Dean tossed the phone on the table and stood in exasperation. "I need a drink," he grumbled. "You want one?"

"Uh, nah," Sam said, not looking away entirely from whatever he was looking at on his screen.

Dean looked at him closer, but Sammy just seemed caught up. Whatever. It's not like they just stranded some girl, woman, person in a strange world. Nothing about that should bother him.

He sloshed some whiskey in a glass, hesitated, then just grabbed the whole bottle and brought it with him. At the last second, he grabbed another glass too.

"Man, I thought we were going to be done with this bullcrap after we closed the last one," he said, settling into the chair again. "I'm exhausted."

Sam grunted.

Dean watched him over the rim of his glass. "Man, aren't you even a little bit annoyed that we somehow got saddled with this job that never ends?"

Sam did that thing he did where he tried to pull himself away from the computer to look at you, but couldn't quite manage it. "Not really."

Dean sighed. "What are you even looking at, man? Tesseract portal opening lore? 'Cause I'm pretty sure you're not going to find it on Google."

Sam looked at him finally, annoyed out of his daze, and gestured to the laptop. "I'm trying to find out anything about any of the stuff Sansa mentioned. 'Westeros', 'Winterfell', the 'Lannisters'… I can't find anything."

Dean blinked. "So?"

"So!?" Sam gestured to the screen again. "So even when that thing with Oz happened, that was weird, but at least we'd heard of Oz. Which meant there was some connection between our worlds before. This, though, there's nothing."

"So Walt Disney got zapped to Oz and back, instead of Westeros. Big deal."

"Walt Disney didn't…" Sam sighed through his nose. "Never mind. What I'm saying is, where is this place? Another planet? An alternate universe? Another time stream? The time period seems to be in the past, but not an Earth past. So how do we get her back there?"

"Sam, come on. You know as well as I do that the only way she's getting back there is through the Tesseract, and Fury isn't going to let that thing out of his sight until Thor takes it back with him. If it's even still here."

Sam's mouth tightened and he looked back at the computer. Stubbornly, he started typing again as Dean finished his drink.

They sat in silence for a few seconds, each absorbed in their own thoughts before Dean's got too loud and he gritted his teeth.

"What is she doing in there, anyway?"

Sam looked towards the doorway that led to the living quarters. "Probably enjoying the largest water heater built in the 1950s. She didn't know how to work the shower, so she's probably just figuring stuff out. She's fine, Dean."

"Actually, I was wondering," came the light, British accented voice from the hallway, "are you sure this clothing is… appropriate for a lady?"

Dean looked at Sam and rolled his eyes. Sam just smirked and said, "Sorry, it's just sweats and a t-shirt, but it's all we had. I'm sure it'll be fine until we can get to a laundromat."

With that, Sansa entered the room, her head held high and looking every inch a queen even though she was dressed in some of Dean's clothes. Dean's eyes widened because he hadn't been aware of quite how thin that old t-shirt had gotten. Or how apparently cold it was in the bunker.

With a jerk, he cleared his throat and stared at a wall somewhere, and he could hear Sam shuffling on the other side of him. Yeah, okay, that sight was going to keep him warm for a few nights.

"I'll, uh," he said, standing up, "get you a robe."

"Thank you, Ser Dean," she said primly, "that would be very appreciated."

Jesus. "Uh, yeah. Just Dean is fine." Dean hightailed it out of the room before he embarrassed himself, and damn, it had been too long if he couldn't keep it together better than that.

In his room, the comfy gray robe he wore when he was laying around all day was hanging limply on the back of his door. He shook it out and wondered when it had last been washed. A sniff assured it wasn't too bad, although it probably wasn't fit for royalty. He checked once more, but there weren't a lot of other choices, so she'd have to deal until they could get her highness some clothes of her own. And a bra.

That wasn't a good train of thought if he planned on leaving his room again anytime soon, so he spent a few seconds thinking about the vampire nest they'd cleared the week before the first Tesseract hole had opened. That made him think about closing the portals, which made him clench his jaw, and yeah, that was better.

When he entered the kitchen again, Sansa was sitting stiffly in one of the chairs talking to Sam, and Sam was smiling at something she'd said. Dean shoved the robe at her.

"Thank you," she said, standing to swirl it around herself like a cape. Then she looked down at it and put her arms in the sleeves and, damn, if she didn't look good in his clothes. Her red hair was still damp and pulled back from her face in a braid. Her pale skin didn't have a speck of makeup and Dean wasn't sure he'd ever seen anyone so beautiful. She looked like a damn queen, that was for sure.

"So, your highness," he said, throwing as much condescension as he could muster on the word. "You sure your dog isn't going to maul anyone before morning?"

If she heard the sneer in his voice, she didn't respond, just looked thoughtful. "No, I don't think he went far. And he's a direwolf."

Sam's eyes lit up and his fingers flew over the keyboard. "Hey! Found something. Check this out. 'The dire wolf,'" he read, "'is an extinct species closely related to the Gray Wolf, although it is not the direct ancestor of any species known today. It is one of the most famous prehistoric carnivores in North America, along with its extinct competitor, the saber-toothed cat.'"

There was a silence, then Sansa said, "I do not understand why this is of interest."

"Yeah, what she said."

Sam glared at him then turned the screen so they could see the artist's concept drawing, which could have been Ghost's cousin. "It means our worlds have a common thread somewhere. Which means we still might be able to get you home."

Sansa had a pretty good poker face, but her eyes lit up with hope. She gave Sam a thin smile. "Then I have a request. I'm going to need one of you to quickly show me how to invent showers."

Dean couldn't help it. He smiled. "Those both sound like tomorrow kinds of things. Drink?" He scooted the empty glass Sam hadn't wanted toward her and she gave him a nod. He gave her a generous portion and refilled his own, then watched with fascination as she proceeded to drink whiskey the way you'd drink iced tea. Long, slow pulls, one after another, until the glass was empty.

His eyebrows were raised, but he shrugged and refilled her glass. She gave him an odd look before sitting back in her chair. "I have so many questions about this world, but I fear I may bore you to ask more of them."

Dean put his foot on the chair across from him and looked at her. "It's been a long day for all of us. I say we just get some sleep, call the other, more annoying Stark in the morning, and we'll see what he says. Hell, maybe we'll have you on your way before you need another shower. You won't even miss them."

Her old eyes, set in her young face, studied him but didn't look convinced. But she nodded and stood up, taking her glass with her. "Then I shall say goodnight, kind sirs."

Sam stood too, but Dean just raised his glass and put his other boot on the chair. "Night."

"Good night, Lady Sansa."

She nodded and left, and Dean rolled his eyes at Sam. "What, you're not going to offer to show her how the bed works?"

Sam glared at him. "No, but did you want to go ask if she needs anything else to wear?"

Dean glared back, grabbed his glass and the bottle, and headed for bed. He didn't need to take that crap from his little brother.