This is actually the second story in the series, if you can believe it. It's shortly after she's started traveling with them, so she's no idea really when it comes to them.

Warning: Swearing and a bit of angst if you tip your head just slightly to the side. Mostly comfort though, I think. I could be wrong. I still don't own them, but I'm hoping for Birthmas maybe.

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Something solid slammed into my floating ribs hard enough to drive the air out of my lungs. The still-not-healed claw wounds on my stomach chimed in next and the pain overwhelmed me for a second. I was sure whoever I had been assigned to protect would understand if it took me an extra half a second to gather my wits, but I could not remember who that might have been.

Then I remembered I was not on protection duty with my people anymore, I was in a crappy motel room in Smalltown, USA at the tail end of a clusterfuck of a hunt with the Winchesters.

So why the hell was someone hitting me? I stayed as still as possible, trying to figure out if there were an intruder in the room and if so, where they were.

My reflexes kicked in a half a second too late to save me from the flailing fist that caught me with a not-so-glancing crack on the cheekbone that wasn't stitched and that was just about my limit. I scrambled for the light.

I took turns sharing sleep space with the Winchester brothers. No funny business, it was just cheaper than getting another room and there was no way I was letting one of them sleep on the floor so I could have a bed to myself. Wounded or not, half the time they staggered back worse off than me. So, no.

Sam stilled for a moment, allowing me a few much-needed seconds to collect my thoughts and learn to breathe again. Judging by the way his knee was bent at a right angle nearly hip-level on him, I was guessing that was what had connected with my ribs.

I had witnessed some of Sam's nightmares, just never up close. I looked to the other bed, looking for help. Dean usually soothed his brother through the worst of them. From their conversations, it was something he'd done since they were little.

Dean wasn't there. I remembered then that he had gone to a bar and, judging by the fact that it was o'dark:thirty, I could only guess he had hooked up with a local chick for some post-clusterfuck comfort.

Shit.

Sam was lying on his side facing me, his hands fisted into the sheets alternating between shoving them away and trying to pull them into himself. He was getting agitated again, trembling so hard the bed vibrated with it.

I could hear him muttering under his breath, but I had no idea what he was saying. His eyebrows were scrunched so tightly together it made his nose crinkle.

I didn't want to wake him if I didn't have to, he got precious little sleep as it was. I wasn't sure what to do, though. I damn sure wasn't Dean.

But then he whimpered and a tear slid from the corner of his eye, and I knew I had to try something.

I flipped my pillow, standing it up at the head of the bed, and I slid myself carefully up so I was leaned back against it. If he was going to thrash again, I didn't want him anywhere near where my stomach was still stitched together.

I slid myself over so my leg was pressing down on his hands in the sheets, just enough pressure so he would know I was there. My thigh was next to his head, I was thinking some slight physical contact might offer him some comfort. I reached out slowly and started carefully running my fingers through the ends of his hair.

He whimpered again and his hands twitched at the edges of my leg. They twitched again, and a shiver ran through him as he drew in a hiccuping breath. Another tear slid free. I ran my fingers deeper through his hair, so he could feel it but still not quite physical contact yet.

As his hands twitched a third time, they flicked out and his arms were suddenly wrapped around my leg. I hissed in pain and tried not to move as a hand snapped closed on the tender skin of my inner thigh along with the thin bottoms I had worn to bed.

I ran my fingers deeper into his hair, my fingers now massaging the sensitive areas of the scalp as I tried to soothe him into a deeper sleep.

With a sound between a whimper and a sob, he pulled my leg closer to himself and nuzzled his face into my outer thigh. I reached down with my other hand and brushed the hair off his forehead, checking for any signs of fever. He was warm, but not alarmingly so. I started using that hand to gently massage his temples in tandem with the scalp massage from the other hand.

I heard the key hit the lock a second before the door swung inward and hoped Dean had not brought a bimbo back with him. Sam was a handful enough right then. He quietly moved into the room, thankfully alone, and froze when he took in the scene before him.

"What - " he started, and I held my hand out palm towards him in the universal signal for "shut the hell up". I watched realization dawn on him as Sam whimpered again and snugged my leg closer, coaxing another hiss from me as he pinched the same spot again. Maybe this wasn't the best idea.

I saw guilt and concern chase that realization across his face before turning my attention back to Sam. That baggage was between him and his brother, and I wasn't sure how comfortable he would be if he even knew I had seen it.

Sam seemed to be calming down as I continued to massage his head, though a fine tremor still skated up and down his body. His urgent muttering had turned to occasional murmurs and his eyebrows had gone back to their own sides of his face. A few rogue tears had found their way to my pant leg, but it looked like they were the last.

Dean took off his jacket and moved quietly to the head of the bed, to stand beside me. He reached his hand toward me slowly and I resisted the urge to pull away. Instead I flicked my eyes up to his face. He looked pained as he gently touched my cheek and I flinched. Ouch. I guessed he'd hit me every bit as hard as I'd thought. His eyes flickered to Sam and back to me and I nodded.

"Ouch." he breathed and sat down on the edge of his bed. He looked troubled still as I turned my attention back to Sam. I figured he would talk if he wanted to.

Instead he turned off the light and rolled over onto his side, facing away from us without even taking his boots off. He was awake for a long time after that, but I didn't let on that I knew. I just kept soothing Sam until I dozed off myself.

When Sam asked me the next day about my black eye I told him I ran into something in the dark the night before. Which was sort of true.