Edith slept fitfully in the back of the Impala, never drifting quite deep enough to dream. She woke with a start when Dean slammed the driver's side door. They were at the bunker. Edith gaped out the window as her eyes took in the odd, half-hidden structure. Dean marched off inside without even a glance back.

Sam stayed behind to open the car door and help her out. Still groggy, she stumbled a bit when her shoes hit the loose gravel, and gripped tightly onto his arm. She kept hold of him once they got inside, and all the way down the staircase. He politely did not pry her off.

Dean met them at the foot of the stairs. He had two beer bottles in one hand, and a glass in the other. He passed one of the beers to Sam. "You can have one when I'm sure you can keep it down," he teased Edith.

She nodded, but her attention was elsewhere. Her mouth hanging open, she was staring past Dean at the rooms spread out before her. From here, she could see most of the library, the row of doors above the landing, and a hallway that led to more rooms. Dean pressed the cold glass into her hand. "Thank you," she said absently.

Sam relaxed as she finally let go of his arm. "I need to hit the books," he said pointedly.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Fine." He took another chug of his beer. "Come on, let me show you around."

She pulled her attention back to her hosts. Dean turned and headed toward the hallway to their right. She hurried to follow behind as he rounded the corner out of the library.

"There's my room," he patted a door as they passed. "Sam's over there," he pointed further down the hall. "You can stay here." He swung open the door and let her go in first. It was a modest room with a bed, dresser, a few shelves, a side table with a lamp. "This was Charlie's room, but she's… traveling for a while. If you need to borrow some of her things, I'm sure she wouldn't mind."

"That's very generous," Edith said, sincerely.

Dean sauntered back to the door. "I'll give you some time to… whatever."

"Wait," she said, her voice strained. She glanced past him, out the door, and lowered her voice. "Can we talk for just a minute?"

Dean didn't budge. Edith sat down on the bed and looked at him deliberately. With an eyeroll and a dramatic sigh, obliged. He rested his beer on his knee.

She took a deep breath. "I never got to say thank you."

He shrugged, trying not to smile. "Well..."

"Not this, not here. I meant before."

All the humor left his face. "What are you talking about?"

She looked down at her hands. "Once a year he would come. Spend the whole day together. To remind me how long I've been there. Quality time. He wouldn't stop until he was sure I'd remember."

"He? You mean Alistair?" The shudder that ran through her body was answer enough. "Go on."

"As long as I kept track, kept counting the years, I was holding on. Kept thinking there would be a way out, an end to it. I was up to eighty-five thousand, six hundred and forty-four. That was when I stopped counting."

He was rattled at the number, but tried to keep his game face. "Then what happened?"

"You, silly! In all that time, you were the only thing that got through to me. He was so proud of you."

Dean felt sick to his stomach. "I'm sorry…."

"No! Don't be sorry! By the time you were through with me, I told him I didn't want to count any more. He never touched me again. After that, everything was downhill. Almost easy. I never thought I'd get a chance to say thank you." She put her hand on his knee. "And now I can."

"Edith," he began, his eyes downcast.

"Do you ever think about it? Our time together, the things you did to me." Her hand was massaging his thigh. "I bet you've learned a lot since then."

Dean clenched his jaw, fighting back those memories. He couldn't find words to argue.

Edith slid down to the floor, kneeling before him, looking up with desperation. "Show me something new. Hurt me again. Please, Dean."

Visibly shaken, he stood, pushing her hands away. "I can't."

She tried to grab onto him. "Dean, wait," she cried, falling on her hands and knees when he jerked away. "Please!" He glanced back once, his expression a mixture of disgust, regret, and longing. Then he walked out, shutting the door firmly behind him.

A confused Sam looked up as Dean stormed through the library. "Everything okay?"

Dean's posture was tense. "She is beyond what we can fix, Sam. We need to get her some professional help."

Sam nodded. "Right, maybe. What happened?"

"Nothing." Dean crossed his arms. "I just don't think we can really help her."

"I'm looking into options, but we can't exactly pull a name from the yellow pages for this."

"Maybe she shouldn't stay here. We could drop her at a mental home, someplace qualified to deal with this level of screwed up."

"Like we did with Cas? Because that worked out great. Regular doctors would have no idea how to handle her. They would just drug her up, or lock her away for her own safety. No, she's better off here."

Dean put his hands on his hips. "I just… could you go look in on her? I need a break."

Sam gave him a questioning look. "Sure, but…"

"Thanks Sammy." Dean clapped him on the shoulder as he left.

Edith was sitting on the edge of the bed, trying to remember how to breath. The knock at the door made her jump, and she smoothed her skirt with shaking hands.

The door opened a few inches, and Sam peered in cautiously. When he spotted her, he hurried over, worry creasing his brow. "Are you alright?"

Out of habit, Edith stood, eyes on the ground. "No," she admitted.

His eyes flitted across her face. "Want to talk about it?"

"No." They looked at each other, then a ghost of a smile crossed her face. "Not really. Thanks."

Sam had an idea of what she was holding back. "Edith, you know…my brother isn't the only one who did time downstairs."

Her eyes grew wide. "You? I didn't know."

"It wasn't quite the same as what you've been through, but I have an idea of how you feel."

She was still gaping at him. "But you seem alright," she said in disbelief.

"I'll take that as a compliment," he chuckled. "When I came back, Dean helped me through it. You don't have to figure this out alone."

The look in her eyes was almost hopeful, but she didn't say a word.

After a strained silence, he stood up a little straighter. "Is there anything you want? This place is pretty well stocked, or we can make a run into town."

"I'd like to freshen up." She scrunched up her forehead. "Do you have… uh," she circled her hand, trying to remember.

"I can show you to the bathroom."

She bit her lip excitedly. "You have indoor toilets!"