. "I cared for him. Maybe loved him, I don't know. We were in here, taking a bath, and he… he smiled at me. Kissed me."
Jealousy churned in Dean's gut. His hand tightened on her calve. "There was the lust spell. It was probably that."
"I know. I know." She shook her head. "But I think I cared for him despite that."
Great. Fantastic. She cared for whatever dick made a deal with a demon so he could rape his wife. That was just one hundred percent the best news he'd ever heard. And he'd already told her he didn't care, just as long as she hadn't been terrified and hurt the entire time she was missing, so it wasn't like he could back on it now. So, just. Fuck.
"Well," Dean said, forcing his grip to loosen. He massaged her leg. "Maybe it was someone you knew. From your past. That you cared about. Got any old boyfriends who might have been contacted by a demon?"
"Uh, no. I don't think so," she said. "Before you, I really didn't have any. Except…"
"Kit." That flame-haired fox fairy bastard. "Could it have been him? I mean, maybe the demon put him back together somehow. You said he might not be all the way dead, just depowered. Maybe old yellow eyes gave him a booster shot."
She rolled her eyes. "I don't… I guess. I mean, I suppose it's possible."
He waited for her to go on. When she didn't, he voiced her silent, "But?"
"But." She sighed. "I don't know. Kit wasn't that much bigger than I am. I get the impression this man was bigger. And darker." She rubbed her head. "Maybe I should stop thinking about."
"Why? Are you feeling okay? Is that bastard doing something to you?"
"No, no, I'm fine," she said, moving forward. Rachel crawled onto his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. "I'm fine. I have a headache, but it's the stress of all this. That's all. I'm okay." She kissed him. Sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. "I just think I need to stop thinking about it. I think I knew after he came to me last night. He's playing a game with us. With me, and he's playing it by his rules. He'll let me know when he's ready for the next stage, and I… I don't want to run around in circles in the meantime for his amusement. I mean, I want to know, but I can't…if I keep looking and never find any answers, I'll go insane." She gave a bitter little laugh. "I bet that's how John felt." She looked up at Dean. "I want to move on. I want to… put it behind me and figure things out later. I want to feel normal."
"I'm all for that." He tucked a stray bit of hair behind her ear. Kissed her temple. "Do you want to head to Bobby's, do some research, find a job? Or do you want to go somewhere?"
"Like where?" she asked.
"I don't know. Anywhere. We've got all of the country to play around in."
She smiled. Leaned closer and kissed him. "Let's go hunt something. If it's too much, then we can take some time off. Just you and me."
"Take that honeymoon."
Rachel laughed. "We really need to do that at some point."
He kissed her. Rested his forehead against hers. "We will, babe. I promise."
