Dean was experiencing the most vivid nightmare he'd had in months. Years, maybe.
He was in hell.
In his hand was a dagger with a short, wide blade. He looked around. There was a woman crouched in the center of the room, naked. A rope was tied around each wrist, leading out to opposite walls. She was trembling. As Dean sauntered over, he noticed the smudges of dirt and grease on her skin. "Get up," he growled. She hurried to obey.
He pressed the flat edge of his blade under her chin, forcing her head up. The girl's breathing grew ragged, but she didn't resist. Dean heard an appreciative hum from behind him. "Would you look at that," came a dry, throaty voice. "Absolutely terrified, but won't lift a finger to stop you. She's putty in your hands, my boy. Good work."
"Thank you sir," Dean answered.
Scratchy laughter echoed through the room. "What are you waiting for? Lay into her."
There was an endless array of tools at his disposal. Dean put down the dagger, picking up a cat-o-nine-tails instead. "Where do I start?" He circled, stepping on part of the rope, forcing her slowly to her hands and knees. He walked all the way around her, trailing the thin strips of leather across her back. "Answer the question," he demanded.
"Please, just hit me," she cried out.
Dean grabbed a fistful of her hair, jerking her head up. "What's that? You want me to torture you?"
She whimpered. "No ...yes? Doesn't matter."
He let go of her hair and sat back on his heels. "And why not?" He slid his hand down her back, over the curve of her ass, his fingertips prodding. "Speak up, now."
"Be- because I don't matter."
He rose to his feet. "So true." He pulled back the whip and brought it down hard. The sound of the impact echoed around him.
Dean awoke with a sob. He lay frozen in panic for a moment, trying to gauge if anyone might have heard. Finally he let out the breath he'd been holding. He slid his feet off the side of the bed and sat up, rubbing a hand over his damp face. Then he noticed that he was half-hard. "You sick, twisted fuck," he berated himself. With a grimace, he wrapped himself in a bathrobe, to keep off the chill of the bunker, and to hide his erection in case he passed Sam in the hallway.
The younger Winchester was in no hurry to leave his bed. "You are not what I expected," he said, his eyes sparkling mischievously.
Edith lay on her stomach beside him, her chin resting on her crossed arms. She smiled teasingly. "What, am I supposed to be some old fuddy-duddy?"
"Nah, this is better." He ran his hand gently over her back, which was tender after being pummeled into the wall.
She lifted her head. "Can I ask you something? I know my memories ain't exactly reliable, but… that was a good deal better than I recall. Are all men nowadays so…. giving?"
He laughed. "There is no good way for me to answer that." He propped himself up on his elbow, growing more serious. "Do you remember anything else?"
Edith's gaze turned distant. "It's all so vague. I can't get my head in order."
"What about people? Friends? Family?"
"I remember ...children." She frowned.
His eyes widened. "You were a mother?"
"No. At least, I don't think so." She blew air between her lips. "Way too many children. Maybe it was my job? What kind of job would involve lots and lots of kids?"
"A teacher."
She pushed up to her elbows. "I was teacher?" Her nose crinkled up. "Now that's really something. Thank you, Sam."
"It's nothing." With an amused chuckle, he rolled onto his back.
Edith lay her head back down. "Was it rough for you, when you first got out?"
He sighed thoughtfully. "Yeah, it was. I kept seeing things; I never knew what was real and what I was imagining. Sometimes I was convinced I hadn't gotten out after all. It was bad. If my brother wasn't there to help me through it, I don't know... I sure wouldn't be here today." He glanced over to see Edith's eyes were shut. He lowered his voice. "You asleep?"
Her eyes fluttered open. "I'm listening."
With a faint smile, he pulled the blankets up over her body. "It's late, you're exhausted. Get some rest."
She reached out for him. "Sam?"
"I'm right here." He placed a kiss on her shoulder. Edith shut her eyes, and before long her breathing became slow and even. Sam stared up at the ceiling, debating what to do.
When he was sure he wouldn't disturb her, Sam carefully slid out of bed. He scooped his jeans off the floor and pulled them back on. His t-shirt was nowhere to be found, so he got a clean one from the dresser, and buttoned his flannel shirt over it.
Dean was in the library, sitting across from Sam's forgotten laptop. His chair was tipped back, his feet up on the table. He was halfway through a beer. "Hey," he tipped the bottle at his brother in a kind of salute.
Sam eased down in the chair he'd abandoned earlier. "What's up, couldn't sleep?"
"Just having a midnight snack," Dean answered. "You?"
Sam just shrugged, very uncomfortably, in reply.
"What about Miss Crazy? Is she sleeping?"
"Yep," Sam replied, a little too quickly. He backpedaled. "I mean, she hasn't… um, I'm pretty sure she's out."
Dean narrowed his eyes. "Pretty sure? I hope so. I sure don't want to wake up to see her standing over me with a knife. Am I right?"
"She's not that bad," Sam rolled his eyes. "I think she's adjusting pretty well, considering."
"You would say that." Dean pulled his feet off the table top and leaned forward, pointing at Sam for emphasis. "There's something going on with her. Don't let her fool you, Sammy. I see her trying to play damsel in distress, but don't you buy it. And do not let your guard down."
Sam made a face, and snorted indignantly. "Do you know how paranoid you sound right now?"
Just then something caught Dean's eye. He glanced past Sam's shoulder, then leapt to his feet in a panic. "Holy shit." Sam spun around to see Edith standing in the entryway.
There was a vacant expression on her face. "Herbie, come back to bed, dear." She was wearing Sam's t-shirt like an oversized dress.
Sam turned to look, wide-eyed, at his brother. Dean held both hands up, shaking his head. "No way, man, nuh-uh."
With an angry huff, Sam went to Edith and took her by the shoulders. "Edith? Let's get you back to bed, alright? Come on." He prayed that Dean would not recognize the shirt.
Her eyes moved across the room, but she didn't seem to know where she was. "He's coming back tomorrow, you know. We don't have all the time in the world."
Sam led her down the hall. "Right, okay. Then you should definitely get some sleep." He walked her to Charlie's old room and steered her inside. "Here we go." Dean had followed, though he was keeping his distance. Sam hurried to pull down the blankets before Dean realized this bed had not been slept in.
Edith let herself be led to the edge of the bed. Then she turned, and pulled Sam down into a soft kiss. She gripped his face in her hands. "If he finds out," she whispered, "we're dead." Her eyes distant, she crawled into bed and let Sam tuck her in.
Dean was waiting outside the door. "You alright man?"
"I'm fine, why?"
He leered, slapping Sam on the back. "I told you she would try something. You want some bleach, man?"
Sam sighed. "Did you hear what she said? I don't think she knew it was me. She must have been seeing this Herbie guy."
"Herpes?" Dean raised his eyebrows.
"Really, Dean!" Exasperated, Sam shook his head. "Anyway. That's gotta be a person from her life before. Maybe it will help us find something useful. I mean, I've come up with jack so far."
"Right, you go ahead with your little herpe hunt. I'll be the bigger person and not say I told you so."
Sam scowled. "You literally just said 'I told you so' like thirty seconds ago."
They stood there glaring at each other for a moment. "Whatever, man." Dean tipped up his beer to get the last few drops. "I'm going to bed."
Sam waited until his brother had shut the door before he returned to his own room. He scooped up Edith's dressing robe and slung it over his shoulder. The tiny satin shorts had landed in the corner behind the door, and he located her cami top in the tangle of sheets pushed halfway under the edge of the bed frame. Sam peeked out into the hallway, then scurried past Dean's room with an armful of satin and lace.
Edith hadn't budged. He spotted the trunk she had mentioned, and tossed everything inside. Finally, he could relax. His shoulders drooped as he let out a relieved sigh. Then he crouched down next to the bed and pushed back a strand of hair off Edith's face. "Who are you?" he whispered.