When he heard the ringing of a phone, Dean absent-mindedly pulled his own from his pocket. He squinted at it for a second, confused, before he realized it was not his phone that was ringing. With a heavy sigh, he tracked down Sam's phone. The caller ID showed that it was Garth.

"Hey," he answered gruffly. "Please tell me you have something."

In the bathroom, Edith was practically giddy as Sam explained how flush toilets work. They had already rounded up a tube of toothpaste and a brush, some lotions and soap from various motels, and a clean towel. Sam watched her gush over each little thing, a feeling of pride growing in his chest. It was baby steps, but he was helping her find a sense of normalcy. "The shower faucets are tricky, want me to show you how to work them?"

"Oh no, this is more than enough, thank you." She turned the sink faucet on and off. "This is the neatest thing I could ever imagine!"

"Wait until you see a television." Edith gave him an odd look, but he just chuckled. "Nevermind."

She stopped playing with the water. She chewed on her lip, trying to gather her nerve. "How long were you down there?"

The question took him by surprise. "Uh… it depends. I was gone for a year and a half, which is about two hundred years."

"Did you take the offer?"

"What-" Sam narrowed his eyes. "How do you know about that?"

"You know, word gets around." She avoided his eyes.

He took a deep breath, rubbing his neck anxiously. "My experience wasn't like Dean's. It wasn't like anybody's."

Edith was watching him intently. "So you never caught a break?"

He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "No, you could say that."

"That explains it." She stood a step closer to him, feeling bolder. "There's something about you. It's like you're still a bit charred around the edges. It makes me think you can understand me better than he does."

Sam met her gaze. "I'll do my best, Edith. I want to help you."

"Then tell me where to start."

He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. "You're already doing it."

"No, I mean…" She had to look away, and her voice shook. "For so long, everything was just pain and fear. Nothing else seems quite as real anymore."

"I remember." His hand cupped the back of her head. "Just keep going. Try to keep it simple; breath, sleep, eat."

She made a disgusted face. "Bad food doesn't help."

"Fair point," he smiled. "Listen, if you ever get confused about what's real and what's not, you come find me. Promise." His tone was stern.

"Alright, if you insist." She played coy, turning back to the sink to put paste on her toothbrush. "I feel like I've forgotten all those simple things. What else is there?"

"Lots of things," he said thoughtfully. His eyes took her in as she bent over the sink. "Warmth, comfort." Her skirt fit nicely over her round backside, which shook a little as she brushed her teeth. Sam mentally chided himself. "Um… music."

She spun back around. "Oh gosh, music! Do you have a radio in this place? I love music."

The bathroom door squeaked open, and Dean peeked in. He nodded to Edith. "Hey, I've got some chicken broth on the stove, if you're hungry. Should stay down better."

As she looked at Dean, Edith seemed to be holding her breath.

Dean turned to his brother. "Garth called." Then he let the door swing shut.

Edith smiled at the questioning look on Sam's face. "Go on," she told him. "I'll be fine."

The boys walked side-by-side down the hall. Dean spoke first. "I gave him the rest of the details about our little house guest. He's got some ideas. Gonna call around and get back with us."

"Garth? That's good. He's got a lot of connections."

Dean couldn't ignore the tension around his brother. "Alright, spit it out."

Sam sighed. "Did something happen between you two?"

"Me and Garth?" Dean smirked.

Sam was not amused. "You know. She seems to be doing pretty well, at least what I've seen. What did she do that got you so rattled?"

Dean tried to act nonchalant. "I don't know, man. She just needs more help than we can give her, that's all. Who knows what she might try? I'm just saying, you might want to sleep with one eye open tonight."

"Right." Sam knew when his brother had shut down a topic, and trying to get more out of him was pointless. He opted to change the subject. "Hey, did you take that old record player into your room?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I wonder if the Men of Letters had any music from when Edith was alive? Something familiar might really help her."

Dean nodded. "I did come across a few boxes of albums; I'll check how old they are. Good idea, Sammy." He gave his brother a pat on the arm.

When Edith was finished washing up, she found them both around the library table. She sat down at the place that had been set for her. After looking over the silverware appreciatively, she tasted the broth, keeping a cautious eye on Dean.

"How is it?" Sam asked her. "Better than the burgers?"

She nodded, eyes closed, savoring the taste. "Much better. Tell your cook I want her recipe."

Dean looked deeply offended.

Sam had to force a cough to keep himself from laughing. "We don't have a cook," he explained.

"I made that," Dean said coldly.

Her eyebrows shot up. "You?" She looked back and forth between the two men. "Do all men do domestic work now?"

Sam made a hacking sound in his throat, then covered his face, his shoulders shaking as he hunched over. Edith looked at him, bemused.

Dean glowered. "It's not… listen, a man's gotta eat. Might as well do it right. You just... eat your broth."

Still wide-eyed, she took another sip. A ringing phone broke through the tension. Sam stood up, almost knocking his chair back. "I should get this." He headed out of the room as he answered.

Edith and Dean did their best not to look at one another. She spoke first. "It's really good. The broth, I mean. It was very thoughtful of you to make it for me."

His expression softened. "No problem. Thanks for not puking in my car."

She sat up taller in her chair. "Dean, I know what you must think of me. I was down there so long, I hardly even know who I am. But you've saved me twice now, and that's no coincidence. I owe you."

"Don't say that. You don't owe me anything. I didn't save you." Growing upset, he rubbed his hands over his knees. "There's no way I can make up for what I did to you."

Edith was incredulous. "Oh, honey, you don't get it. Do you have any idea how many nights I thought about you!" She put down her spoon and glanced around. "Want to know my favorite? I remember how you would tie my arms above my head…" Her eyelids fluttered shut at the memory. "Then you'd make these... shallow cuts… just enough to bleed." She dragged one fingernail across her chest, leaving a faint pink mark. Dean's eyes grew dark, his jaw tightening. Edith was was breathing hard. "Then, while you had your way with me, you would... rub your hands through the blood, until it was just ...everywhere." Her eyes still closed, she trailed her hands over her body, spreading the imaginary blood.

Dean let out a shaky breath. "Shut up."

Edith opened her eyes, licked her lips. "Imagine what you could do without the boss looking over your shoulder."

"Shut. Up." Dean clenched his fists.

Just then Sam walked back in. "Hey, good news; that was Garth on the phone." He stopped in his tracks. "Alright, what the hell is going on?" he demanded.

Dean turned to his brother, his expression grim. "Please tell me the white van is on it's way to pick her up."

Edith grew worried. "What van? Is something going on? Who's coming to take me?"

Sam gave an exasperated sigh. "There is no van. It's just a saying." He rubbed his eyes. "Would somebody care to explain what I'm missing here?" Dean looked away, and Edith concentrated very hard on her bowl. Sam threw his hands up.

Dean shook himself. "Sorry, brother. It's nothing. What did Garth have to say?"

"He found us somebody. She's already on her way. And get this; she has experience with this kind of thing."

Dean sneered. "With hell flashbacks?"

"Not exactly, but she was a counselor for veterans and POWs."

"Pretty good." Dean rubbed his chin. "Should we find another place to do this? I mean, a secret bunker isn't much good when everybody knows about it."

"Relax, she's a hunter. Garth vouched for her."

Dean excused himself to put the kitchen in order, and Sam went to join Edith. She didn't look up when he sat down beside her. "Edith, this is a good thing."

She forced a smile. "Alright."

He studied her for a moment as she played with her food. "We're not trying to pawn you off on somebody else. You deserve every chance to get better. Dean and I… well, we aren't exactly qualified. We're going to do right by you."

She put down her spoon and looked at him. "Who's more qualified to help me than somebody who's been through the same experience?"

He spread his hands on the table. "I'm not walking away. If you need anything, I'm here for you. This is just… bringing in reinforcements."

Edith cracked a smile, and turned her face away. "Okay."

Sam put his hand on her back. "Tomorrow is probably gonna be a long day. You should try to get some rest." He stood to leave.

Dean was stacking clean plates when Sam found him. "Domestic work my ass," he was muttering. When he heard footsteps, he turned around. "Where's psycho?"

Sam crossed his arms. "Can't I leave you two alone for five minutes?"

"No, that's perfect; don't leave me alone with her. She's unstable."

"Of course she's unstable. We just dragged her back from hell after a hundred thousand years of torture. What do you expect?"

Dean shifted his feet, avoiding Sam's pointed stare.

"Fine, don't tell me what's going on. Just try not to agitate her any worse than she already is. Can you handle that?"

"Yes I can handle that," Dean pouted. He shoved the plates into a cabinet. "I'm going to go dig up some old lady records. Music soothes the savage beast, right?"