Fic: Picking Up (2/?)

[serafina20]

Title Picking Up
Author serafina20
Fandom SPN
Pairing Dean/OFC
Rating Mature
Summary Dean and Rachel search for Sam.
Series Captured Soul, Kitsune, Another Kind of Trap, and The Greater Good.
Notes I had to change where Sam is. Instead of being in Iowa, he's in Charleston, West Viginia. Also, my image of Rachel has changed, so I found a new image that supports it better. If you're interested to see how I see her: here and here



Sam sat in the middle of the hotel bed. His palms were flat against the comforter, and maybe it was because of that he couldn't get his mind to focus. All he could think of was some news report he'd seen about how motel comforters were dirty and germ ridden and bedbugs were now on the rise and he was probably going to catch something and die a horrible death. Or, worse, he had his hand right over some long dried semen stain.

Okay then.

He got off the bed, stripped the comforter off, and tossed it on the floor. Then he sat back down. Took a deep, slow breath. Concentrated on the glass on the front of him and tried to move it.

Bedbugs live in the sheets.

No. Concentrate.

He wondered if Dean was okay.

The cup, Sam.

It was just, Dean didn't handle things like grief real well. And he'd been so close to Dad. And, over the past year, Sam had really come to appreciate how hard Dean worked to keep their family together. And now Dad was gone and Sam was gone...

He couldn't think about that now.

Tightening his jaw, Sam looked at the cup again. His brow furrowed. He pressed his lips together. Tried to recall how he'd done it the last time, bring back the feelings, the power. Anything.

He pushed again.

Nothing.

He sighed heavily and flopped back onto the pillows. God, this sucked. He just wanted to go home. Fight with Dean and help him fix the car. Or watch him fix the car, whatever. And he and Rachel could work on his father's research on the demon.

Sam leaned over the edge of the bed to pick up his backpack. Just as he'd been obsessively trying to move things with his mind--and feeling like a moron every time he tried--he'd spent the past week trying to make heads or tails of the papers his dad had left behind. He'd swiped a stack when he'd taken off, and he was pretty sure he'd gotten it all. If he had, then all that was left was figuring out how to use it all. If he hadn't...

Well, let's just say, if he hadn't, he wasn't looking forward to facing Rachel when they reunited. Research-girl would be pissed if he took half of what she needed.

He leafed through the papers not really seeing them. He'd already been through them a million times. Omens and a bunch of numbers. That's all it was. Topped all off with Dad's illegible writing, and it was giving him as much a headache as trying to make his brain move.

Huh. Maybe it wasn't his brain that was supposed to move things. Maybe he only thought it was because that's where he felt the visions, but maybe the telekinesis came from somewhere else.

Sam licked his bottom lip and looked at the cell phones he had lined up on the nightstand. He should, he knew, call someone. Missouri or Rachel's grandfather. Anyone who knew something about this whole mental supernatural power crap.

But if he called, Dean and Rachel could find him. And that would put them right where he didn't want them: in danger. Anyone he went to would be in danger.

Maybe. *If* his dream had been a vision. If the demon had really been talking to him. If...

It hadn't felt like one. Now that he'd calmed down enough, he realized that it wasn't a vision, it wasn't the demon. It was just a nightmare. He'd had enough that he should recognize them, but he'd panicked.

Everything was changing. Dad was dead. Dean was wearing a wedding ring and sleeping in a room apart from him. With his wife. Or girlfriend. Or... Rachel. Sam wasn't even sure what they were anymore. It'd started as a practical joke that had been DOA, turned into a panicked decision when Dean had been bleeding and wouldn't stopped. It'd come in handy when all three of them had been unable to take care of themselves and then...

Well, Sam didn't quite know what happened then. He just knew that they'd gotten something to eat one night before Dad's funeral, and some guy had made some lewd comment within Dean's hearing.

Dean had calmly walked up to the man, told him to shut the fuck up about his wife, and clocked the guy one. And Sam distinctly remembered hearing Rachel refer to Dean as her husband outside the hospital.

For a couple that had such a hard time talking to each other about their feelings, they didn't seem to have a problem settling into something that had taken Sam and Jess almost two years to get to.

And that was probably the crux of the problem. The ready intimacy between Rachel and Dean. Well, not ready. Tension filled, passionate, conflict-ridden intimacy. Sometimes, they reminded Sam of a couple who'd been together for years, except his only reference for that was TV and TV was hardly the place to turn to for instruction.

But. There was something there, and Sam was jealous. He was jealous that Dean had someone to turn to now that Dad was dead. That there was the woman he loved in his bed that he could hold on to, and Sam had... Sam had nothing. Sam had the faint beginnings of something that might possibly happen in New York. Sam had a dead girlfriend and a flirtation with a possessed girl and dirty dreams about the woman he thought of his little sister. And, yeah, if he hadn't left, Rachel would have been there for him too--even though she'd been awfully broken up over the death of a man she'd known for little more than a day--but that wasn't the point. He didn't love her, she didn't love him, and Sam was now a third wheel.

A dangerous third wheel.

But that's not why he'd left. Not at all. Because he loved them both. They were family, and right now, they all needed each other.

But, more than that, Sam needed to not be dangerous to them. He couldn't risk their lives.

He tightened his jaw and set Dad's papers down. Then, he turned back to the glass.

He would do this. He would.

* * *

"Hey. Rach, wake up."

There was a sharp poking in her side. Rachel opened her eyes and blinked.

"We here?" she asked when she realized the car had stopped. Her face was pressed against the glass, the lock digging uncomfortably in her cheek. When she lifted her head, she could feel the indent in her face where it had been.

"No, weren't not there yet. We're stopping to get some sleep." Dean looked at her, then away. His hands tightened on the steering wheel. "So. You know the kind of places Sam and I usually stay in. You're less likely to get caught with a fake credit card if you don't go all extravagant. But, uh, I was thinking that maybe you might be more comfortable someplace a little nicer. Um. You know."

One that she'd have to pay for, in other words. Not that she minded. She had more than enough money than she needed thanks to her family, and she didn't mind spending it on things they needed.

"Well, I would like to sleep on sheets with a thread count high enough that I can't count them. Besides, maybe the room will come with a free continental breakfast, and what's better than free coffee and croissants?"

He cracked a smile at that. "No, I guess not."

The light turned green. Dean continued down the road.

Rachel propped her feet on the dashboard. Somewhere in the last six hours, Dean had stopped complaining about having to drive a minivan. She had no doubt he'd started up again in the morning. She'd tried to offer to drive, but he had turned her down, not willing to be subjected to whatever music she would want to listen to. Rachel just rolled her eyes at him and turned his complaining out; if he wanted to be miserable, let him.

"Dean," she asked after a few minutes had passed. "Is this money thing going to be a problem? I mean, with us? Because I really don't want it to be."

He frowned, kept his eyes on the road. "I just. It's like I'm damned if I do or don't, you know? I hate making you pay for everything, but I'd hate for you not to be comfortable. And I hate that I can't make you comfortable. Give you what you're used to."

"We all bring our strengths to the table. You and Sammy have the hunting skills. Sam has that earnest puppy dog thing he does that gets people to trust him. You can make fake IDs. I have money and research. I mean, so does Sam, with the research and stuff, but I've got years of backlog and generational family stuff. We work together as a team." She licked her lips. "Unless you'd rather I don't. That I don't pay or I go home or something."

Dean glanced at her. "You saying you want to leave?"

She shook her head.

"I just feel like maybe I should be taking care of you."

"Why, because I'm so weak and helpless?"

"No, because you're my." He hesitated, and Rachel's heart lurched. She didn't think he'd say it, but then he finished with, "Wife."

It felt like she couldn't breathe, but she managed to force out, "Then make sure I don't get chomped on by a boogied-boo, and cut out the sexist money crap."

Dean grinned one of his patented thousand watt charmer grins. It was the first time she'd seen it since before he'd slipped back into his coma. "Yes ma'am."

They found a motel that wasn't too shabby and checked in. Dean, as usual, took the first shower, leaving Rachel in the bedroom with the computer. She checked her e-mail, hoping Sam had written her. Of course he hadn't. Frustrated, she fired off another e-mail to him, one that was angrier than the last (she was tired of using kid gloves).

"Rachel."

She looked up from her computer. "Dean?"

No answer. Then, from the hallway, "Rachel."

Rachel closed the computer and slid off the bed. "Hello?" she called. She unchained the door and opened it.

No one was there.

This was weird. Something was wrong.

She reached into her back pocket and pulled the crucifix she carried around. Held it in her fist and stepped into the hall.

The world went dark around her.

"Shit."

"Ah, little girl, no need to be like that," a familiar voice drawled.

She blinked. "John?"

He stepped out of the darkness, carrying his own light with him. "Close," he said.

"Oh God." Rachel stepped back.

"I told you before, princess. God isn't here." The demon move swiftly. She didn't see him move and, suddenly, she was pinned against the wall. "Miss me, darlin'?"

"Leave me alone."

His breath was hot on her cheek. He smelled like sulfur. He had his hands underneath her shirt, against bare skin.

"You know I can't do that. You and me, we had a deal."

"No, we didn't. It was you and John. You and John had a deal, but it wasn't for me." She was crying, couldn't help it. "He wouldn't let you. He said no."

Lips pressed into hers. "But you said yes. And I'm here to collect." His hands slipped lower, mouth found hers and...

"No!" Rachel screamed. Her eyes flew open and she bolted upright.

"What? What is it?" Dean was out of bed, holding his gun and his knife out in front of him. "Rachel?"

Nightmare. Maybe.

She rubbed her face, already wet with tears. "I'm okay." It hurt to breathe. There was a lump in her throat and chest was tight.

Dean put his weapons down and climbed onto the bed. "Are you sure okay?" He put his arms around her.

"I think so." She turned into his embrace. Her face ended in the crook of his neck, and beneath the soap, she could smell his skin and his warmth. The tight knot in her stomach eased. "God. I can't even tell anymore. Can't tell if it's a nightmare or me astrally projecting or just the demon fucking with my head. I have no clue." She sniffed. "I don't even remember falling asleep."

"When I came out, you were passed out. That was... four hours ago. You've been sleeping fine."

"What, you've been watching me?"

He kissed her hair. "Naw. You sleep fine, I sleep fine. You have nightmares or toss and turn, I can't sleep either."

"If I'm keeping you up, we can sleep in separate beds."

"Rach, you're the only thing that's getting me to sleep."

"Oh."

His arms tightened around her and he kissed her on the head again. "Maybe I shouldn't have said that. Maybe I should be telling you it's time for you to go home, get back to your life. Apply for your master's program, go to England, whatever. But the truth is. The truth is, right now, I sorta want you here. With me."

Rachel tilted her head back. "I love you, too," she said. She kissed him, and it was a long time before they came apart.

He rested his forehead against hers. "I know this isn't the life you wanted."

"I never thought about the alternatives to what I expected," she replied. "I always knew it'd have something to do with the supernatural. And, in my family, that means study. I never knew about... all this. It was never personal before." She licked her lips. Pressed them against Dean's again. "I don't think that life in England studying and chasing ghosts is possible for me now. I can't ignore what's out there. What's here." She wiped a tears from her cheeks. "It's too important."

Dean lay back, pulling Rachel with him. "Do you think you could be happy? Always on the move, always in danger, always lying about who you are and what you do?"

"Well, if I'm not, it's not like I can't still help you from a home base. And it's not like we still couldn't be together."

He rolled onto his side. His hand slid over her stomach and around her back. "You'd trust me? Out on the road for weeks on end, only phone calls, e-mails between us?"

"Yes, I trust you," she said, smiling.

"I love women. Love flirting."

"Yes, and you're also one hundred percent devoted to your family." She propped herself on one elbow. Traced the planes and contours of his face. "If I'm family, then you're devoted to me, too." He was so beautiful. Perfect eyes. Not just the color, but the shape and his eyelashes. And he just lay there, next to her, and let her explore, let her trace his face and memorize it.

Finally, he caught her hand and kissed it. "You won't have to worry."

"Yeah, Dean. I know."