Sam woke from a restless sleep. His phone screen displayed 6:44, and he rolled out of bed with a frustrated sigh. Reinforcements would be arriving in a few hours, so if he wanted to get a morning run, shower, and breakfast, there was no time to waste.
He pulled on some comfortable pants and a zip up sweater, and dug his running shoes out of the closet. There were no signs of life as he left the bunker.
It was a chilly morning. The dew had frozen in places, forming tiny beads of ice that caught the early light. A spiderweb on the railing looked like it was made of silver chain. Sam walked briskly down the driveway, giving his muscles time to warm up, then broke into a jog where the road turned and leveled out.
As his shoes pounded steadily on the ground, his mind wandered. What happened with Edith had thrown him. Not that she came on to him; Sam was not surprised at her need for physical contact. Helping her in that regard was not awful. But if it was just a pity screw, he wouldn't have felt so shaken afterward.
Maybe it was because he hadn't been that rough with a sex partner since Ruby. Although that was different, since he never worried he might actually hurt her. Ruby could handle anything he dished out, usually with a smile on her face. They'd trashed a few hotel rooms and several abandoned houses with their antics.
Sam slowed to a stop. His thoughts had betrayed him, and he did not want to cut his run short because of an inconvenient erection. He braced his hands on his thighs, catching his breath. He would have to puzzle this out somewhere a little less public.
Back at the bunker, Dean had forced himself out of bed and headed straight for the kitchen. He looked through the refrigerator, trying to piece together a recipe in his head. What sort of comfort food would pass for breakfast? He had no idea what meals were common in Edith's day, and he had no desire to do research this early. Waffles would have to do.
Not that Dean was babying their guest, he just didn't want her to upchuck again because of something he fed her. His motives were completely selfish.
He had just finished mixing up some batter and warming up the waffle iron when Edith shuffled in. He gave her a welcoming smile. "Morning!" His grin evaporated as his eyes took in her satin and lace dressing gown. Dean swallowed hard. "This place gets pretty drafty. Want me to find you something warmer?"
She glanced down at herself, still bleary-eyed from sleep. "I don't mind. It's not so bad being cold, I mean... you know."
Dean forgot to keep his guard up. He met her eyes, and for split second he could almost smell the ash and brimstone. There was no winter, no cold front, no break from that heat. He pulled his gaze away, turning his attention to the batter. "You like chocolate?" He tossed a handful of mini chocolate chips into the bowl and stirred them in. It took a lot of effort not to meet her eyes again. When the first batch was cooking, he pulled up a stool for Edith. "So… you sleep well?"
She creased up her brow, her expression distant. "Good. Fine. It was strange."
"Any nightmares?"
"No. I expected to! I don't think I had any dreams. Is that a bad sign?"
He pursed his lips. "I dunno." A pounding on the door interrupted. Dean sighed. "I guess Sammy locked himself out." He nodded to Edith, then hurried up the staircase and opened the door.
A dark skinned woman with a short pixie haircut stood outside. She had a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, and a wheeled suitcase behind her. "Hi, you've been expecting me," she spoke in a British accent. "Garth said you need my help."
"Cool, yeah." Dean narrowed his eyes. "Have we met?"
She blinked in surprise, giving him a second look. "Winchester?" Dean grinned. She pointed at him, squinting. "Dave? No, wait… Dan!"
The air went out of him. "Dean," he corrected.
"Tamara," she said, holding out her hand for him to shake.
His smile came back in part. "Right, we worked that case in Nebraska."
She blinked, her confidence faltering. "You met my Isaac."
Dean was silent for a moment. "How have you been," he asked, his tone softer.
Tamara's chin went up. "Just keeping on."
He nodded somberly. "Come on in." He reached for her rolling suitcase, but she batted his hand away.
"I can manage." He held out his hands in mock surrender, and she grinned. "Go ahead."
As he turned to go back inside, the faint smell of smoke reached him. He had forgotten the waffles. "Damn it," he hissed, and flew down the stairs. He ran full tilt to the kitchen, rounding the corner to the doorway. He grabbed the cord of the waffle maker and yanked, ripping the plug out of the wall. "Edith?" he shouted, as the smoke alarm began to sound. Coughing, he grabbed a towel and used it to fan the air. "Edith!"
Tamara got his attention from the doorway. "Over there," she motioned behind him.
Dean spun around to see Edith sitting on the floor, her back against a cabinet. He was at her side in a second. "It's okay, you're okay," he soothed. He reached out to put a comforting hand on her shoulder, but pulled back.
She was looking straight ahead. "I tried to stop it."
"It's okay," he said again, then grit his teeth at his own uselessness.
Edith held out her hands toward him, palms up. The skin looked raw, like pink wax. Her hands were trembling.
Dean put on his poker face. "You'll be alright. No biggie." He scooped up Edith off the floor, and she leaned her head on his shoulder. "I've got you," he said gently.
Tamara's eyes were wide with concern. "Do you have a first aid kit?"
"Under the sink." He jerked his head back at the smoky kitchen. With a sharp nod, she ran inside.
Sam came back from his run to find a mystery car in the driveway, and the door standing ajar. He instinctively reached for his gun, but he hadn't worn his holster with his sweats. He grimaced, and eased silently around the doorframe empty handed. The smoke alarm was beeping wildly.
Heavy smoke still hung in the air just outside the kitchen. He squinted into the room just long enough to make sure there was no fire, then continued on. The muffled sound of voices drew him to the bathroom. He cracked open the door and peered in. From this narrow angle, he could just see Edith, her eyes closed, and Dean behind her, his arms curled around her body. He seemed to be whispering in her ear, but Sam couldn't make out the words. He eased the door open just a hair more, his pulse thudding in his ears. Dean bent Edith's body forward, and Sam heard her cry out. Her body curled forward, and Dean clenched his teeth, adjusting his hold on her. Sam took a deep breath, and pushed the door open. Jealousy gave way to confusion as he saw Edith's hands plunged into the brimming sink.
"Welcome back," Dean greeted him. Edith didn't look up. Dean's hands were wrapped around her forearms, pinning her hands under the water.
Sam stood frowning at the two of them. "What the hell happened!"
"I forgot about the waffle iron. Burned both her hands pretty good." He glanced up, his forehead creased with worry. Edith kept her eyes tightly shut.
"Want me to grab the first aid kit?"
"I've already got it," Tamara said, pushing past.
He did a double take. "Um, hello?"
She opened the white metal box on a countertop and pushed through the contents. "Hello, Sam," she said, while setting out a few rolls of gauze. "My name's Tamara, you might remember me." She slammed the lid on the box. "There isn't any burn ointment, someone will have to make a shop run."
Dean looked over at Sam. His eyes were strained and desperate. Sam knew that look. "We can handle this, Dean. Why don't you go? Maybe pick up some groceries, too."
"Sure," his relief was obvious. "If you could just..." he tipped his head toward Edith.
They both frowned at the situation for a moment. Sam made a few attempts to reach over or under his brother's arms, but pulled back each time. "Edith? I'm going to switch places with Dean, alright?"
"Okay," she whispered, not moving.
Dean released his grip as Sam moved in to take his place. He stood back to survey the damage, rubbing a hand up the back of his head. "Keep that water running cold for at least twenty minutes."
"Yep," Sam answered softly.
"Don't wrap the gauze tight, in case there's swelling."
Sam narrowed his eyes. "Yes, I know."
He turned to leave, then turned back. "Keep her hands elevated after-"
"Dean!"
"Alright, I'm going." The door swung closed after him.
Tamara chuckled, and Sam gave her a puzzled look. She smiled. "He might drive you crazy, but trust me, if he was gone, you'd even miss the fighting."
Author Note: If you're on tumblr, look me up at limabeanwrites for early chapter releases and sneak peeks.
I'm very pleased to be part of a group writing project that is coming out tomorrow. It's a Valentine-themed Supernatural fic with a mysterious spell and lots of favorite characters. I got to team up with some extremely talented writers, and the results are very exciting! Look for that tomorrow on my blog.