The Greater Good
Dean wasn't sure how he'd been standing there when Sam and Rachel walked in.
"Dude, am I glad to see you," he said, turning from his body on the bed.
They both ignored him.
"Jesus," Sam whispered. He looked shell shocked, about how Dean himself felt. "He was getting better. He was getting better, what the hell happened?"
Rachel shook her head. Her eyes were crimson, tears standing in them. When Dean came up behind her, he saw that her hair was in braids, but they were unraveling halfway down her back. No time, then, to tie them off. Dean didn't know whether to be grateful that she'd dropped everything to come for him, or exasperated that she was so incredibly beautiful but never made the effort to show it off.
"I know what you know, Sam." She wiped her eye with one finger. "He went up to see your Dad. Overtaxed his heart. The wiring snapped, he lost blood. He fell out of the wheelchair, smacked his head on the bed and the floor." Her chin trembled. "And that exacerbated previously unknown brain damage that occurred in the original crash."
"What?" Dean shouted. "No. No, no, no, I do not have brain damage. I'm fine. Really. Rach... Rachel, dammit, stop crying and listen to me!" His hands hovered over her shoulders, face in hers.
She looked right through him.
"This is ridiculous. Every time we turn our back on him, that demon does something," Sam said.
"So stop the damn demon," demanded Dean. "Christ, why are you so stupid. *Do* something already."
Rachel looked at him. "You think the demon did this?"
"Makes sense. It made Dean stop breathing the last time. Why not this time?"
"Because this time Dean wasn't just dreaming. He snuck out of his room. Walked down the hall. Moved around, pulled some stitches. Tired himself out. He coulda just... done this to himself."
"We're getting a divorce." He stepped away from Rachel to Sam. "Look, Sam. You're right. The demon must have done this. You've got to help me. Go find some hoodoo priest to lay some mojo on me. I'll be fine."
Rachel rubbed her temples. With a sigh, she her head against Sam's good shoulder. "I'm so afraid this is it. Dr. Isaacosn said there's a chance he won't wake up this time."
Sam's jaw set, like it always did when he was about to get stubborn about something. "No. No, if the doctor's can't do anything, we'll have to. That's all. I don't know. I'll find some hoodoo priest and lay some mojo on him."
Dean grinned, feeling exuberant. "Yes! You can hear me, Sammy, say that you can hear me!"
But Sam completely ignored him. He slipped his arm around Rachel and squeezed her. "We'll figure this out, Rachel. Don't worry."
"Yeah." Tentatively, Dean put his hand on Rachel's arm. "Sam will take care of it. He already found one faith healer, right? No problem for him to pull me out again. You just... concentrate on getting that box and getting the demon parts out of Dad. Don't worry about me. I'm not going to leave you."
She didn't looked comforted. She did twitch her arm under his hand. And the look on her face was troubled. His girl was thinking about something and, somehow, Dean wasn't sure he was going to like it.
* * *
"Mrs. Winchester?"
Rachel opened her eyes. She had been dozing on the cot next to Dean's bed. Her and Sam's pledge to get at least three hours of sleep, if not more, had been thwarted by the unwelcome call about Dean's new condition.
Rose was standing above her. There was a package tucked under one arm, and a bag of what smelled like chicken in her other hand.
"Is Dean okay?" she asked, sitting up. She shivered. Her back was so cold; it even seeped through the blanket she'd had wrapped around her.
"Dean's ... as well as he was before. Here. I brought you lunch." She handed the bag to Rachel. "There's enough for Sam, too, when he reappears."
"Thank you so much." Famished, she tore into the bag and pulled out a fried chicken sandwich.
"You're welcome, honey. Gotta keep your strength up, after all."
"Rose, I swear to you. I am not pregnant."
Rose just smiled at her. "Here. This was delivered to the hospital, but it's for you and Sam. You don't live here, you know."
Rachel took the box and read the label with a frown. "Yeah, I know. I'll tell whoever sent it not to send me stuff here. Sorry."
"It's all right. I'll be back later." The nurse pat her on the head then left the room.
She took another huge bite of the sandwich, then set it next to her. Her keys cut through the packing tape. "Yes!" Rachel jumped off the cot, upsetting the sandwich and the bag. She didn't notice. "Sam!" Holding the box to her chest, Rachel ran out of the room.
"Slow down!" someone shouted at her as she ran down the hall. She weaved through a few patients slowly shuffling, connected to their IV and heart monitors. The elevator would take too long, so she burst into the stair well. At least John was staying on a lower floor, although, of course, she tripped over the last few steps. The box in her arms skidded on the floor in front of her. She caught herself on her wrists, painfully, and skidded after the box. She stopped just inches from the next set of stairs, and with a painful jerk.
Heart thundering, Rachel pushed herself up. "Owe!" she exclaimed. She sat back on her ankles--which were strangely cold--and grabbed her right wrist. "Fuck." It looked swollen already.
She took quick stock of the rest of her body. Her stomach hurt from doing a belly flop on the floor. Both wrists ached, although it was mainly concentrated in her right. Her hips hurt; when she'd stopped, it'd felt like her legs had been yanked backwards. Both ankles were still cold, although warming up. When she stood, her legs felt like jelly, but that was probably from the adrenaline.
She picked up the box and continued down the stairs, much slower this time. Now, it's her elbow that's freezing cold. And she's starting to get an idea of what might be going on with that, but she doesn't know how to go about asking. If Dean was with her, that means that he wasn't in his body. And, in general, that was a bad thing. With everything that'd been going on lately, her mind always ran directly to pessimism. If it was Dean, she didn't want him to hear her worries. So, she wouldn't let on that she thought he might be there. Not yet.
Sam was in his father's room, reading through his journal.
"Sam," Rachel said, coming in.
"What happened to you?"
"I fell, it's not important." She set the box on John's bed. "My father found a Pandora's Box." She tried to reach in and take it out, but it proved too much for her wrist. "Can you get it out?"
"Did you break your wrist?" Sam demanded as he rose. He reached inside and pulled the small wooden box from the package.
"Maybe, I don't know. Can we focus on the important part? We can cure your dad."
Sam turned the box over in his hands. It was small, just about the size of his palm. The lock was intricate; the key just inside. Along the top was a thick, heavy piece of glass.
Rachel touched it. "This is the part you hold over the body. Anything demonic gets sucked up through it and trapped inside." She leaned against the bed, cradling her wrist against her chest.
"And you're sure this is all we need? I mean, no chants or incense or exorcism or priests or anything? Just the box."
"Just the box." She smiled, feeling pleased that something was going right for them. "So. We can do this right now. When did the nurse last come in?"
"About ten minutes ago. We have time." Sam set the box on the bed. Then he shrugged out of his jacket and walked to the door. "Do you think the demon will give us any problems about this?" he asked as he closed it.
"I don't know. I don't see why it would affect it at all, really." She picked the box up and looked at John. "So. Do you want to do the honors?" It really didn't seem like it should fall to her. He wasn't her father. And she knew Sam had been feeling helpless since Dean slipped back into a coma.
Sam swallowed. Set his jaw and crossed the room. "We have two good arms between us," he said. He stood on the opposite side of the bed from her and held out his good arm.
Rachel's lips twitched. She put the box in his hand. Together, they lowered it to John's head. "Just above," she said. "Close."
He nodded. "Is there an on switch or..." His voice died abruptly as a power and dark mist surged from John's head in a swirling vortex. It hovered over John's face before being sucked into the box. "Okay then."
The process was repeated as they moved the box down over John's body. First, his neck. Right arm. Left. His chest took a few times, and the sheer amount of demon left in his body made Rachel feel ill.
Of course, the darkening air around them didn't help either.
"Is it getting hot in here?" Sam asked.
"Cold, maybe." She shivered. Then it got worse when her entire back was blanketed by cold. "Not helping," she snapped over her shoulder.
"What isn't helping?" Sam asked.
The blanket disappeared. "Nothing."
They moved the box to the stomach. Down over his pelvis. Along his right leg, then up his left. And they were done.
Rachel and Sam's eyes met over John's still body.
"Is that it?"
"I'm not sure," Rachel said.
The lights flickered. Electric crackling filled her ears.
"What's that?" she asked.
"I don't..."
The box exploded.
She shrieked, body yanked back across the room. She hit the wall hard and fell to the floor, dazed. Before she could stand, every chair was piled around her, trapping her in.
"Rachel!" She heard Sam shout.
"What's going on?" She peeked through the arm of one chair, trying to see.
Black smoke swirled in the air just above Sam. It snaked around him, tendrils stretched out before being drawn back into the main mass.
Sam looked transfixed. Frozen, just looking into the blackness.
It seemed to reach for him.
"Sam!" Rachel yelled. "Dean!"
Sam lunged sideways in an abrupt moment. His body was launched away from the mass and slid under the bed.
The mass quivered. Swirled around once more and then fled through the vent in the ceiling.
The lights normalized. The air felt warm and safe again.
"Sam?" Rachel called. She pushed the chairs out of her way, freeing herself from the prison. "Sam, are you okay?" She crawled across the floor to the bed.
Sam pulled himself from underneath. "I'm fine. You fine?"
"I'm fine." Rachel licked her lips, her heart still racing. "I guess the demon was trapped to John as long as part of it was still inside him. Maybe it's gone now for good."
"No more dreams?" he asked, smiling crookedly.
"God I hope not."
He nodded. "Yeah. Me too."
And then, he leaned in and kissed her.
Rachel jerked back. "Sam!"
"I'm sorry! God, I'm still... Jesus, I'm sorry. Shit. I..."
"Sam?"
Sam went completely still at the sound of the voice above them on the bed. Then his eyes went wide. Color rushed to his face and his mouth split into a smile. "Dad!"
* * *
He couldn't believe it. His father was awake. Just like that. They took the demon parts out and then, bam. He's awake.
"Dad," he said again. His hands hovered over his father, not sure where--or if--he should touch. He finally settled on gripping Dad's hand tightly. "It's good to see you awake."
John blinked and opened and closed his mouth a few times. He made a face. "Water?" His voice was hoarse.
Sam nodded and poured him a glass. John swallowed it down easily. His hand didn't even shake.
"How long have I been out?" he asked. His gaze was clear and steady on Sam's face.
"Almost two weeks. When the demon left you, it left some of itself inside you. I guess that's the only reason you haven't woke up. Rachel and I just got it out of you, just now. And now you're awake."
Dad looked at him through narrowed eyes for a long, silent moment. Then he asked, "Who the hell is Rachel? Where's Dean?"
"Owe, fuck!" Rachel exclaimed, as if right on cue.
Sam sighed in exasperation. "What is it now?"
Rachel stood, her right hand held out. There was a deep slash across the palm which was bleeding freely. "I cut it on the glass."
"Why were you touching the glass?"
"I want to bag it and send it back to my dad. He knows people who can analyze it."
"Analyze it?" John said.
Rachel flushed and nodded. "Yeah. The more information on the demon the better, right? Besides. That thing broke this box. It was over three thousand years old, and designed to hold demons. What kind of demon is this?"
John looked at her, long and considering. He blinked. "Who are you? Where's Dean?"
She looked at Sam.
"Dad, this is Rachel Adams. Dean and I worked with her back in New Haven a couple times. We told you about her, remember? The haunted photograph and the kitsune?"
He nodded. "Right. With the psychic grandfather and the family of scholar-hunters."
Rachel's cheeks turned red. "More scholars than hunters, but yeah."
John held out his hand. "Nice to meet you."
"You too." Her right hand was bloody and swollen; she got it halfway out before she remembered her injuries. "Um. Here." She awkwardly shook with her left hand.
Sam saw his father make note of the wedding right, but he didn't say anything. No reason that he should, of course. He had no idea what had been going on the past two weeks, and he didn't know Rachel.
He was about to say something, to explain about making her their medical proxy and fake-marrying her off to Dean, when the door opened and the doctor came in. He and Rachel were shooed out so they could run tests and ask questions--Dad was still in the ICU and there were protocols to follow that didn't include a bleeding, banged-up girl and a newly bruised son with a sore back.
He didn't want to leave Dad's side. But, on the other hand, it did give him a moment alone with Rachel.
"Hey, um. I wanted to ask you something," he said.
"I need to fix my hand. Come with me."
The hospital was becoming their second home. Rachel had no problem walking into an empty room and rummaging through the cabinet for gauze, tape, and an antiseptic wipe. She also took out an ace bandage and handed them all to him.
"Sit."
She obeyed, and Sam found himself playing doctor with a girl he still couldn't quite shake demon-dream induced feelings for.
"So," Sam said as he cleaned and bandaged the cut. "While we were in there. When the demon was coming after us? I sorta... felt something."
Rachel bit her bottom lip. "Like what?" she asked, eyes on her hand.
"I don't know. But you know how I went under the bed? I didn't do that. It felt like someone grabbed me and threw me there. Pushed me away from the demon."
"Yeah," Rachel whispered. "Me too. And threw the chairs around me."
Sam taped the gauze to the cut, then picked up the ace bandage. "What do you think?"
"I don't know. But I know that it was on the stairwell with me. When I fell, I was going to keep going, but it grabbed me around the ankles, stopped me from going further. And then there was this... cold spot on my elbow all the way down."
"You don't think..."
"I hope not." Rachel's eyes were full of fear.
"If he's... wandering around, out of his body. What does that mean?"
"I don't know. This isn't my area."
"Well, what the fuck is your area, Rachel?" he practically shouted at her.
"England! English history and ghosts and legends," she shouted back. "That's my area of expertise. Not demons that break through prisons designed to trap them and astral projection and husbands who're in a coma and walking around out of their body! I don't know any of this, I'm just winging it. Just like you. So just stop."
Sam nodded and let out a sigh. "Right. Sorry." He reached out and wiped the tear rolling down her cheek. "It might not be bad. People report out of body experiences all the time."
"I guess."
"And we don't really know."
"I know." She wiped her eyes. "No sense worrying, right?"
"Right. Dean is fine. Except for the coma." He frowned and chewed on his lower lip. "This sucks. Dad finally wakes up, and we lose Dean again. It's not fair."
Rachel shook her head.
Sam sighed. "Let's go back. See if they're done with Dad."
Silent, they walked down the hall, side by side. The doctor was still in with John, but he was simply marveling at the vastly improved condition.
"We'll move you out of the ICU in a few hours, provided you continue to show improvement." Then, he gave directions for John to drink water slowly, call if he needed to go to the bathroom, and take it easy before leaving.
"Where's Dean?" John asked as soon as the door had closed.
Sam and Rachel exchanged glances.
"He's in a coma," Sam said. "He was messed up badly in the crash. He was doing better. He was awake and everything, and then, yesterday, he snuck out of his room. Came to visit you." He rubbed his head. "His stitches tore, and he fell out of the wheelchair, hit his head. And, apparently, he may have brain damage. Doctor doesn't know if he's gonna wake up."
"Christ," John said under his breath. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Any supernatural activity around him lately?"
"Not since four days ago," Rachel said. "Him, Sam, and I were all attacked by the demon in our dreams. It shook Dean up pretty badly, bad enough that he stopped breathing. But, once he woke up, he was fine. Improving."
John looked at her. "And what exactly is your involvement in all this?"
Sam smothered a laugh. Rachel looked like a deer caught in headlights, and he knew it was wrong to laugh at her for that--he was, after all, the one who'd put her in this situation. Still. She looked almost as terrified as she had when facing down the ghost in that picture.
"I, uh," she said, shooting Sam a look of death. "Sam sort of called me in. To help out."
John looked at her closely. "To help out."
She swallowed. "Yeah." Her eyes pleaded with Sam.
He sighed. "Look, Dad. There's something you should know. I, uh. A couple of months ago, I made this marriage certificate saying that Dean and Rachel were married. It started out as a joke, but after Chicago, I thought it might be nice to, you know. Have some insurance. For Dean."
"Insurance."
"I'm rich," Rachel said.
"It wasn't just that," Sam protested. "I knew you'd take care of him. That he'd take care of you."
She gave him a look.
"Well, eventually he would." Sam sighed. "Anyway. Dean always seems the one who'd getting hurt. And badly. So, I thought that if I passed them off as married, she'd be able to take care of it. If he needed insurance or anything."
"Sam, why didn't you just call Bobby? Or any of the other people I know I can trust."
"Because I know we can trust her," Sam said, setting his jaw. No way was he going to let his father question his decision. "She's been here nonstop since the crash. She's called our contacts and her own, working to keep us all safe. To help get you better. She's lost sleep and sanity and gotten hurt, and never once complained." Then, with a glance at her, he added, "Much."
Rachel stuck her tongue out at him. "You can trust me," she said to John. "I love your son. And I'm here because I do."
"What about Dean? How does he feel about you?"
She lowered her eyes and looked away. "I don't know."
"Oh, God," Sam groaned. "He's in love with her too, Dad. Only both of them are too pig headed to tell each other, and Dean keeps trying to break up with her for her own protection."
"Maybe it's for the best," John suggested.
Rachel's eyebrows arched. "He can break up with me all he wants," she said, eyes snapping back to John's face. "I'm not going anywhere."
John held her eyes for a few heartbeats. Then he reached his hand out and took hers. "Welcome to the family, little girl."
"Thanks."
He squeezed her hand, then turned back to Sam. "Where's the Colt?"
Sam's stomach dropped. "Your son is dying and you're worried about the Colt?"
"We are still hunting, Sam. And that demon may be after us. We need insurance. Protection. Where is it?"
For the first time, Sam realized that he didn't know. He'd never asked, and how unbelievably sloppy was that? To never ask?
"It's back at the apartment," Rachel said. I cleaned out the car as best I could once the cops let me into it. The Colt was stuck underneath the driver's seat; they must have missed it."
"Sam, get it and bring it here."
"What about Dean?"
"The doctor's will take care of him," John said.
Sam shook his head. "No. No, we're not waiting for the doctor's. We've got to do something. I'll go out, I'll find someone, like I found that faith healer."
"Sam the chances of you finding anyone are almost nonexistent. We need to concentrate..."
"I can't believe you're just going to give up on him!" Sam shouted. "Jesus Christ, Dad, he's your *son* and he's *dying*."
"And we will deal with it the best we can," John said loudly. Sternly. "But right now, I need you to get that Colt here to me. Girl, you leave anything in the car?" He was still holding Rachel's hand, and he squeezed it, snapping her attention back from wherever it had wandered.
She blinked. "Uh, maybe a few things. I haven't been back to the impound yard. It's not impounded, I just didn't know where to take it."
"I'll call Bobby," Sam said. "Have him tow it. Help us out."
"Fine. Just make sure you get the Colt first."
"Fine," he sighed, exasperated. "Come on, Rachel."
"No. I need her to do something for me," John said.
Sam and Rachel looked at each other. She looked worried, so he tried to smile in as comforting a manner as he could. "It'll be fine."
She didn't look convinced, but smiled back. "It's in the closet. In a box. Here." She handed him a key.
"Thanks." He closed his hand around it. "Be back soon." At the door, though, he stopped. "Dad?"
"Yeah, Sam?"
He licked his lips and tried to quell the tremors in his heart. "The, uh. The demon said that he had plans for me. Me and all the children like me. Do you know anything about that?"
John shook his head. "No, Sam, I really don't."
Relief washed over Sam. Somehow, worse than the idea that the demon was planning something for him was the idea that his father knew, and hadn't told him. "Okay. Bye."
* * *
"Oh, yeah, you know something," Dean said, watching the look on his father's face after Sam left. He hated, absolutely hated, the idea that that demon had plans for his baby brother. He hated even more the idea that his father knew what those plans were.
Rachel broke the silence. "So," she said. "You've been hunting this thing for almost twenty-two years, and you never figured out the why behind everything?"
John glared at her.
Dean immediately came off the wall he was leaning against and crossed the room to his wife's side. "Look," he said to his father, knowing that he couldn't hear. "You don't yell at her, you don't bully her, you don't do anything because right now? I'm not so much a big fan of yours. So lay off."
"I need you to get something for me. Think you can handle it?"
Rachel pulled her hand out of John's and crossed her arms. "That depends on what you need me to do. I'm not leaving the state to go down to New Orleans and get some kinda hoodoo priest or anything."
And, yes, Dean was thrilled that both Sam and Rachel had picked up his desire for a hoodoo priest.
"No. I just need you to pick up some supplies." John scribbled something on a piece of paper that Dean had seen him beg off a nurse. "Here." He handed Rachel a list.
She read over it quickly the first time, then again more slowly. "Acacia. Oil of abramelin. What exactly are you planning on doing?"
"It's for protection."
"Not it's not," she laughed. "What kind of fucked up book are you getting..." She stopped talking abruptly. "Right. Protection. I'll just, uh..."
John sat up and grabbed her by the wrist. "Whatever you're thinking of doing, don't."
"I could say the same thing," Rachel replied. Her face was pale. Eyes wide.
"What's going on? Rachel? Rachel!" Fuck, this invisibility thing *sucked*.
"You don't understand."
"Right, I don't. There's only one thing the ingredients on this list are used for. And it's not protection. Why?"
"I have my reasons."
"Your son is..."
"I know, dammit!" John shouted at her. "I know my son is dying, don't lecture me!" He slid his legs over the side of the bed and pulled Rachel close to him. "You don't know thing one about my family, little girl. But know this. I am Dean and Sam's father. I am responsible for their protection and safety and I will do what is necessary. And I *will not* be questioned by some little slip of a child, do you understand?"
It was all Dean could do to stop from launching himself on his father. Rachel had gone bone white as he'd ranted at her, eyes filled with tears.
"Rachel," Dean whispered. He put his hands on her shoulders. Tugged her backwards, away from John.
Rachel followed the tug. The paper was clutched in her hand. Her entire body trembled.
"I'll just go..." she managed to say. Then she turned.
Dean followed her. When they got to the door, he glanced back.
John was still sitting on the edge of the bed. The fire and the fight had bled from him, and now he was just a tired man, slumped on a hospital bed, head cradled in his hands.
"This is fucked up," Dean said. Then again, that was nothing new.
* * *
Rachel was only three steps out of the hospital when her phone rang.
"Hello?" she answered, carefully looking both ways before crossing the street. For reasons neither she nor Sam had been able to figure out but thanked their lucky stars for, there was a New Age shop a block and a half from the hospital. Also a block and a half from the hospital was edible food, and she was hungry. Bet John was, too, considering he hadn't eaten solid food for two weeks.
"Hey, it's me," Sam said. "What does Dad want you to do?"
"Get some stuff for him."
"I assume it's not clothes and his shaving kit or anything. He would have just asked me."
Rachel sighed. "Right. He wants these... supplies."
"And please tell me you aren't talking about condoms."
"Gross!"
"Well, he was holding your hand an awful long time."
"Yeah, what was up with that?"
"Like I've ever been able to figure out what the hell my dad is doing," Sam said dryly. "Come on, Rach. Give. What's he got you getting?"
She sighed. "Just some magic stuff."
"What kind?"
She stopped at the corner and pushed the button to cross. "Um. To, uh. Summon demons."
Rachel was able to count to ten before Sam exploded. "What? What the ... he's summoning demons? No. He's summoning *the* demon, isn't he?"
"I don't know." Green light. She crossed. "He didn't say."
"He sent me home to get the Colt."
"That doesn't mean anything. It's a valuable piece of property. Why would he trust a... a little slip of a girl like me to keep it safe?" she asked without any bitterness. Away from John and his overwhelming presence, she felt a lot more confident. Even more rational about John and his anger. It didn't have anything to do with her; it had to do with him waking up and finding out his son was in a coma and he'd been infected with a demon for the past two weeks.
"What does that mean?"
She shook her head. "Nothing. Just... there are reasons that he might want it."
"He's hunting."
"He might not be."
Sam obviously didn't believe her. He swore. "That bastard. That utter bastard. How dare he risk Dean's life like this?"
"Sam, you don't know..."
"Of course I know! This is exactly like something he'd do. Dammit."
Rachel sighed. As she rounded the corner to the shop, she said, "Just talk to him before you go in all accusing? We've all had enough stress. You guys don't need to start fighting."
"I'm not going to fight unless he makes me," Sam said.
"Sam..."
"Just stay out of it, Rachel. You don't know anything about my family. I'll see you at the hospital." He hung up.
Rachel shook her head. "Apparently, there's a lot I don't know," she said under her breath.
She entered the shop and quickly bought the supplies on the list. She could, she supposed, not buy anything and circumvent the blow-out that she figured was coming between Sam and John, but John scared her. It was easier to get the stuff and hope he knew whatever the hell he was doing.
When she got back to the hospital, she found John in Dean's room. He stood the side of the bed, silent, looking at his son. His face was drawn into deep lines. Sad ones. Guilty.
Silently, Rachel entered. She closed the door behind her and moved to stand next to him.
"You're back fast."
"Well. I skipped getting you food. I wanted to beat Sam back."
He snorted. "You told him."
"Bad liar."
"On the phone?"
"*Really* bad liar. Here. I got everything on your list. Why are you summoning the demon?"
He took the bag she handed him. Didn't say anything.
Rachel rubbed the back of her neck. "Look. You're summoning the demon that Sam, Dean, and I have been trying to get rid of for weeks. You've got Sam bringing the only weapon that you know can kill it to the hospital. Either you're planning on doing something real stupid or you're planning something else... really stupid." She looked over at him.
John looked back. "Stupid?"
"Demon has to go somewhere. You summon him, he inhabits a body. You kill that body? You go to jail. And, yes, I understand that there are some things more important than jail, but not when you've got a son near death. You might be many things, but stupid man and a heartless father isn't one of them."
He turned away from Dean. "This is the way it's going to work. You are going to do what you've been doing. Sit by Dean's side, keep Sam in one piece mentally and physically. You're not going to worry about me or what I'm doing."
"In order to keep Sam together..."
"You are not going to worry about what I'm doing," John interrupted. Then, softer, he said, "I need to know you can keep an eye on my boy."
"Of course. Only." Rachel licked her lips. "The last time, the demon was kind interested in messing around with me. And it tried to possess me."
"Shit."
"I fought it off, but I'm afraid..."
"Do you know anything you can use as protection?" John asked.
She shrugged. "Against this? Not really. You?"
John sighed. "No. Why you?"
"I think it was bored. With its parts inside you, I think it was tied to you, couldn't leave. So it was trying to find a distraction. And trying to mess with Sam. I was just the vessel it used."
"What do you mean?"
She sighed. "I don't know. Apparently I might be able to do astral projection. I do it in my sleep, so it was catching me when I was out of my body and using my presence to try and make Sam fall in love with me."
"Why?" he asked, sounding flabbergasted.
"You know how he's a psychic? I think he's also supposed to be telekinetic. And the demon is trying to push him into using that power by hurting those he loves. It tried hurting you and Dean, but nothing happened. So, it was trying to use a girl. I happened to be nearby and available."
"Sounds kind of farfetched to me," John said.
"Sam has a sort of girlfriend who lives in New York. When she called, and I was talking to her, the demon tried to possess me and make me invite her here." She shrugged. "I just know for two weeks, I've been living with this constant pressure and static in my head. And now it's gone."
John frowned and looked her over. "It almost sounds like it was after you, too. Not just Sam. It was interested in you."
"Again, that's just boredom. According to Missouri, I had certain attributes that would interest a weak and evil demon."
"Like what?"
Rachel blushed.
The door opened. "There you are," Rose said, sticking her head in. "You haven't been cleared to leave the ICU yet, Mr. Winchester. Rachel, how could you..."
"I was out," she said, eyes never leaving John's face. "I thought he'd been cleared."
"Mr. Winchester, we need to get you back down there. Doctor was just about to move you to your new room."
"I feel fine," he said to Rose, looking at Rachel.
"Nevertheless."
"You coming?"
Rachel shook her head. "I'll just stay here with Dean for a bit. Keep an eye on him."
"Good girl." John put his hand on Rachel's head and sort of messed her hair. Then he allowed Rose to drag him from the room.
With a heavy sigh, Rachel went to the bed. She hated the tubes sticking out of Dean's body. They were evil. They were, "pull the plug" tubes, and she didn't like the fact her husband was so close to the end. "Keep fighting," Rachel whispered. "Or I will follow you to the afterlife and kick your sorry ass. Got it?"
Dean gave no indication that he heard her.
She leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. Then, weary to the bone, she went to the cot, lay down, and closed her eyes.
Rachel had no idea how long she lay sleeping before everything went to hell. First, the alarm sounded. Then there was shouting. And by the time she got her eyes open, the room was swarmed with doctors and nurses, all around Dean. They had the deliberators and were saying things like, "No heartbeat," and "clear," and "Still no heartbeat."
And she was trapped against the wall, watching Dean die, watching the doctors try to save him. And there was a roaring in her ears and it hurt to breathe and her throat swelled three times the size it should be and everything went wavy and blurry and she could see Sam, but he was all the way on the other side of the room and no way could she ever reach him because the gulf was miles wide.
"Dean," she choked out. Something wet fell down her face.
And the long, flat, monotonous beep stopped, replaced.
"He's back."
Rose was in front of her, gripping her shoulders. "Honey, it's okay. He's okay. Breathe."
"I'm so tired of this," Rachel choked out. And then, she broke down, clinging to Rose. Sobbing into her shoulder.
Rose sat next to her on the cot. She put both arms around Rachel and stroked her back. "I know, baby. I know. But be strong, honey."
"I'm sick of being strong." She wiped her nose on her sleeve.
"All right. Think of it this way. Is he worth it?" Rose pulled away, holding Rachel at arm's length. "And I'm serious. Look at him and tell me, is he worth putting up with this?"
Rachel didn't even have to look at Dean to answer, "Of course he's worth it." She wiped her eyes. "He'll be even more worth it when he wakes up and I can give him hell for putting me through hell."
Rose squeezed her knee. "That's marriage, honey." She touched Rachel's hot, tear sticky cheek. "You going to be okay? I don't think you should be alone."
"She's not," Sam said, coming up behind Rose. "Rach, come on. I need your help with something."
Rose stood. Turned to Sam. "If she comes back with one mark on her, I will call the police and throw your sorry ass in jail, do you understand?"
Sam blinked, shock washing over her face. "What?"
"Every time she comes back her after being with you, it seems like she's hurt. The bump on her head, now her wrist. Don't think I'm not watching you."
"He's not doing anything to me." Rachel rubbed her eyes; they hurt from crying. "I tripped on the stairs earlier and sprained my wrist. Sam was nowhere near me at the time." She pushed past Rose to Sam. "Where are we going?"
He glanced at Rose uncertainly, then took Rachel by the good wrist and tugged her from the room. "They really think I'm hurting you?"
"Honestly, this is the first I've heard of it," Rachel said, yawning. "Don't worry. I don't think she can do anything except make me see a social worker or something. That person will try to get me to press charges, but since you're not doing anything, I won't. Don't worry. And what is you and your father's obsession with clinging to me?" She twisted her wrist in Sam's grasp. "Afraid I'm going to run away?"
He let go of her wrist. "When I was in the hall, when they were finishing up with Dean, I heard him."
Rachel blinked up at him. "Heard him?"
"Heard, felt, I don't know. He was there. I know he was. And he's trying to tell me something. And earlier, before? Dad and I got in a fight. We were screaming at each other and, all the sudden, a glass that was on Dad's tray flew off and crashed to the ground."
"Oh."
"I think it's Dean. I'm sure it's Dean." Sam set his jaw. "We're going to find a way to get in contact with him."
"How?"
A faint blush colored his cheeks. "Know where the nearest toy store it?"
* * *
"Dean is going to laugh in your face," Rachel said as she and Sam came back into Dean's room.
Sam shrugged. "At least I won't be able to hear it. He can laugh away."
"What am I laughing at?" Dean asked, pulling away from his corner. He'd left the girl he'd met, Tessa, at her own bedside to return to his own. He'd hoped to find his dad back by him, but Dad was nowhere to be found. Not even at his own room. Apparently, he'd been moved out of the ICU, but when Dean had looked at the room he was supposed to be in, he wasn't there.
Probably off hunting or getting drunk or something. He didn't care about Dean. Probably never had. The demon was right. Sam was clearly the favorite. Dean was just a sucker.
"He probably won't even talk to us," said Rachel, glancing at Dean's body on the bed.
"If he doesn't, we won't know if he's really here. So either he does, or we're screwed." Sam pulled a box out of a bag.
Dean walked over to Rachel. Ran his finger down her arm. It felt like he was touching cotton, but at least it was something.
"Dean, I know you're in here," Sam said. He walked almost to the wall and set the box on the ground. "Don't make fun of me for this, but there is one way we can talk."
"Oh, you've gotta be kidding me," Dean groaned when he saw what it was. Oujia, the last refugee of charlatans and teenager girls.
But, as Sam sat down and pulled the board out, Dean crossed the room and sat across from him. "I feel like I'm at a slumber party," he said. Then he glanced up at Rachel. "You coming? Might as well talk to you, too."
Rachel moved and sat next to Sam. "I've never used one of these things for real before," she said, looking down at the letters. "Will it really work?"
"We're going to find out." Sam placed his fingers on the planchette. "Dean? Are you here?"
"God," Dean groaned. He put his fingers across from Sam's. With a heavy sigh, he slid the thing over to the corner where it said, "Yes."
Sam and Rachel's eyes both went wide. Then Sam broke into a grin. "Dean! Thank God. Are you all right?"
"In a manner of speaking." Slowly, Dean moved the planchette again, spelling out the word, "hunt.
"You're hunting?" asked Sam.
"Yes."
Rachel was gnawing on her lower lip. It still hadn't completely recovered from when she'd bitten through it a few days ago, trying to stop the demon from luring Sarah here. If she did it anymore, it'd start bleeding again. Dean wanted to pull her lip from her mouth, but there was more important things to do.
Painstakingly, he began to spell reaper on the board.
"A reaper," Sam read heavily. He looked up where Dean was sitting, through him, of course, eyes far away. "Is it after you?"
He glanced at Rachel before sliding the thing to, "Yes."
"Shit," she whispered. She put her hands up to her eyes.
"Yeah, no kidding," Dean agreed.
Sam looked like someone had kicked his puppy and pissed in his Cheerios. It was pretty much how Dean had been feeling since he'd made the revelation, only a million times worse since it meant his number was up and that sucked *way* more than a little Cheerio piss.
"Dad will know what to do," Sam said suddenly. He jumped up, all nervous energy and wide, frightened eyes, like he used to get after a nightmare when he was a kid. "I'll go get him."
"Sam..." Rachel said, but Sam didn't appear to hear. He just ran from the room.
"Well. Nice talking to you," Dean said. He turned his eyes to Rachel and gave the planchette a shake. "You wanna talk to me, or you gonna run away, too?"
She moved over and placed her fingers on the planchette. "So. A reaper." She licked her lips. "You planning on making me a widow?"
Dean gritted his teeth at her and slid the thing over no.
"You know, when you first woke up," Rachel said, sliding the planchette to the middle, "you told me that if it turned out the doctors couldn't do anything for you, I should just let you go. That you didn't want Sam or me to go around looking for something magic to fix you. Just plan for the funeral." She bit her bottom lip, then asked, "Do you still want that?"
"No. I know what I sad, but now that I'm here, I'm..." He couldn't quite bring himself to admit he was scared, even if she couldn't hear him.
She let out a long, slow breath. "Okay then." She sniffed. "Okay." Her chin trembled.
"Rach, listen. I know... it's going to be okay. Sam and I will figure this out. Just, though. Just so you know." He took a deep, reflexive breath. Slid the planchette.
L
O
V
"Yeah," Rachel said, her cheeks blooming. "I love you, too."
Long pause.
"So. Great," Dean said. "What the hell are we supposed to do now?"
Rachel laughed suddenly and pressed both hands against her eyes. "God. Took forever for us to say it, huh, and now there's not anything we can do." She blushed. "I mean. You know what I mean."
Dean slid the planchette to yes.
She laughed again.
"Ah, fuck it. Let's give it a try." He got onto his hand and knees. Did his best to keep eye contact with someone who couldn't see him. Brushed his lips against hers.
She gasped when he did, and brought her hand to her mouth.
"You felt that," Dean said. He crawled further over her, kissing her again. He could barely feel her through the layers of numbness wrapped around his body, but he really didn't care. He and Rachel hadn't had enough time together, not really.
Carefully, he straddled her body, knowing that she could feel him by the way her eyes got wide. He took her hands, then slid up to her shoulders, producing shivers from her.
"You're cold," Rachel said, voice trembling. "Not ghost cold, but cold."
"Sorry." He kissed her on the neck.
Rachel exhaled explosively, more shudders. A bit of a moan.
"Whoa, am I interrupting something?"
"Bad timing, Sam," Dean groan. He kissed the corner of Rachel's mouth before he climbed off her.
"Um... um..." Rachel stuttered. She pushed herself to her feet and wrapped her arms around her. "Dean just... I mean, I..."
Sam smiled at her, looking amused. "I know my brother. No need to explain." He sat on the edge of the bed.
"I'm just going to go, uh... I'll be back in a minute." Rachel rushed from the room.
Feeling proud of himself--he'd managed to get her all worked up without really being able to touch her; that was good--he swaggered to Sam.
"I know what you're doing, Dean," Sam said, flipping open the book.
"Hey, I can do hat I want with her," replied Dean. "She is my wife."
"And I think you're awful. What if a nurse had walked in to see Rachel practically having an orgasm over a game of Oujia? She'd be sent to the psyche ward for sure."
Dean snorted. "It would have been fine. No one was going to come in."
Sam just shook his head. "Well, I guess it's okay. No one did come in. Ah, here we go. Reapers."
Thoughts of Rachel fled and Dean leaned over Sam's shoulder, ready to get to work.
* * *
Oh, God. That had been... awful. Simply awful. She could barely feel Dean's lips on her. The weight of his body as it rested on hers. His hands on her arms, on her shoulders It was all just a whisper, a suggestion. And yet...
When he'd kissed her neck, her entire body had flamed. Her stomach had tightened and there was definite evidence of arousal in her panties.
And then Sam had walked in. Bad enough she was such a virgin that barely-there touches from a man who wasn't on the same plane of existence had excited her so much. But to have Sam come in and witness...
Rachel flushed the toilet and left the stall. The bathroom was empty, luckily. She wasn't up to facing anyone right now.
Her cheeks were so hot. She washed her face and ran her hands through her hair. Putting her hands on both sides of the sink, she looked into her reflection and breathed. Thought of unarousing things. Kitchen tile and moldy cheese. Mothballs. Holy water.
"All right," she said when her heart had slowed. "We're going." She dried her hands and left the bathroom.
The moment she set foot in the hall, she could feel something was different. Her vision went dark. Her head buzzed. Her body felt light. Her mind blanked out. She didn't know anything for what felt like a long time.
And when she came back to herself, she was somewhere dark and chilly. And on the floor, kneeling in the middle of a complicated sigil, was....
"John?"
John's head snapped up. His eyes narrowed. "Well, fuck, girl," he said.
"What are you doing?" Rachel asked, heart squeezing.
John reached behind him. "I want to talk," he said. Then he pulled out the Colt and pointed it at her.
* * *
Having a gun pointed at her was the most surreal experience in Rachel's life. Her entire world narrowed two one thing: the barrel of the gun. There was nothing else. Just the gun and the rushing of blood in her ears.
Painfully, Rachel worked moisture into her mouth. "John... John, please. Don't. Please. Oh God." Her brain wouldn't work. It just kept repeating those few words, begging him for her life, not even caring why he might want to take it in the first place.
John took a step forward. "How stupid do you think I am?"
"I don't... I don't..."
And then, her world got a little wider as a hand clamped around her throat and pulled her back against a lean body.
"You really want an honest answer to that?" a voice drawled.
The gun faltered. Then, John readjusted his aim to just above Rachel's head.
The voice behind Rachel tisked. "John, I'm surprised. I took you of a lot of things, but stupidly reckless wasn't one of them."
"Let her go," John demanded.
Knuckles caressed Rachel's cheek. "If you had this pretty little thing where I do, would you be letting go?"
John took another step forward. "I'm not joking."
"Neither am I. You summoned me, John. Now, you can shoot. But, chances are, you're gonna miss." The demon yanked Rachel off the floor, completely shielding its stolen body.
Rachel couldn't help the cry that escaped her. She bit her lip, tasted blood. Begged John with her eyes to tell her what to do. It was a demon, *the* demon and if she struggled...
John gave a minute shake of his head at Rachel.
The demon dropped her back to the floor. "Did you really think you could trap me?"
"Oh," John said. He lowered the gun. "I don't want to trap you. I want to make a deal."
The demon lowered his face next to Rachel's and turned her head. His eyes were orange, slitted. Scary. She'd never seen a demon this close up before, and, involuntarily, she tried to pull away.
It held her tighter. "Did you hear that, little princess? He wants to make a deal with the devil. Now, does that seem likely? I think that old John-boy here is trying to pull a fast one on me."
She pulled her eyes away from the demon to John.
"No tricks," John said. "I give you the Colt and the bullet, you do something for me."
The demon straightened. "And what is it you want me to do for you?"
"I want you to save Dean. Bring him back."
"John," Rachel said, but the demon tightened its hand around her neck.
"Why John, you're a sentimentalist," the demon purred. "If only your boys knew how much you loved them."
"It's a good trade," John said. "You care a hell of a lot more about this gun than you do Dean." His eyes flicked down to Rachel's and he grimaced.
Rachel could feel blood from her lip dripping slowly down her chin. Her body shook in the demon's arms.
"Don't be so sure. He killed some people very special to me." It paused. "But you're right, he's not much of a threat. And neither is your other son." The demon tilted Rachel's head back. "Smart little girl here. Figuring out what I was really after. I was bored, princess, I really was. And you are so very fun to play with." It bent its head and licked her chin. "But my experiments failed, and Sam's not a threat," it whispered. "It looked back up at John. "You know the truth, right? About Sammy and the other children?"
It was getting harder to breathe. Sweat gathered at her temples, at the base of her spine.
"Yeah," John said, just loud enough that Rachel could hear over her gasping breath. "I've known the truth awhile."
"But Sam doesn't, does he? You've been playing dumb."
A muscle in John's jaw twitched. "Can you bring Dean back, yes or no?"
The demon's thumb caressed Rachel's jaw. "You probably want to know the answer, too, don't you princess?" it asked. "Well, the answer is no. I can't."
Despite the fact that Rachel knew what a colossally bad idea this was, her heart sank at the revelation.
And then the demon said, "But I know someone who can. It's not a problem."
John's expression didn't change, but Rachel could see him relax just a little bit. "Good." He looked at Rachel, then back. "Then let her go. And, before I give you the gun, I'm going to want to make sure Dean's all right with my own eyes."
The demon slid its free arm around Rachel's waist in a tight embrace. "Ah, John, I'm offended. Don't you trust me?"
John looked amused.
The demon snorted. "Fine.
"So we have a deal?"
Please say yes, Rachel begged silently. Her palms were sweating and she didn't know how much longer her legs would support her.
"No, John, not yet. You still need to sweeten the pot." It ran its thumb down her face again, over her neck. Traced her collarbone.
John's fist tightened, knuckles going white. "With what?"
"Something else I want as much as that gun. Maybe more." It stepped forward, propelling Rachel towards John. "Your boy killed my children, John. Why should I give you back one of yours without something in return?"
"What?"
"I'm short two children. We can either balance the scales by letting Dean go. I'd be one behind. Or you help me replace one of the children I lost."
John's eyes widened and he looked from the demon to Rachel and back again. "I don't understand."
"Let me explain. You see, demons like me need a host to incubate our offspring until they're ready to take their own forms. Mostly, we use humans. I want to use this one." He squeezed Rachel's chin. "Ain't she pretty?"
"What. You want my permission or something?" John asked. "Because I think you're asking the wrong person."
"No, I don't want your permission. Not for her. I want permission to use you. See, it rather tickles my fancy to use a Winchester for my incubator."
"Me?"
"Why not? You're proven stock. Strong, hard to kill. And the little princess here comes from a long line of strong, healthy folk. The risk is minimal." It moved closer to John again, until Rachel was mere inches away. It forced Rachel to look up at John. "Look at her. Pretty. Young. Untouched. It'll be fun for both of us. I repossess you, pop the cherry, do the deed, and bang. I've got my offspring nestled right here," it placed its hand over Rachel's womb, "and you've got yours, alive and kicking."
"Oh, God, please," Rachel sobbed. She didn't mean to, but all she wanted was to get away.
"God isn't here, little girl." It leaned down and whispered into her ear, "I'll make it real good for you, baby. Ever hear about the wonders of sex with demons? It's not lies. I'll ruin you for every other man for the rest of your life, and you'll love every minute of it."
Tears poured down her cheeks.
"I can't..." John seemed at a loss for words. "She's like my daughter."
"She's not like mine. Not anything like mine. Of course, she has the benefit of being alive, unlike mine, so there is that." The demon put its hand on the back of Rachel's neck. Squeezed and pushed her away, towards John. "One little baby you'll have a good fifteen years with. Think about it. Fifteen years of living in a house, knowing your family is safe. Fifteen years of a child with your eyes and her looks. And then, just as all those damn human hormones start turning your baby into a little demon, I'll drop by. Release my child, and we'll be gone. And for all that time and more, you'll have your son. Dean."
"Like we're all going to be some happy family knowing what that baby really is," Rachel said through her tears.
"It'll seem normal long as it's in human form. And you'll have fifteen years of trying to make sure it don't go bad. You'll fail, but humans always try."
She wiped her nose on the back of her hand. "We won't be happy."
"Well, now, darlin'. I really don't care." It squeezed again.
John clenched his fist. Pressed it against his forehead. "There has to be some other way. Something else you want."
This time, the demon did press Rachel into John's body. Held her, face pressed into his chest. She struggled against it, but it was much too strong.
"Maybe, maybe not. But look at her, John. Feel her. Why on earth would you let this opportunity pass? Make the balance sheets right. Get me off your back a little while. Save your son."
Rachel stopped breathing as John's hands ran up her arms. Over her shoulders. Around her back. He turned her face to the side, so her cheek was pressed into her chest. Her tears soaked into the fabric of his shirt.
"What's my other option?"
"Oh no, John. You make a choice. Yes or no to an hour of unbelievable pleasure? Not until you decide do we move onto door number two."
Rachel clenched her fists in John's jacket.
John exhaled loudly. "No. No, I won't let you possess me to replace your child. Find another way."
The demon slipped its hand underneath Rachel's shirt and said, "Believe me. I will, John." Then it stepped back. "Door two then. Final door. Choose this, or your son dies. Also an effective way to restore the balance sheet, by the way."
"What do you want?"
"A life lost for a life saved. Specifically, John, your life lost. I am sick of you. I want you gone. Now, the question is, do you love your son enough to give your life up for his?"
Rachel was about to pull away, tell John that he couldn't do this, that she and Sam would find another way, but John must have sensed it. He clapped his hand over her mouth and held her head down.
"Yes," he said. "I'm willing. But I need to see Dean alive and well first."
"Of course. My pleasure." It leaned back into Rachel's ear and whispered, "Don't worry about the baby, princess. I have other ways of incubating my offspring. Little Noah looked mighty fine."
John yanked Rachel away, shielding her from the demon with his body. "My son."
"I'm going. Nice talking with you." There were receding footsteps and then just silence.
"Christ," John whispered. His arms tightened around Rachel. His forehead pressed into the top of hers. "I'm so sorry."
"It's not your fault." She couldn't stop crying. "I'm sorry I came down here."
"Did you come down voluntarily?"
She bit her lip and tried to remember. "I don't know. I don't remember how I got down here."
He smoothed down her hair. Then he let her go, stepping back. "It probably influenced you somehow."
Rachel nodded. Wiped her eyes and nose. "What is it planning for Sam?"
"I don't want you worrying it."
"But...."
"Your number one priority is Dean," John interrupted. "Do you understand that? I don't want your focus of him. Let Dean worry about Sam. You take care of Dean."
"But John..."
"No." He sighed. Took her hand. "They're going to need you. Dean's going to need you."
"I know." Tears welled up again. "I can't believe you..."
"You won't tell them. They'll only blame themselves. And I was glad to make this choice."
Rachel nodded, tears slipping from her eyes.
John wiped them away. "What did it say just before it left?"
She shook her head. "Nothing important. Just trying to scare me." She took a deep breath. "We should go make sure Dean's all right." Rachel took John's hand.
John looked at her for a moment, and then nodded. "You're probably right. Let's go."
Rachel turned and started walking on through the boiler room when John tugged her hand, stopping her.
"Rachel," he said.
"Yes?"
He smiled. "I'm glad Dean found you."
She blushed. "Yeah, well. I'm glad I found him, too."
* * *
"You mean I'm all better," Dean said. "Even my heart?"
Dr. Isaacosn nodded. "I really explain it," he said, shaking his head. "It completely defies all logic and medicine. Everything I've been taught. But you are one hundred percent better. Heart is beating normally and back in the correct place, the edema is gone, the internal contusions have healed, and your vitals are excellent. You must have an angel watching over you, Dean." He put his hand on Dean's shoulder and squeezed.
"Thanks, Doc," Dean said, not really feeling all that thankful. No, that wasn't right. He was glad he was better, he just couldn't shake the creepy feeling that something was horribly wrong.
He waited until the doctor had left before saying to Sam, "You said a reaper was after me?"
"Yeah."
"How'd I ditch it?"
"You got me." Sam hand opened and closed over Dean's leg, like he wanted to touch Dean, but didn't. "Dean, you really don't remember anything?"
"No. Except this pit in my stomach. Sam, something's wrong." He shifted on the bed, uncomfortable. Again, not physically; he felt better than he had in weeks. But everything else.
He felt dirty.
"Where's Rachel."
"Right here."
He turned. Rachel was standing in the doorway, face tear streaked, eyes red. There was snot crusted on her nose and her skin was pink and blotchy.
God, she was beautiful.
He held out his arms.
Rachel let out a breath. Her hand fisted at her mouth as her face crumpled. Stumbling, she ran across the room. Tripped into his arms, her own coming around him. She buried her face in the crook of his neck and held him. "You're really awake," she whispered.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm all right." He stroked her back. Kissed the top of her head. "Doctor says I'm all better. That I can go home real soon." He wrapped his hand around her braids and tugged her face off his neck.
She tilted her face to his, eyes closed. Mouth slightly parted, ready for him.
Something in him melted when their lips touched. Some of the sickness, the dirtiness clinging to him was washed away, and the tense knot in his stomach loosened just a bit.
A knock at the door drew them apart.
Dad was standing in the door, looking at him. "How you feeling?"
"Fine I guess," Dean replied, still tired. Rachel was on the bed now, curled away from his father, face back in Dean's neck. He put a protective arm around her. Threaded their fingers together. "I'm alive."
"That's good," Dad said, almost beaming at him.
"Where were you last night? This morning?" asked Sam.
In his arms, Rachel stiffened. He rubbed her back.
"I had some things to do," answered Dad.
"Well, that's specific," Sam said, and Dean's stomach knotted up again.
"Come on, Sam." He really didn't want them to fight. Why couldn't they all just be happy he was alive and leave it at that? What did it matter where Dad was? He was here now.
"Did you go after the demon?" Sam pushed.
John shook his head. "No."
"You know, why don't I believe you right now?"
John sighed and moved further into the room. "Can we not fight?" he asked to Dean's amazement. "You know, half the time I don't even know what we're fighting about. Just butting heads."
Dean frowned. This was not his father. Or, it was, because it wasn't like the last time, where it'd all been so wrong and he'd just *known* Dad was possessed. But this... it was Dad, only... only everything he was saying, everything that Dean had always wanted to hear him say to Sam, to make peace with him, it was wrong. Too much. And at the wrong time.
And Dad kept talking, making it all worse. "Sammy, I've made some mistakes, but I've always done the best I could. I just don't want to fight anymore, okay?"
Sam was looking at Dad with an expression that perfectly mirrored Dean's own feelings. "Dad, you all right?
"Yeah." Dad smiled wearily. "Yeah, I'm just a little tired. Hey, Sam, would you mind... would you mind getting me a cup of caffeine?"
Sam and Dean exchanged looks, and Sam said, "Yeah. Yeah, sure, no problem." He glanced at Dean once more before he left.
Dad moved closer to Dean's bed. He took one of Rachel's braids and tugged. "Rachel?"
She pulled her face away from Dean. Kissed Dean quickly, without looking at him. Slid off the bed.
Dean watched her as she left. Her hand grazed Dad's as she passed him. Dad's hand turned over, squeezed her fingers briefly, let her go. And then she left the room.
"What is it?"
"When you were a kid, I'd come home from a hunt, and after what I'd seen I'd be wrecked...and you? You'd come up to me and put your hand on my shoulder and you'd look me in the eye and you'd say, 'It's okay, Dad.'" Dad sighed, heavy. Deep. Put his hand on Dean's shoulder. "Dean, I'm sorry. You shouldn't have had to say that to me. I should've been saying that to you. You know, I put too much on your shoulders -- I made you grow up too fast. You took care of Sammy, you took care of me. You did that. And you didn't complain. Not once. I just want you to know... that I am so proud of you."
This was really not what Dean wanted to hear, because it was *everything* that Dean wanted to hear. That all this... hurt was worth it. That Dad really did love him and was proud of everything he'd done. That Dad knew how Goddamn important him and Sammy were, because without them, Dean was nothing. They were family, and Dean had spent his life trying to hold them all together, even when everything seemed to be threatening to pull it apart.
But he couldn't say that. Couldn't even say thank you.
"Is this really you talking?" Dean asked, because he had to.
His dad smiled, sniffed. God, he was crying. Well, not crying, but really close to. "Yeah. Yeah, Dean, it's really me." He sniffed again.
"Why are you saying this stuff?"
"I want you to watch out for Sammy, okay?"
"Yeah, Dad, you know I will. You're scaring me."
"Don't be scared Dean." Dad squeezed his shoulder, and then leaned over and started to whisper.
And as Dad spoke, revealing things he had never wanted to know, Dean knew nothing was ever going to be the same.
* * *
Rachel sat in the empty room next to Dean's. She could feel the presence of the demon in there, and wondered at it. Maybe it was letting her feel it. Maybe it wanted to make her uneasy.
Not that it needed to. She was still feeling sick from earlier. Violated, even though it hadn't really done anything to her. Nothing except threaten her. And take away the possibility of her future happiness. Oh, no. It'd done nothing at all.
She didn't know how long she was there before John walked into the room. His eyes were wet.
"Rachel..."
She pushed herself off the bed. "Maybe it's not too late," she said. She crossed to him. Clenched her hands in his shirt. "Maybe we can still.... I shouldn't have let you say no. I shouldn't have let you do this."
His hands were on her shoulders, squeezing. "You don't tell me what to do, little girl. This is my choice."
"But if we tell it..."
"No." He sighed and bent down until their foreheads were pressed together. "No. Rachel. Dean loves you. What kind of father would I be if I took the thing he loves only to release a demon on the world? In the end, it'd break all us. This is better."
"But..."
He brushed an awkward kiss on her mouth and then pushed her away. "Go. Your husband needs you."
She backed away from him. Her body buzzed. Head swam.
John gave her a half smile, then turned away. Rachel watched as he pulled the Colt from his pocket and placed it on the tray over the bed.
She couldn't watch. Her stomach lurched painfully. Rachel turned and fled. Ran down the hall, feet pounding on the tile. She didn't want to see this. Didn't want to see the demon again, didn't want to see it settle its business with John. Didn't want to hear what it would say about her sudden change of heart. Her willingness to be the mother of a demon to save the life of Dean's father. Didn't want to hear it gloat or brag or promise that she would mother its offspring, only not with John.
Couldn't deal. Didn't want to. She wasn't strong enough.
She almost--not all the way, but almost--wished John had never woken up.
Rachel barely made it to the bathroom before she threw up. Sweat coated her skin, her face, her arms, her back. Her shirt was soaked through, so much so that she pulled it off, too hot, too much. Another bout of nausea hit just as she tossed it on the floor. The sound of vomit hitting the water below made her feel even sicker. She was on fire, over sensitive. The lights were too much, the sound of the toilet next to her flushing too much. She wanted to die and wished she'd offered her own life up in place of John's.
"You okay?" someone called.
Instead of answering, Rachel heaved again, coughing and gagging over the smelly bowl.
"I'm getting help!" Footsteps. A door opening. "Help! Someone..." The door closed again.
Rachel spit into the toilet. Flushed. Her stomach felt somewhat settled. Carefully, she pulled her sopping shirt back on and left the stall.
The taste felt as if it'd never wash out.
Rose rushed in with someone else. "Rachel?" she said. Crossed the room and took Rachel's wrist.
"I'm okay," she croaked, feeling anything but.
"No, you're not. You're sick. Let's get you a wheelchair and down to emergency." Rose pulled Rachel out of the bathroom. "I'll be with you the whole time, don't worry. And Dean will be able to come, too. You know he's..." Rose trailed off, looking down the hall.
Rachel followed her gaze.
Sam and Dean were standing outside the room John had gone into. Even from here, Rachel could hear the urgent talk of doctors and nurses working together, hear the wild beeping of machines as they fought the fruitless battle to save John Winchester's life.
She pulled away from Rose. Ran down the hall. "Dean."
Dean glanced at her like it hurt to pull his eyes away from the room. His arms went around her body. He turned back, face a mask of despair as Dr. Isaacosn said, "I'll call it. Time of death, 10:41 AM."
And just like that, John and the demon's deal had been completed. And Rachel was left with the knowledge of what had happened, and the knowledge that she could never, ever share it with anyone.
* * *
"Here it is," Rachel said, hours later. She unlocked the door to the apartment and led the boys inside. "Home sweet home." She kicked off her shoes and dragged herself to the couch, where she flopped.
She was so tired. Exhausted. All she wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep for a million years. Only, she couldn't. Sam looked like he was still in complete shock, and Dean...
Dean was stoic. A rock. Unmovable, at least about John. An hour after his father had died, Dean had talked the doctor into discharging him. Then, he'd gone down to emergency, where Rachel had been taken, sat by her side. Listened to the doctor's instructions to give her Gatorade, soup, water, and make her rest. Held her hand until she was allowed to go, got her a change of clothes, stayed with her. When she'd tried to talk about John, he'd brushed her off and said there was time later. Right now, they had to think about her.
"You hungry?" Dean asked.
Rachel opened her eyes. Dean was crouched by her.
"No," she said. She forced herself into a sitting position. "I'm fine. Just tired." She stood. "Okay. So, this is the room I've been staying in. That's where Sam's sleeping. And that." She pointed at the room she'd figured would be John's, and faltered. "Uh. Well, Missouri was in there, but she's gone now. I mean, alive, but you know."
Dean nodded. "Where's the bathroom? I really want to shower."
"Oh, yeah. There's a bathroom down the hall. And attached to my room, because I'm selfish."
"Okay." He kissed her temple, picked up his duffle, which had been sitting by the couch since Rachel had moved in, and went into the bedroom.
Her bedroom.
She could feel her cheeks heat. It took a minute for her to feel calm enough to look at Sam.
Sam was staring into the middle distance. Tears stood in his eyes.
"Sam?" she said tentatively. "You all right?"
He blinked the tears away. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. I guess." He rubbed his eyes. "I just can't believe he's gone, you know?"
"I know."
"I don't even know what to do. We've got to plan a funeral. Get his body. Burn it."
"You could have him cremated."
Sam shook his head. "No. We need to do it ourselves. Make sure it's done right, you know?" He wiped his eyes again. "How does this work?"
"The hospital's going to do an autopsy and see what the cause of death was. Then they'll release the body. We're going to have to bury him. If you want to burn him, we'll have to dig him back up."
"When?"
"In new few days. I'll... I need to take a nap. But when I wake up, I'll call and make arrangements." She went to Sam, took his hand, and squeezed it. "I'll take care of everything. Don't worry, okay? Just... try to get some rest. We all need it."
Sam nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right." He scrubbed his face. "I'm going to get some sleep."
Rachel kissed his cheek. "Good. I'll see you later."
She waited until Sam had closed the door to his room before approaching the closed door on her own. Tentative, she pressed her ear against the door. She could hear the shower going, muffled, through the thick wood.
When she got in the room, she found Dean's bag on the bed. It was open, clothes pulled out, scattered on the bed.
Rachel picked up on of his shirts and folded it neatly. Pants were next, then another shirt. Soon, she had all his clothes out of the bag, folded, and stacked. She was just folding the last one when Dean emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, smelling of soap and shampoo, dressed in boxers and a grey tee-shirt.
He saw the pile on the bed. A smile cracked through the stoicism. "You really didn't have to do that."
She just shrugged. "Did you leave any hot water?"
"I think so." He grabbed a stack of his shirts and went to the dresser. Rachel had unpacked her clothes in the right side of the dresser; Dean loaded his stuff into the left. "What side of the bed do you sleep on?" he asked, taking his jeans.
"What?" she asked stupidly.
"Side? Left or right?"
This was seriously the hardest question anyone had ever asked her in her life. "Um, I don't know." Not ever having shared a bed before, she usually took the middle. "The, uh. The right?" That was the side her mother slept on. When Rachel had been a child, she'd assumed that all moms slept on the right side and dads on the left, simply because that was how her parents did it.
Dean nodded. "Okay." He pulled the duffle off the bed and stuffed it underneath. "I know I've been doing nothing but sleeping for the past few days, but I'm exhausted."
"You've been through a lot," Rachel said. She watched as Dean pulled down the covers on the bed and crawled inside. Then, feeling the blush start and her stomach churn, she rushed to the bathroom and locked herself in.
Oh God. Oh Godohgodohgodohgod. Dean was in her bed. Dean was *in her bed*. Why? He didn't remember telling her that he loved her. And his dad just died. Was he expecting pity sex? Or diversionary sex? Or... something like that? Because she didn't want their first time to be like that. She wanted it to be about them.
Not that they could have sex. Ever. Not after what the demon had told her. There were other ways it could infect her baby. And even if she and Dean were safe, what if the demon made sure she got pregnant? She could risk it. Couldn't risk Dean like that, he'd already had enough sorrow in his life. She couldn't get pregnant by him only to have the baby hijacked by a demon.
Brain working a mile a minute, Rachel showered and climbed into her pajamas which she'd left in the bathroom. They weren't sexy by any means--just a pair of blue and white flannel shorts and a Yale tee-shirt--and she almost regretted that. Because, if Dean did want to have sex with her, she at least wanted to look pretty for that.
Her heart pounded in her throat as she crossed the bedroom to the bed. It hurt to breathe. She was sweating again. Her hands shook as she pulled the blankets back and crawled onto her side of the bed.
"You okay?" Dean asked. He turned on his side, looking at her.
Rachel turned onto her side. "Um, yeah. I'm fine."
He touched her cheek with one finger. "You look freaked."
"It's just..."
"Rachel, I want you. I do. But, right now, everything is too much. I'm tired and so are you. Stop worrying."
She sighed, feeling monumentally stupid. "I'm sorry."
Dean shook his head and pulled her into his arms. "Don't be. You didn't do anything." He kissed her forehead. "Just close your eyes and go to sleep."
"Okay." She watched as he closed his eyes. Lay and listen to his breathing as it evened out. Felt his grip on her loosen.
And wondered what the hell she was supposed to do now.
* * *
Everyone was dead. Everyone. Not just Mom and Jess and Dad. Rachel and Dean. Sarah. Missouri. Rebecca. Lori. Cassie. Bobby, Pastor Jim. *Everyone*.
Sam stood in the middle of the carnage. Bodies of his friends and family, ripped apart. Blood everywhere, over him, dripping from the walls, the ceiling. Fire burning, singeing his hair, his skin.
And a horrible emptiness inside that would never, ever fade.
Footsteps. Heavy, familiar. And Dad walked through the fire, eyes orange and slitted.
"Damn, Sammy-boy," he said. "Do you love anyone? Care for anyone but yourself? You have the power to save them all, but you didn't lift a finger. Didn't even try." The demon grabbed Sam by the hair. "I'm going to keep killing, you know. Everyone you ever met. Remember Ms. Taylor, your kindergarten teacher? Dead. Dr. Miles, the man who delivered you? Dead. Everyone, Sammy. And it'll be all your fault because you ain't using one bit of the power locked inside you."
"It's dangerous," Sam said.
The demon smiled. "Maybe, maybe not. But not figuring out how to use it is pretty dangerous too. Unless you don't think me killing that flight attendant, Amanda or Andrea and her little boy just because you talked with them once isn't dangerous."
Sam saw Andrea and her kid. The demon had them pinned to the wall. They were looking at him, begging.
"Save them," the demon ordered.
But he couldn't. He just... couldn't feel them, couldn't sense it. He tried, he really did.
"I can't."
The demon clicked its tongue on the roof of its mouth. "Too bad." It turned to them.
"No!" Sam screamed.
He shot up, heart pounding.
"Just a dream," he whispered. He swallowed, throat parched. Sweat dripped in his eyes, and he blinked it away. "Just a dream."
But it hadn't been, not really. It wasn't a vision, exactly. More like a warning. A reminder of the danger everyone Sam loved was in until he figured out how to access this power.
If Rachel was right, and that's what the demon wanted.
If it wouldn't make him evil.
Every night since Dad had died, Sam had had this dream. This warning. And it was too pressing to ignore.
He had to protect his family. He had to do the right thing.
* * *
Dean opened his eyes. Something was wrong. He'd known that, ever since Dad had died. Ever since Dad had told him...
No. Don't think about it.
They'd burned his body tonight. Burned it, salted the ground, put him back. Sam had cried almost the entire time. So had Rachel. Him? Not really. A little. But what he wasn't really grief. He didn't know what he was feeling. He just knew it was inappropriate, probably.
Not that he cared. What Dad had said before he died had just...
No.
He rolled onto his side to make sure Rachel was all right.
She seemed to be. She was sleeping peacefully. Skin a healthy color. Breathing easily. No worries. She had a doctor appointment that day, just a check-up to make sure last week's sudden illness had passed for good. Not that she'd been sick; after what had happened at the hospital, she'd been fine. Arranged for John's funeral. Paid for everything. Settled all the affairs. She'd been wonderful. And, except for a headache that wouldn't leave her, she'd been perfectly healthy.
What the hell was she doing with someone like him? She was perfect, except for the temper and the clumsiness and ink. But other than that. She knew the right way to feel after someone died. And she'd barely known his father.
Dean sighed. Kissed her cheek, and climbed out of bed.
"Dean?" Rachel mumbled. She sat up and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
Drool. That was another thing that wasn't perfect about her. She drooled.
"Something's wrong," he said.
"What?"
"I don't know. I'm going to check it out. Go back to sleep."
She rolled her eyes and climbed out of bed.
Great legs. Negated the drool factor.
Together, they left their bedroom. Went into the living room.
"Sam's door is open," Rachel said, but Dean's eyes were focused on the white slip of paper on the counter in the kitchen.
While Rachel went to Sam's room, Dean went to the counter.
"He's gone!" Rachel said, running out of Sam's room. "All his clothes are gone."
"Yeah. I know," Dean said flatly. "Dear Dean and Rachel," he read, "I've come to realize that Rachel was right. I need to figure out how to do telekinesis. If I don't, everyone I love is in danger. You are both in danger until I've figured this out. This isn't permanent. I'm coming back, I promise. But, until I know I'm safe, I can't be around either of you.
"Take care of each other. I know you will. I love you both. Sam."
Fin
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