A/N: Standard disclaimer. Anything relating to Supernatural is not mine, I am simply borrowing it for a while. Except my OCs. They're mine. Enjoy :)

I need to thank my 'nonny reviewer – I really appreciate your reviews, I'm just sorry I can't reply to them! Reviews are incredibly motivating, especially as I'm currently dealing with a depressive relapse (hence why I'm writing Fanfiction instead of my dissertation…!)

"Good morning, it's time to get up." A smooth male voice floated through Claire's living room. "It's time to get up. Good morning, it's time to get up." Dean did get up, very quickly. So quickly, in fact, that he nearly took himself out with the edge of the coffee table. He ran the few steps to the kitchen, and began rummaging through Claire's cupboards. Claire appeared in the doorway behind him, holding the source of the noise in her hand.

"Dean?" She gently touched his back and he jumped. "Dean, what are you doing?" She sounded still half-asleep.

"Where's the salt?" His voice was tight with what he would never admit was fear.

"The salt? Dean, why would you need the salt?"

"That voice."

"Was my alarm. I'm sorry, I should have remembered to take it into my room when we got in. It's ok, come and sit down." Claire caught hold of his arm and led him back into the living room. "It's ok." Poking Sam until he sat up, and scooping Bilbo out of the nest he'd made at Sam's feet, she sat Dean down on the sofa and perched on the arm. "I'm sorry." Dean took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"Don't worry about it…I really don't like that dude's voice, though. Can you…get rid of it or something?" He fiddled with the leg of his boxers. "It gives me the creeps." Claire smiled.

"Sure." She squeezed his shoulder. "Gave you a fright, huh?"

"No! I mean…yes, I was a bit creeped out that some smooth-talking dude was telling me to wake up, but I wasn't scared or anything."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Mr I-can-sleep-through-anything here clearly wasn't bothered by it. Were you, Sam?" Sam, who was yawning widely and stretching out his long limbs merely flapped a hand in her direction and shook his head.

"Nope, I was asleep until you started prodding me."

"That's what I thought."

"What did I miss?"

"Just me overreacting." Dean spoke before Claire could.

"It was my fault, I left my phone in here last night and forgot I have an alarm set."

"Ok…so both of you are claiming responsibility for something which is basically insignificant?"

"I guess so." Claire smirked as she spoke, and Dean shook his head.

"We're all as bad as each other. So what's the plan for today?" Sam poked Claire's upper arm.

"First off, we're going to have to negotiate both bathroom and bedroom rights for washing and dressing. I'm not having you two trailing around Winchester stinking of sweat and looking like you haven't slept in a month, and frankly if I'm doing breakfast through there, I don't want you changing in here."

"If breakfast is in the balance, you go first." Dean's stomach growled impatiently.

"Well…what do you want for breakfast?"

"Something hot." Dean stood up and made a break for the bathroom.

"There's a towel in there!"

"Thanks!" He called through the door, having already closed and locked it. Sam looked confused.

"I don't think I've ever seen Dean so eager to be clean before."

"I would have sworn he told me to go first." Claire gave Sam a look and they both started laughing. Dean came back out of the bathroom looking sheepish.

"Uh, Claire? You want to go first?"

"Thanks. If you two want breakfast before midday that might be a good idea!"

When Claire had showered and dressed – a Firefly tee and skinny jeans with fluffy socks – she shoved Dean into the bathroom. Sitting down next to Sam, she leant her head on his shoulder, her wet hair dripping down his back.

"How're you holding up?" Sam wrapped an arm around her waist. "Feeling less…you know…blah than last night?" She nodded against his shoulder.

"It's nice having you two here. I'm sorry my flat's so tiny – it's just there's only me and Bilbo, and I have practically no income… It would be better if I at least had more room, but this is all I have." He squeezed her.

"It's not a problem. We can switch out who sleeps on the floor, and you and Bilbo can sleep wherever you want." At the sound of his name, Bilbo, who had previously been sound asleep in a plant pot by the TV, yawned and stretched before meandering over to Sam and meowing to be picked up.

"He likes you."

"Yeah, cats do that a lot." The two of them had a few minutes of peace playing 'catch the fingers' with Bilbo, until Dean started singing. Claire winced.

"Is he always so off-key?" Sam's face lit up with a grin.

"Yeah, pretty much. Every so often he'll hit a note and look so surprised." Claire went back to dripping down Sam's back.

"Bless his cottons." A moment of quiet passed, until Sam yelped and shook Bilbo off his lap.

"He's got needles!" Claire muffled a laugh.

"Yes…he's a kitten who hasn't mastered the scratching-post yet." Glee dancing in her eyes, she looked at the damaged thumb. "Poor Sammy, did the nasty kitty scratch you?" Blood welled from the cut and she sighed. "Come on then." She dragged Sam unwillingly into the kitchen and ran the cold tap. "Stick your thumb under that." While Sam held his hand under the stream of water, Claire dug around in one of the cupboards, eventually emerging with a plaster and some TCP.

"Jesus, Claire, it's a tiny scratch. I've had worse."

"I know, and I bet some of those resulted in infection and other nasty business. Cats are notorious – especially house cats – for carrying all sorts of bacteria on their paws. Better safe than sorry." Sam heaved a sigh and removed his hand from the water, letting Claire carefully pat it dry with some kitchen towel, dab his thumb with TCP, and carefully stick the plaster on it. As much as he was loath to admit it, Claire's method of dealing with injuries was preferable to Dean's – at least she didn't take to a blunt needle and thick thread.

By this point, Dean had removed himself from the shower and was busy trying to find clothes from the bag hastily slung into Claire's study, so Sam took his place in the shower, and Claire made a start on breakfast.

An hour and a half later – when all three had showered and dressed – they sat around the kitchen table with a full English breakfast in front of them.

"Jeez, Claire. What have we even got here? Two sausages, four bits of bacon, grilled tomato, scrambled eggs, baked beans, toast with butter…I think I must be in heaven after all." Dean's stomach growled in confirmation, and he began shovelling food into his mouth. Claire grinned and began carefully cutting her sausages into four equal parts before moving the eggs onto her toast and cutting the fat off her bacon. Sam looked forlornly at his plate.

"Would it be ungrateful if I asked for a bowl of cereal?"

"What are you on, man? Course it would be rude! She's made you all this-"

"It's fine, Dean."

"It's not! He's being ungrateful."

"I said it's fine, Dean, and I meant it." Claire's tone made it clear that she meant business. "And if you argue with me on this again, I will be forced to use my 'mum' voice."

"But-"

"Oh for goodness sake! Dean, if it bothered me, you would know, believe me. It is ok for him to not want a full English breakfast. He can have something else if he wants. I should have thought to ask what he wanted." She looked at Sam. "Which cereal would you like?" He looked sheepish.

"I think I'll have this – you went to all the bother of cooking it-"

"I was cooking anyway. A couple more doesn't make any difference here nor there. Which cereal would you rather have?"

"No, no. I can have something bad for me for once. Dean's always on my back about rabbit food." He looked doubtfully at his plate. Claire stood up.

"For God's sake!" She removed Sam's plate and looked at him again. "Pretend the cooked breakfast never happened. Which cereal would you like?"

"What cereals do you have?" Dean let out a muffled roar of frustration.

"You're not in a frigging café!" Claire glared at him.

"Dean, take your breakfast into the other room and turn on the TV." Claire's voice was quiet but firm, and her thirty-four-year-old brother quailed. Collecting his coffee cup and breakfast, he sloped off. Claire let out a sigh. "I'll deal with him in a minute. I've got All Bran, Cornflakes, Rice Crispies…pick your poison." Sam's eyes lit up.

"All Bran, please." Claire smoothed the hair at the nape of his neck and reached across the kitchen for a bowl. Leaving Sam to his cereal, she picked up her mug of tea and her plate, and trailed into the living room.

Dean was sitting obnoxiously in the middle of the sofa, staring grumpily at BBC Breakfast. Claire sat down close beside him and bumped her shoulder against his. He studiously ignored her, shovelling food into his mouth. They finished their breakfasts in silence. Claire gazed at the wall, focussing on controlling her anxiety as Dean worked through his frustration. When he finally put down his plate and slumped against the back of the sofa, Claire put her plate on the floor and turned so her back was against the arm of the settee and her feet were resting against Dean's thigh. He pulled them into his lap and began playing with the fuzz of her socks. She wriggled her toes against his fingers until he laughed and captured them in his palm. Sam wandered in and plonked himself on the spare seat of the couch.

"Are we going to talk this through?" Claire gave him a look.

"We've sorted things out, I think, so it's just between you two now."

"How have you sorted things out? I didn't hear you say anything!"

"We didn't need to."

"I really don't understand you two." Claire reached out one leg to full stretch and dropped her foot into Sam's lap. "What?" Dean was still playing a strange game of 'catch-the-toes', and Sam watched, amused. "Ok, so you two communicate through wriggling toes. Can someone communicate with me in a way I understand?" Claire smoothed a crease out of the knee of his jeans with her foot.

"Ok, let's communicate." Sam sighed and rested a hand on her ankle.

"I don't know. I think I might be seeing problems where there aren't any – probably my version of your overreacting. Maybe it's that I'm not the youngest anymore – although that's not a bad thing, I think. It might be that Dean and I are competing to look after you the best, and we both do it different ways, and while it's making us all closer just by you being you, the competition aspect is driving into a state of opponents rather than brothers…" He trailed off, looking lost. Dean was frowning and clutching Claire's foot. Claire extricated herself from her brothers, and slid onto the floor, kneeling between them and taking one of their hands each in both of hers.

"You are both idiots – but you're my idiot big brothers. You don't need to compete to look after me – I'm a big girl! – I can care for both of you in the ways you care for me…you can both just carry on the ways you know best." Her brothers both looked down, cowed that their twenty-one-year-old baby sister was able to understand both of them better after twenty-four hours than either of them were able to understand the other after thirty years. "Ok? Domestic over?" They nodded. "Good – let's get ready to go out, and I'll show you around town."

Forty minutes later (most of which could be attributed to Dean laughing at Sam's plaster, then promptly being scratched by Bilbo himself and needing the same treatment), they were finally standing outside Claire's front door. Dean tilted his head on one side and looked at her.

"So, how does a struggling journalist like you afford a place like this?" Claire blushed and ducked her head.

"My mum's parents passed away a couple of years ago…I'm their only grandchild and the money from the sale of their house was split between me and mum. My half was enough to buy me the flat outright…it's completely mine. My space. I had just enough left over to really kick-start saving for a car, which is how this 'struggling journalist' can afford a brand new car." He gave her a sympathetic smile, and both brothers looped their arms around her in an impromptu group hug. Disentangling herself, Claire tucked her hands into their elbows and towed them away from the flat. "Come on then, on the itinerary for today we have…a visit to the West Gate museum – mostly for the view – then on to the Great Hall to see King Arthur's Round Table, lunch in town on the way to the Christmas Market, a quick run round there, then back up to join the procession for the lantern parade!" Dean – who had begun to look vaguely bored at the idea of a Christmas Market – perked up.

"A lantern parade?"

"Yep, practically the entire city gathers at the Great Hall at dusk, and then we process down the High Street – lit only by Christmas lights and shop windows – and congregate in the Cathedral Close for the live band entertainment. This year I think it's supposed to be a 1950's tribute band called The Cadillacs." He nodded, trying not to look too excited. "It's a shame you two missed Guy Fawkes' Night, you'd've loved the firework display and the massive bonfire on the rec."

They traipsed down the hill into town, until they reached the ancient West Gate of the city. Claire tugged them round the side, and through a tiny wooden door, up a flight of narrow stone steps, and they emerged in a small room, lined with glass cases and interactive displays. The guide looked hopefully at them, and Claire dutifully dropped a few pound coins into the donations box.

"It's free, but they like to feel like they get something out of your visit," she whispered, and gave the guide a winning smile. "Is the roof open today?" The guide smiled and nodded. "Thank you." Claire guided her brothers through another tiny wooden door and up another flight of narrow stone steps. "You'll want to watch your head at the top, the lintel's really low on this one." The three of them ducked out of the low doorway, and emerged on the top of the Gate. Claire almost ran across the roof, her scarf flying out behind her as she hopped onto the viewing platform and leant on the parapet. The boys exchanged a look, and followed at a slightly more sedate pace. The chilly wind whistled around them as they stood overlooking the city. Claire's eyes were sparkling as she gazed over the rooftops.

Having pointed out certain buildings and oohed at the quaintness of the city, they trooped back down the two flights of narrow stairs and emerged almost at the doorway of the Great Hall.

"It's the last remaining original structure from the Castle." Sam and Claire wandered off to take a look at the architecture, and left Dean to look at the Round Table, hung high on one of the walls. As he was peering intently at some of the names, struggling to decipher them, Claire snuck up behind him. "Whatcha looking at, stranger?"

"Just these names. I can't read any of them."

"If you look closely enough you can just make out Lancelot and Arthur up there, and over there you can make out Mordred." She was pointing over his shoulder, directing his gaze. "But it's true, the style of writing is probably the least clear one they could have chosen. Then again, this was the Tudors. Everything had to be overdone to the point of ruination."

After their whistle-stop tour of the Great Hall – Sam complained loudly about the brevity of their visit – they headed into the town centre, and Dean insisted in stopping in at each of the pie and pasty shops, emerging each time with a slight variant on the Cornish pasty – something he'd never experienced before, and something he was heartily sick of by the time he'd eaten four in a row.

The Christmas tree standing in the middle of the High Street was lit with thousands of tiny bulbs, and a small band was playing near the base. Christmas hymns floated from the orchestra, and many people had gathered to listen. The three of them stopped, too, and Claire began singing in a clear alto tone which encouraged other on-lookers to join in. Having successfully caused an impromptu carol service, Claire dragged her brothers further down the High Street to the Cathedral. The garlands festooned with lights which were strung above their heads down the length of the High Street were quaint and thoroughly unlike anything Sam and Dean had ever seen before; American Christmases were much more exaggerated and over-the-top than British ones, but the dainty nature of the two-foot Christmas trees suspended above shop doors was enthralling, even for them.

Emerging at the Christmas Market, the boys stopped and stared. An ice rink took up the majority of the space, and surrounding it were hundreds of tiny sheds, each selling unique and charming gifts and wares, ranging from hand-made potpourri to wreaths, fairies to woolly hats. The three of them spent quite some time wandering in and out of the sheds, sampling the foodstuffs and mulled drinks – Claire snuck off and booked tickets for ice skating later that evening, surprising the boys with them as they tucked into traditional French crepes smothered in chocolate spread.

As dusk fell, the majority of the patrons of the market began to move back towards the High Street and the start of the lantern parade, the three Winchester siblings moving with them. Claire had produced gloves and hats from somewhere before they left the flat that morning, and suddenly the boys were incredibly appreciative of it.

"It gets cold quick here, doesn't it?" Sam shivered and huddled with Claire and Dean.

"Yep, you don't tend to notice it until you're so cold your feet are numb." Dean – who'd listened when Claire had suggested wearing at least two pairs of socks – was marginally less cold, and was kindly donating some of his warmth to Claire by cuddling her inside his coat.

"It gets dark quick here, too." He was gazing up at the lit garlands and strings of lights criss-crossing the air above their heads. "It's beautiful. Thank you." He kissed the top of Claire's head and she squeezed him tighter.

"I'm glad you're enjoying it." At that moment, the first blazing lanterns appeared from the Great Hall. The three of them separated, and Claire grabbed hold of their hands. "Come on." They followed the exodus back down to the Cathedral, enjoying the festive atmosphere and the glowing warmth of the lanterns.

Having arrived back in the Cathedral and half listened to the tribute band playing on the make-shift stage, Sam's protests of cold finally won over Claire's heart, and she led her brothers home. Almost as soon as they'd got through the front door, Claire had turned up the heating and provided her brothers with hot chocolate.

"So, a good beginning?"

"A good beginning." Claire slid between her brothers on the sofa and wrapped an arm around each of them.

"You know what? I'm almost glad Chuck lost me my job. If he hadn't, I wouldn't have met you."