Clara woke up to a quiet shuffling next to the bed, followed by a loud thump. In actuality, she was rather grateful for being woken up. She was breathing heavily, her heart thumping like a caged bird in her chest. Did I have a nightmare? The woman knew she had, but she couldn't remember a single detail from it at all. The only thing she was sure of was it hadn't been pleasant. She glanced around, taking a moment to remember where in the world she was exactly. As the lights flickered on, the day she had yesterday came flooding back. The man who was standing at the light switch was Dean. He had an eyebrow raised at her. She couldn't tell if it was raised in amusement or some other emotion.

"You happened to pass out on my bed, of all places, so I seem to be required to sneak around my own room to get to my things. I was not planning to trip over your bag. What's in that bag, anyways? Bricks?"

Dean waved a hand in the general the bag, which was basically just sitting in the middle of the room. She couldn't remember who exactly had left it there, but she now that she thought about it, wasn't a logical place for it. She watched as he went back to what he was doing, which was walking over to a cabinet to grab some ammo, of all things. Clara hopped back out of the bed, glancing at the hunter.

"Sorry, I didn't know...-"

"Stop being so... British. There's no need to apologize. You can sleep in my bed anytime."

Now she placed what the raised eyebrow was for. It was flirtatious. It was then a flush of color touched her cheeks. She decided to just ignore that comment completely, deciding to ask a better question. She wasn't going to deal with the fact she was outnumbered in this building by pretty, young men for now.

"Why are you getting bullets? Are you running off to somewhere?" She noted that Dean didn't meet her gaze when he spoke, which was unusual since he was normally the type to make eye contact. It gave her a feeling that something was definitely not quite right.

"We got a lead on where the guy who wrote the angel tablets might be. If we can find him, he'll be able to tell us what the last demon trial is. We got the information from a file Kevin sent us. Apparently if the little dude didn't update it every week, the information he had already found about the tablets would get sent to us. The Scribe of God is hiding in an Indian hotel. At least, according to the translation that Sammy and the Doc pulled together. It's the best lead we've got on anything, so we're heading out."

Clara paused, tilting her head. It sounded like something like that would've taken more time to do than just 2 hours...

"Dean, how long have I been sleeping?"

"Just a little over 18 hours, I think."

"Someone should have woken me up!"

"You needed the sleep, sweetheart. Everyone sort of agreed that you needed the rest."

She stepped forward, looking up at the man in a heated way. Clara couldn't help but feel a bit annoyed. Had the Doctor somehow already convinced everyone that she was nothing more than a girl who needed to be protected? It wasn't unlike him. Either way, she remembered something she had told Dean earlier. Without warning, the brunette woman slapped Dean Winchester across the face. Hard.

The man's eyes widened in surprise. Whatever the reaction he had expected to that statement, it hadn't been that. His hand went to his cheek, touching the skin gingerly.

"What was that for!?"

"You called be sweetheart again, dear. You had that one coming."

She glanced in a mirror and straightened her brown hair slightly, before walking toward the door. She turned to look back at him as she crossed through the doorway.

"And for the record, Dean Winchester... I'm not what you would consider just a pretty face. You got that? I'm a bit more than that. I'm not just here so you can flirt at me and be the convenient damsel in distress."

With that, she stalked down the hallway, back toward the way she remember to be the direction of main room.

Dean watched the brunette marched out of the room, gently touching his jaw as he stared at the doorway she had exited from. A smirk was grown on his face. He responded back, voice a bit quieter.

"Never said you were."

The woman was already gone, so she wouldn't hear that comment. That was good. Clara definitely didn't need anything to affirm her ego. The hunter shifted through the cabinets, picking up a shotgun and glancing at it and debating whether to bring it. With a pause, he put it back carefully. His thoughts were still on Clara.

"Piece of work, that one..."

He had a feeling that she wasn't going to take it well when she discovered the Doctor was going to try to prevent her from going.

Clara walked in to find an interesting scene going on in the room lined with books. The Doctor seemed to be in the process of trying to convince Sam to eat something. By convincing, Clara meant holding a bowl of soup underneath Sam's nose while he was trying to look over it at some papers. However, his plan seemed to not be working. The Doctor only seemed to be agitating the man. Clara was reminded of a mother hen by the was the timelord was hovering over the younger of the Winchesters.

"Sam, you need to eat something. Eating something while you are sick will help. That's how the human body works. Well, there was this one case where this woman didn't have the biological need to eat, but that is 400 years in the future so it hasn't occurred yet. Officially, at this point in time, all humans need to eat to live, including you. So eat. Apparently Dean made this soup, so it should be edible. I wouldn't expect him to be the type to be a good cook but apparently he is."

"The only thing that is going to help me is figuring out what the 3rd trial is and completing it. We've been over this. Eight times to be exact."

"Yes, we have. But having to participate in the trials doesn't mean that you magically don't need to eat now. In reality, it you should be eating more, not less. You are changing at an atomic level, which means you need to have something keeping you together. That something is food, Sam. See, even Dean will agree with me, and you know something is true if we actually manage to agree on something. Right Dean?"

He turned around to face Clara, and looked at her in surprise. He set down the bowl of soup in front of Sam, on top of the papers. Sam casually moved the papers out from under the bowl automatically, and he continued to read with only a short glance at Clara.

"You're not Dean."

"Great observation, Sherlock."

The Doctor opened his mouth, and closed it again, unsure of how to respond to that. He looked at her before mumbling. She had managed to stop his train of thought.

"Oh, shut up."

The timelord looked back at Sam, then at Clara. He didn't notice the small smirk of amusement flitting across his companion's face.

"Well, don't you agree with me that he should be eating Clara? He should. Also, where's Dean? Did he wake you up?"

Clara looked over at Sam sympathetically, before agreeing. The man looked downright sickly. Dark circles were under the man's eyes like bruises, and he was as pale as death. Her accent thickened slightly, like it did when she was taking to her students.

"Yeah, actually. Love, you should eat somethin'."

She walked over to him, feeling the man's forehead like she did when one of her students was sick. The man was burning to the touch. It was enough to make her worry. She understood now why the Doctor had been trying so hard to get him to eat. When he looked at her questioningly, raising an eyebrow at her. He was giving her an odd look, though he didn't say anything. Like both of the Winchesters, Sam more so than Dean, he was unused to anyone actually acting in a motherly fashion like Clara did quite often. She was a nanny and a teacher; it was sort of hard-wired into her DNA to be motherly. Her hands moved to her hips.

"Don't make me use my teacher voice, Sam Winchester. You've got to eat something."

Sam seemed to realize he wasn't going to get out of this one, so he rather reluctantly picked up the spoon next to the bowl. He said one thing before began eating, the comment directed at Clara.

"You are very bossy."

"Someone has to keep Chin Boy in line."

The Doctor glanced over at Clara, frowning. He touched his chin self-consciously, half-heartedly responding,

"My chin isn't that big."

This discussion came to a quick end as Dean walked up behind Clara, glancing over the brunette woman's head at his brother, then to Clara.

"Oh, so you eat when she asks, but you don't when I tell you to?"

Sam waved in the general direction of Clara, picking at the soup. His long brown hair was covering part of his face as he spoke.

"I'm pretty sure she is much more terrifying than you are, Dean. However, you both are short and bossy." Sam shrugged, glancing between the two of them without another word. A short silence fell between them after this comment, and Clara took a moment to glance around the room. She had an urge to go look at the books surrounding them, knowing it might reconnect her with some of her echoes, but she had a feeling now wasn't the time. Clara looked back over at them, and Dean hoisted his bag onto his shoulder.

"Come on, let's not just sit around here all day. Sam, take the bowl of soup and get your bag," he glanced over at the Doctor, "Doc, I'm not sure if you have anything to bring. Find a way to be useful." A silence fell as he glanced over at Clara. She had a feeling she wasn't going to like the next sentence spoken. Dean's green eyes flickered between the Doctor and his companion. The Doctor seemed to understand.

"Clara, you should stay here."

The words were spoken by the Doctor, not Dean. Immediately she whirled around face him, the embers of a fire lighting in her brown eyes.

"What? Are you serious? I know more about this sort of stuff than you do, Doctor. A lot more, actually. There are not many situation where I can say that. Someone needs to watch your back, and these two hunters will be too busy watching their own backs to add yours to the equation. You don't know enough about this to know how to stay safe. These aren't the kind of things you can wave a screwdriver at and say a couple of clever comments and you win. If you aren't prepared to kill, you will get yourself killed. Beyond regeneration killed."

"You don't know anything about this, Clara. Maybe your echoes do, but you don't."

"I am my echoes, Doctor."

There was a deafening silence that filled the room as the Doctor and Clara stared at each other. Dean was watching it like a soap opera was unfolding, a liquor bottle in his hand. He seemed to have abandoned just using the glass, taking a swig from the bottle. Sam was the first to speak up, abandoning his soup for a moment.

"This might be a stupid question, but what is up with the whole thing about Clara's... you said echoes, right?"

The Doctor seemed relieved for a quick distraction from his companion, answering quickly.

"It's a long story. The short version is Clara ended up jumping into my time stream to save my life, in turn splitting her soul into thousands of pieces that spread themselves across my entire time line. Different versions of her called echoes live and die throughout my timeline, saving me. A bit risky...-"

"A bit risky?!" Sam remarked indignantly, looking more than a bit shocked. Dean's eyebrows had shot up immediately as the Doctor had spoken. Into a thousand pieces... He looked between the Doctor and Clara now. Sam had his soul torn apart when he had been in the pit with Michael and Lucifer; it wasn't the kind of thing he would categorize as a bit risky. More like worse than death. Endless torture came to mind. He looked at Clara, a complete new respect for the brunette in his eyes. Also real concern.

"How are you still sane?"

Clara seemed a bit startled by the question, but Sam had already moved on. His gaze had switched over to the Doctor. The tall man had gotten to his feet on shaky legs, though he looked like he still might decide to tackle the timelord, and there wasn't a question of who would win that fight. He looked downright scary, enough that Clara took a step back away from him and a bit behind Dean.

"Don't you know how... how naïve you sound? Getting your soul torn apart isn't something you just walk away from. It isn't something you just blow off as a mild mishap. A soul doesn't heal like a cut or a broken wrist. It doesn't work like that. When a soul is broken apart, it doesn't glue itself back together." It was then Dean set a hand on his brother's shoulder, pulling him away from the Doctor.

"Sammy, cool down. Head to the Impala." He paused, before adding upon feeling the heat waves coming from his brother, "Literally and figuratively."

As the Doctor moved to speak, Dean pointed a finger at him.

"I didn't say he was wrong. You can shut the hell up."

After a second, Sam shrugged off Dean's hand from his shoulder, before walking toward the door. He picked up his duffel bag as he walked toward the exit. He didn't even spare a glance back at the others.

Clara looked in between the Doctor and Dean, slightly surprised that the Doctor had, in fact, quieted himself down. He was looking at her silently, frowning. She sort of wished Sam hadn't had an outburst, because now it simply meant that he was going to worry over her even more now. Not that the worry might be well-placed, she just didn't like being the source of his worry. Lord knows the timelord had enough on his mind without having her as an extra worry.

As she thought about this, she saw Dean turn to face her. Without another word, he gently took her by the arm, pulling her aside. She looked at him questioningly, unsure of his motives.

"What?"

He sighed, his arms folding across his chest. He met her gaze steadily. His voice was lowered so the Doctor wouldn't overhear.

"Clara, you need to stay here."

"What?"

"Would you mind letting me finish?"

He raised an eyebrow at her, and she reluctantly went quiet.

"Don't get me wrong, I trust you a helluva lot more than I trust Doc over there, but someone needs to hang around and keep an eye on Cas. He has a tendency to wander off, and the guy still is hurt pretty bad. You might be able to keep him pinned down in the bunker until we get back. Besides, you seem to actually have a bit of catching up to do. Not to mention it's always good for someone to have a working brain at home base, just in case."

"Oh..."

Clara hadn't been expecting that reason. She could tell it was sincere, simply from the look Dean was giving her. She glanced over at the Doctor, then to the door Sam had exited from with a raised eyebrow.

"Promise me this. Make sure the Doctor doesn't get himself killed. Knock him out or handcuff him if you have too, just don't let him run in blind and get himself killed."

"Sometimes living through it might just be the way to get it through his thick head."

"Dean, I'm serious."

"Don't worry yourself, swee-... Clara. I won't let him get too banged up. As long as he doesn't do anything incredibly stupid, we should be fine."

"I'm worried he'll to just that."

The two stared at each other for a moment, a silent understanding passing between them. Clara watched as Dean walked back to the Doctor, staying where she was. The brunette woman winked at the Doctor when he glanced over at her. He looked at her, confused.

"You're staying?"

"Don't push your luck, Doctor. I have my reasons. You stay safe. Both of you."

She watched as the two left, before she walked back toward the hallway to go looking for Castiel.