She stoped convulsing after four and a half minutes. Far longer than last time. Now that she was still, Dean could see she'd bitten almost entirely through her bottom lip. He'd need to stitch that up when she woke. There was blood running down her legs from where John had beaten her. At least a few of those cuts would likely need stitches as well. He knelt on the floor, methodically wiping blood out of her mouth, and tried to figure out where they went from here.

Everything had been shattered.

But now how did he start reassembling the pieces?

Bobby.

He'd take her to Bobby. Dean flipped open his phone and dialed.

"Hello?" Said the gruff, familiar voice on the other end.

"Hey Bobby," Dean said, watching Sophie closely so he could help her when she woke.

"You boys okay?" Bobby asked.

"We are. But we're traveling with someone who isn't. Can I bring her down so we can rest up at your place?" Dean asked. He could give details later.

"Of course," Bobby replied, "You're always welcome."

Dean saw Sophie's eyelids begin to flutter open.

"I've gotta go. But we'll be there in the next day or so," he said. Then flipped the phone closed.

"You're okay," Dean whispered as he pulled Sophie into his arms. He nestled her head in the crook of his neck, so she wouldn't choke on the blood dripping from her split lip. He reached across the cramped space and grabbed a blanket from the couch, tucking it around her.

"I'm sorry," he said into her ear, repeating it over and over and rocking her gently. It took her longer to get her bearings this time. It was nearly fifteen minutes before she stirred in his arms.

"Dean?" Sophie's voice was slurred from her bloody lip.

"I've got you," he assured her, sliding her down his chest so she could see his face. He picked up her robe and pressed the sleeve against her bleeding lip. She stayed there for a while, quiet and still, gazing up at his face.

"What happened?" Her voice broke and he knew she wasn't just asking about the seizure.

Dean took a deep breath, forcing himself to make eye contact with her.

"My dad showed up," he swallowed hard, "And he beat you. And then you had a seizure. But I'm gonna patch you up. And we're gonna go stay with Bobby. And everything is going to be fine. I promise."

"Where are my clothes?" Sophie mumbled into his chest, "Where are your clothes?"

Dean shook his head to clear it. Ninety minutes ago the two of them were having sex and now…this. She was bloody and half conscious, traumatized out of her mind, clinging to him like a life raft.

"I'm so sorry Sophie," Dean said again, as if apologizing enough times could somehow undo what had happened.

"Why didn't you do something sooner?" She asked, her voice getting clearer now.

"Because with my dad, when he's really worked up about something, you have to wait for things to go nuclear. Back when I was a kid, if we'd misbehaved or made some big mistake, I used to try and talk him down or negotiate. Always turned out worse in the end."

"Worse than this?" Sophie gestured feebly.

"Sophie," Dean debated if he should tell her and eventually decided honesty was his best bet, "I genuinely think that if we hadn't let him rough you up my dad would have killed you."

"Why?"

"Because in his mind that's how hunters treat each other," Dean replied, "And doing otherwise with you would have indicated you were an outsider. And outsiders are either direct threats or indirect liabilities. So he's got a pretty strict no tolerance policy on that."

"Oh," Sophie's bottom lip started to quiver, sending a new trickle of blood onto the cloth Dean had pressed over it.

"It's okay," Dean soothed her, knowing full well this was a bandaid on a bullet wound, "I'm here. I'm gonna take care of you."

And suddenly she was sobbing. He hadn't seen her cry before. Not really. A couple tears from something really hurting maybe, but not this. She twined her arms around his neck and pressed her face into his chest. He knew words were useless right now, so he just held her and waited.

Ten minutes. Twenty. Half an hour. Sam would be getting home soon.

Eventually she quieted, using the bloody sleeve of her discarded robe to wipe her nose.

"We can burn that," Dean offered.

"Good plan," Sophie agreed, voice still unsteady.

"Once Sam gets back I'm going to help you shower," Dean told her, "Then we're going to get some of your cuts stitched up. In the morning we'll rent a car and drive to Bobby's. It's safe there. He'll look after us."

"He won't…" Sophie trailed off.

"Hit you? Try to shoot you? Insinuate that me and Sam are using you like some kind of objectified, disposable plaything? No. He won't do any of that."

"Where is Sam?" Sophie asked.

"Dropping Dad and his car off on a back road somewhere," Dean replied, "Should be home any minute."

"And until he gets home?"

"Until he gets home we'll stay right here. You comfortable?"

Sophie curled against him and nodded.

"Good, good," Dean said gently, pulling her closer, "then that's one thing sorted."