Grey Mirror Sky3

Later, propped outside the bathroom, her back flat against the wall and dressed in clean clothes, Jaime spoke through the door.

"I'm sorry again, Sam. Really. I don't usually do that." She paused. "Well, ok, maybe once or twice, but it was when I was fighting this Rawhide and he'd been feeding on children, and the blood was everywhere, and the smell. . ."

He interrupted her, his voice sounding tinny in the shower. "It's really no problem. Gross, but no problem."

Jaime sighed and raised her eyes to Dean, who was seated on one of the beds with a huge grin on his face. She frowned at him

"It's not funny."

His grin widened at this, and Jaime knew she was beat. Sighing and rolling her eyes, she waved a hand at him. "Gimme another half of that sandwich, please. Now that my stomach is empty, I'm kinda hungry."

Still grinning, Dean tossed the food at her, and she caught it clumsily, smiling with embarrassment as she almost dropped it on the dirty carpet.

"Wow, pukey, clumsy, I'm just the life and soul of the party, huh?" She blushed and averted her eyes as she said it, her faux-jovial act not fooling anyone.

The bathroom door creaked open and she peered up at a now freshly-washed Sam who was pulling a clean shirt over his head. He smiled down at her and helped her up. Leaning against him slightly as he escorted her to a more comfortable seat, she smiled ruefully. "Sorry again. I guess it's not everyday some woman pukes on you."

"You'd be surprised." Dean cracked, and Sam threw a nearby newspaper at his head.

Smirking, Jaime picked at the crust of her sandwich. "Well, I guess we've bonded as much as we're gonna. So what's the deal here, fellas? Am I free to go?"

Dean tilted his head to the side, watching her face thoughtfully as he chewed on a huge bite of deli sandwich.

"I still don't really know who you are, lady, and I'm not about to trust you but in your current state, I doubt very much you can do either of us harm. I don't think your desire to get away is an act, either, so you're free to go."

Jaime snorted. "Should I be flattered, or insulted?" She winked at Sam who was shifting uncomfortably at his brother's bluntness.

"I'll choose flattered. It's best for my ego." She carefully packed up her remaining food, and gingerly got to her feet, wincing only slightly as she straightened her torso.

"See? Almost good as new."

With a quick grin, she pinched the last fresh coffee from the table, snagged another sandwich, and hauled her duffel bag onto her shoulder, careful not to jar her wounded right side.

"Thanks for the patch up and the food, boys. And, good luck with. . . well, with everything, I guess."

She mock-saluted at Dean who smirked in response. Her eyes perhaps lingered on Sam's face just a little as she waved goodbye, and then she was gone, the motel door closing softly behind her.

Two weeks later she was crossing the state line out of Georgia when she saw a familiar face standing at the farthest gas tank at a passing petrol station. She didn't slow down, or even wave.

A week after that Jaime was drinking bitter, black coffee in a greasy-spoon as she browsed national newspapers for any supernatural activity. She was on an unofficial break whilst her injury healed but you don't just quit this business. You can't even holiday. As a breeze stirred the stale air of the café, she looked up to notice the brothers passing the window. They didn't see her, and she was too surprised to even try and hide.

Three days later, she passed their car on the highway. Jaime might not be the sharpest pencil in the box, but she wasn't dense. Something, or someone, was trying to tell her something, and it had to do with the Winchester brothers.