Fic: Another Kind of Trap (15/?)

[serafina20]

Sam was so sick of staying awake. For two days he'd tried, tried like hell for Rachel's sake. Made a deal with her, that'd they'd sleep on shifts, he'd take one time, she'd take another. But she was too afraid that the demon would get her, and Dean would kill him if he found out he let her stay up for days on end while he slept.

Which meant, of course, Dean was going to kill him. Sam was on medication and it made him drowsy. He'd tried to go without it, but the pain from his shoulder had been too intense. Which meant he took the Norcet and fell asleep and Rachel had been awake for two days.

Everything was going to hell. Dad was no closer to getting cured, they still didn't have the Pandora's Box, he and Rachel couldn't sleep at the same time, and Missouri was the latest victim in a long string.

The constant stress was getting to him. He was thinking things, like how when he used to be stressed, he had Jess to go to. Jess to hold and, no, he wasn't any more for talking about his feelings than Dean was, and Jess didn't need him to talk. She just let him lay there and shut down until the stress bled out of him and he could function again.

He didn't have that now. Jess was dead. Rachel was Dean's. And Sarah...

Sarah was in danger. He wanted to call her so badly. Call her and tell her everything hat was happening. To let it all out and then tell her to get the hell out of the country. To run far and fast. To be safe. But he was afraid that she'd react the same way Rachel and Cassie had reacted to Dean's message: ignore the danger, ignore the words and come straight to it.

Besides. Maybe the demon didn't know about her. Maybe it'd leave her alone as long as he didn't lead it to her.

Maybe Dean had been right back in New Haven, after the kitsune. Maybe one night stands were the way to go. Get the edge off, leave off the emotional attachment and, with it, the danger. Maybe it'd been better to never have fallen in love with Rachel.

Sarah! Jess! Dammit.

"Fuck," Sam swore. "Jess and Sarah," he said to himself. "Not Rachel. Christ."

He didn't love Rachel. He knew it didn't. And yet, somehow, it was hard to keep that in mind. They'd barely spoken in two days, each taking turns at Dean's side and researching at the apartment. Strangers, practically, not even asking how the other was. It should have been enough.

But, somehow, she'd gotten under his skin. The demon had put her there and Sam didn't understand why. Except for the fact it was a demon, and demons liked chaos.

Well. Chaos achieved.

His eyes drifted shut. A heavy lethargy settled over his body. God, he needed sleep. Real sleep. Sleep not influenced by drugs. Uninterrupted by dreams or phone calls or new disasters. Real, deep, true sleep like he used to get before... before Jessica died.

Jess...

His phone rang.

"God dammit," he swore. Without opening his eyes, Sam reached out with his good hand. Searched for the phone.

When he found it, he flipped it open without opening his eyes. "Hello?" he said, voice heavy and grim. He could only imagine this was some new emergency or death.

"Um, hello. Which Winchester am I speaking to?" an unfamiliar voice said.

"Sam."

"Hello, Sam. This is Rachel's father."

His eyes opened. "Dr. Adams." He pulled the phone away from his ear and looked closer; he had Rachel's phone. Which meant that Rachel probably had his. And Dean's. This phone situation was getting very confusing.

"Um, hi. Sorry, Rachel and I must have switched phones. Are you all right?"

"Am I all right? Are *you* all right? You're the one who was recently in a coma."

"Yeah, I'm fine. Relatively speaking. But Rachel's been trying to get a hold of you for almost two days. Your whole family. She hasn't gotten through to anyone."

"Did she leave any messages?"

"Yeah."

"I didn't get any." Dr. Adams sounded dismayed. Upset. "I haven't heard a peep out of her for days, and I wanted to get an update. Are you making any progress with your father?"

"He's still unconscious, but Rachel thinks we can get the parts of the demon left inside him with a Pandora's Box. We're just waiting to get one."

"What about Dean?"

Sam swallowed, his throat aching. "We, uh. As far as I know, he's unconscious right now. Rachel, Dean and I... we've been having problems. Dreams. Rachel says the demon is using her somehow to affect our dreams. And whatever it showed Dean made him, uh, I don't know. Stop breathing. Slip into a coma. I don't know, I just know that he's been unconscious since it happened."

"Describe to me what went on? I don't understand what you mean."

Sam sighed, heavily, and explained. He left out the details of the dreams--the man had already walked in on his daughter in the shower with Dean, he didn't need to hear about the brother having sex dreams about her--but tried to convey the vividness of details. And the unexpectedness. Because he did have to hint at the nature of the dreams, vaguely as possible, otherwise, it wouldn't have mattered.

"Of course she would be the one," Dr. Adams sighed when he was done.

"She's the one what?"

"My family is gifted with various psychic ability. My father is psychic. My wife is a touch telepath. Gifts like these are often passed down through generations. I've been testing my children for years, to see if they have the gift. My father warned that, with the way the pattern tends to go, this generation, if they had any gifts, would have the ability to do astral project. Neither Rachel nor Nathan have ever showed the inclination. I did take some measures to help them not get lost or overwhelmed, though."

"The lucid dreaming," Sam said.

"Yes. Changes astral projection into remote viewing."

"She did say the second time, it was more like she was watching, rather than participating."

Dr. Adams sighed. "You poor kids. If she wasn't there..."

"If she wasn't there, Dean and I would be screwed." He rubbed his forehead. "Is there anything we can do?"

"Hang a dream catcher over her bed."

"I thought those caught bad dreams."

"It'll catch an outgoing spirit, too. There are catchers designed specifically to catch astral projections, but a dream catcher will do in a pinch."

He frowned. "Why don't I just hang one over Dean's and my bed?"

"You can. But she'll still come out of her body, and the demon will still have its way with her." Then, "Not the way I meant, of course."

Sam thought about what the demon was using Rachel for in his dreams and blushed. "Yeah. I know." He rubbed his forehead again. "You don't happen to have a Pandora's Box around, do you? Rachel said that it's probably the best way to get Dad better."

"No, I don't. Did she contact my antique dealer?"

"She did, yeah. We haven't heard back yet."

"I see." There was a pause. "Dare I ask about Rachel and Dean?"

"Uh, last I knew, Dean had finally gotten it past his thick skull that he needed to tell Rachel how he felt about her. And now they're together."

"I hope so. She moped around for months after he left last time."

Sam smiled, glad that he, a wealthy man with a college educated daughter on route for more college education, approved of her relationship with Dean. "It's not that I don't get that they're not exactly in the most ideal position for a relationship, but the fact that Dean would always feint at the last second was driving me crazy. Be with her or don't, but don't lie about your feelings, you know?"

"I completely agree. It was the lack of closure that sent her spiraling, not the fact he left. She knew that was going to happen, but when he pulled back at the last moment..." He sighed. "Anyway. I'll call back later, so if you can get her phone to her, I'd appreciate it. And if you need anything...."

"I'll call. I promise. Thank you, sir."

"You're welcome."

* * *

She heard talking. Low. Distant. A familiar voice but one she couldn't place.

Without opening her eyes, Rachel rolled onto her stomach and buried her face in a pillow. It smelled like Dean and the hospital, both familiar smells. One was welcome. The other was not. She pulled the blanket over her and snuggled down, trying to get moe of the welcome smell and less of the hospital.

"Like I always say," the low, distant voice said, "be thankful for what you have. You'll end up having more."

Sad that she knew that quote.

"Oprah?" she said. "Seriously?"

"It's either this, Dr. Phil, or the news," Dean responded. "And I'm sick of hearing about how coffee is gonna kill me and the latest non-injury crash on a street that isn't blocking traffic." He squeezed her hand, which was in his. "How you feel?"

Rachel opened her eyes. Dean was sitting in a chair next to the bed. He had a pillow held against his chest with his free arm. He was wearing the robe Rachel had brought him a few days back, and looked much healthier and alive than the last time she'd seen him.

But he'd asked about her. She took quick stock before saying, "Better. What about you?"

"Much better than I did."

"Good." She stretched, yawned. "I'm so hungry."

"I saved some of my breakfast." He nodded at the tray.

"Thanks." Rachel sat up and pulled it to her. Underneath the plastic cover were some dubious looking eggs, pathetic toast, and a slice of what was supposed to be an orange.

"Do they actually expect people to get better on this stuff?"

"That's what I want to know." Dean rose from his chair and moved over to the bed. "I hate trying to choke down that crap."

Rachel nodded, chewing the dried out toast. "When I'm really awake, I'll go get you some real food. Gotta keep my baby strong." She smiled at him.

Dean smiled back, but looked uncomfortable. "Yeah, I'd appreciate that." He squeezed her shoulder lightly. "So."

"So." It was suddenly really awkward in the room and she wasn't sure why. "Uh, how long did I sleep?"

"About fifteen hours or so."

"Wow, that long?"

"Almost Sleeping Beauty long."

Rachel snorted and ran her fingers through her tangled hair. "I really need a shower."

"Yeah, you really do."

She punched him lightly in the thigh. "So do you."

"I'll have you know, I just showered. That smell you smell? Is hospital." He wrinkled his nose. "I need to get out of here is what I need to do. I'm sick of this place."

She leaned against him and said, "Then get better. Stop not breathing."

Dean frowned at her. "Hey, I remember that lesson from school. That's a double negative."

"Gold star for you." She kissed him on the cheek.

He sighed and slipped his arm around her. "Look, Rach, I've been thinking..."

"You better've not been thinking about breaking up with me, because I will rip your heart out, Dean Winchester, don't think I won't."

"Jesus, you channeling Missouri or something?"

She glared at him.

Dean looked down. Shook his head. Took her hand in his. "I don't want to end up like we were in my dreams."

"We won't."

"How do you know?"

"Because our life won't be run by a demon who is trying to fuck with our heads."

He cocked an eyebrow. "How do you know?"

Okay, point.

Rachel sighed. "Dean, we've had this conversation again and again. Bad things happen. We both know that. And we both know there's a lot of scary things out there. I'd rather face them with you at my side than alone." She wrinkled her nose. "I suck at facing them alone."

"I don't."

"No," she said, an unbidden smile crossing her face. "But you do suck at the research part. Or, at least, you suck at wanting to do the research part. And that's my favorite part."

"But what about Noah? What about us fighting all the time?"

"Dean, Noah doesn't exist." Yet, she added mentally. Of course, they had to have sex for them to have a kid, and that seemed less likely to happen than ever. "And people fight. Married people fight. It's normal."

"No."

"Yes. My parents fight. Not in front of me if they can help it, but they fight. And they love each." She laced their fingers together and squeezed his hand. "I'm sure you and Sam fight with one another, on occasion. And yet, the love is still there."

"But..."

"Look, if you don't want to be with me because you don't like me, then fine. But don't be stupid."

"I'm not stupid!"

"Yes you are!" she shot back. She was about to say more when her phone rang. "Hold that thought."

Her phone was in her bag, which was under the bed. The name on the LCD was unfamiliar. "This isn't mine. Who's Sarah?" she asked.

Dean shrugged. "I've got a lotta girls' names in that thing."

She rolled her eyes. "I forgot that you're Dean the super-stud. Sex machine, all four times." She flipped the phone open.

"Four *girls*!" he shot at her. "I've had sex way more times."

Rachel pointed to the phone and smirked at him. "Hello?"

"Um, hi. I'm calling for Sam?"

"It's Sam's phone," she told Dean. "I'm sorry, he and I must have switched phones. Who are you?"

There was a pause. "I'm Sarah," she replied shortly. "Who are you?"

"I'm Rachel. I'm friends with the Winchesters. They're having some problems right now, so I'm helping them out." Then, "I'm not, you know. With Sam or anything."

"Oh."

"Oh, wait, is that Sarah, Sarah?" Dean said suddenly.

"Well, her name is Sarah," Rachel told him.

"Ask her if she's the chick with the haunted picture."

"No, Dean, I was the chick with the haunted picture. Did you take more morphine?"

"I had a haunted picture," Sarah said. "A painting."

"I had a haunted photograph." Rachel glared at Dean. "You should have told me."

"I don't know you," Sarah said.

"Not you, Dean."

Dean frowned at her. "Why?"

She smacked him on the leg. "Because this is what I research, you moron! I could have gotten a great article out of two cases of a haunted picture." Then she frowned. "Still can. Sarah, would you mind if I called you some time, talked you about your experience?"

"You should tell her to come here, visit Sam," Dean said. "Make him happy."

Rachel titled her head. "What do you mean?"

He flashed her a leering smile. "Sarah there is Sam's lady love. Or, would be, if they had any time together."

There was a heartbeat when the air around her seemed to go completely still.

And then Rachel felt a darkness slam down around her.

She gasped. A thousand needles of ice pressed into her skin. Knives jammed through her skull, clawing to get in her. Thunder sounded in her hears and she couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but fight futilely against it.

Words formed in her heard. Pressed in her mouth.

"You should come," she wanted to say. "Stay with Sam. He'd like to see you."

Her lips moved, ready to say the words.

Rachel bit her lip. Made a loud, strangled sound.

The demon roared. Pressed harder.

Her back arched. Phone fell from limp fingers. Blood dripped from her lip as she bit through.

It got harder to breathe. Her vision grew dark, and the demon pressed in harder. Felt like a razor sliding beneath the upper layer of her skin. Felt like death.

So easy, it whispered. Just say the words and it will be over. Invite her here. It'll make Sam happy, you want him to be happy, don't' you? Why are you fighting what will make your friend happy? Why hurt yourself when you know what I want is right?

So easy. Tears squeezed from her eyes like tracks of lava down her too-cold cheeks. When she opened her mouth to draw in air, a crazed groan escaped.

"C-c-com," she started to stutter, but quickly closed her mouth. Bit her lip. Determined to bite through it if she had to.

To die if she had to.

"Rachel!" And then Dean was on her, thighs on either side of her hips. Hands on her wrists, mouth over hers.

The cold was chased away, replaced by a douse of heat, like scalding water thrown over her. The shock of it make her entire body tense, fists clench.

"S-salt," she gasped when Dean broke the kiss. She couldn't breathe, needed air. Needed blankets, needed something.

"I don't have any."

"Backpack."

One hand trapped around her wrist, Dean lunged for the backpack. His face contorted in pain, but he got it. Opened it and rummaged through until he found the salt. Kept contact as he spread the circle around them, surrounding them in the protection.

The ice and pressure vanished completely. Rachel heard the roar of anger as the demon left the room. A faint whisper of promised that it'd return, it'd get her, it'd make her pay.

"You okay?" Dean asked. He set the salt down and leaned against the bed.

She nodded. Wondered if she was going to throw up.

He pulled her to him. Held her tight. Fear in his hands as he gripped her too tightly. She could feel each finger press into her skin and knew that she'd have bruises, courtesy of iron-depleted blood.

Dean buried his face in her hair and just held her for a long moment. She could feel his body tremble, and between the two of them, it felt like a small earthquake.

"What," he finally said, pushing her hair aside to rest his forehead against the side of her face, "the fuck was that?"

"The demon. Tried to possess me." She turned around and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Dean," Rachel whispered, holding him, tears flowing from her eyes. "I know what the demon is trying to do."