Dean was working to get Sophie back up to speed with her weapons and training when Sam came running into the garage. Miriam sat on the floor, chewing on her blocks, playing her toy xylophone, and shouting "Hi!" periodically.
"What happened?" Dean asked immediately.
"Charlie," Sam replied, setting his computer on the trunk of the Impala and pressing play.
"I guess we've got a job," Dean said, "You good to leave tonight?"
He looked to Sophie for confirmation, and she in turn looked at her watch.
"I've gotta shower," Sophie said, "And I've gotta get Miriam ready to go. Give me two hours."
He really hadn't meant to hurt her. Certainly not badly. But all of his attention had been focused on bad Charlie. And he had to admit, the mark had started to cloud his thinking as he fought. Enough that when Sophie tried to intervene he pushed her back and off of him without thinking. Enough that he didn't hear the thud and the yelp when she hit the ground.
It wasn't until Sam and good Charlie came running out that his head cleared and Dean realized what had happened.
The first thing he noticed were his own bloody knuckles. But he spun around quick when he heard Sophie's ragged breathing behind him. She was still on the ground, the cement had cut up her palms, her arm, the back of her right shoulder.
"I'm so sorry," was all Dean could manage to say. He went to pull her close, hesitated, and breathed a sigh of relief when she tucked herself into his chest.
"We need to fix this," Sophie said, grabbing onto his lapel with one bloodied hand.
"I'll patch you up," Dean promised, "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."
"You know that's not what I meant," Sophie corrected. Dean just nodded.
He pulled her against him, getting her into his lap as Sam dealt with Charlie and Charlie.
"Does having me around still help?" Sophie asked.
Dean paused, then nodded again.
"Sophie if you hadn't been here I think I would've killed her," Dean admitted, shuddering.
Sophie didn't reply. She just pressed her face into his chest and took a deep, unsteady breath. It was at that moment Dean realized that something about her felt off. Wrong.
"Do you have a fever?" He asked, bending to press his cheek against her forehead.
"I didn't get a chance to finish pumping," Sophie said, "When she bolted on us back at that bar."
Dean pulled back and moved his hands down Sophie's chest, pulling back her coat. The skin on the left was red and hot to the touch. Even more than her feverish forehead.
"Let's get you home," he said, "I'm so sorry love. I'm so sorry."
Sophie just nuzzled into his chest.
"She okay?" Sam asked as he approached, Charlie leaning on his arm. She looked haggard. Spent.
"Breast infection," Dean replied, "Can you wrap things up here so I can get her home?"
"And the blood all over her?" Sam pressed.
"I shoved her," Dean said, ducking his head, "She fell."
"The mark?" Sam asked.
Dean nodded.
"We'll talk when we get home," Sam said, "You take care of her. Can you still…"
"I can still take care of her!" Dean snapped, "Now go. I've got this."
He picked up Miriam and made short work of getting them home.
Miriam played on the shower floor as Dean washed the abrasions on Sophie's back, arms, and hands. He fought back the urge to vomit as he saw the dark bruising spreading on her shoulder.
"I know saying it again doesn't help," Dean began.
"But you're sorry?" Sophie offered, wincing as he picked gravel out of the cuts on her palm.
"Yeah," Dean said, "And then some."
"We'll fix it," Sophie said, "I know we will."
He wrapped bandages around the worst of her cuts and got Miriam into her pajamas. He brought Sophie fenugreek and rosehip tea and hot towels for her chest. She winced as he sat down on the bed.
"Is that because feeding her hurts or because of the shoulder?" Dean asked. He didn't want to know the answer. But he knew being too quiet would make her unsettled.
"Yes," Sophie chuckled, "And my palms are stinging really badly."
He leaned in and kissed her forehead. Miriam had drifted off.
"Can you put her in her crib?" Sophie asked.
"Of course baby," Dean agreed immediately, picking up their daughter and walking into the next room.
He'd repainted, per Sophie's request, and had to admit that it did make the room more calming. The basinet from their bedroom sat against one wall, with two standard issue Men of Letters dressers flanking it. The rocking chair, with newly reupholstered cushions, was in one corner, a lamp beside it. And along the top of one dresser were pictures. Mary and John. Sophie's parents. Bobby. Everyone they wanted Miriam to grow up knowing, even if she couldn't see them regularly…even if they weren't still alive. Dean lay Miriam in her crib, turned on the baby monitor, and went back to Sophie.
Sophie's fever got worse. At four in the morning, Dean checked her temperature after getting Miriam back into her crib. 102. That wasn't a good sign. He kept reading that it would pass in a day or so. But he just felt so gut wrenchingly guilty. He had to do something. So, acknowledging that he was utterly out of his depth, Dean picked up the phone and called Sophie's mom.
It was two hours later in Toronto. But Julia was still groggy when she picked up.
"Dean what's wrong?" She asked immediately.
"Sorry to call so early," Dean said, "But I need advice."
"I'm hoping it's happy advice…" Julia said.
"Unfortunately not," Dean brushed Sophie's hair back from her hot, dry forehead.
"What happened?" Julia asked.
"Sophie has mastitis," Dean said, "She's got a fever. I don't know how to get it down. Usually we've got friends around who can help but…"
"But it's," Julia paused, Dean figured she was checking her watch, "Four in the morning your time and you felt like you could only call family?"
"Something like that," Dean agreed.
"You need cabbage," Julia said.
"What?" Dean asked, positive he was overtired and had misheard her.
"Get a cabbage," Julia repeated, "And press the leaves up against the infection. And have the baby nurse as much as possible. Don't have her pump. Should get better in a day or two. Call me if she gets worse?"
"I will Julia," Dean assured her, "Thank you."
He went to hang up.
"And Dean," Julia said, "You know to take her to a hospital if that fever gets to forty degrees right?"
Dean fumbled with his phone to see what that was in Fahrenheit. 104.
"Yeah," he said, "I know. Thanks again, Julia."
"Take good care of my daughter," Julia said.
"You know I will," Dean said. It felt like a lie.
He was almost positive there was a cabbage in the fridge. Sophie usually kept it around. He was right. So he pulled off a couple of leaves, washed them, and picked up Miriam on the way back to their room from the kitchen.
Waking the sleeping toddler went against every parenting instinct he had. But if it would help…
So he pressed the green leaves up against Sophie's chest, roused Miriam and convinced her to latch. She was growing like a weed lately and happy to get extra milk. She kept at it for nearly half an hour before drifting off. He set an alarm on his phone and let them both sleep for an hour then roused her again and repeated the process.
Sophie stayed hard asleep the whole time.
He felt insane. Like he was following some old folk remedy that would never work. But by the time Sam and Charlie returned around 11 o'clock, Sophie was awake and cogent. Her fever was down to 100 degrees and some of the worrying redness had started to recede.
Sam knocked on their door when he got home. Sophie was up, nursing Miriam and watching an irrationally detailed tutorial on making spelt sourdough. Dean was reading the news on the couch, getting up to check his wife's temperature and the cuts on her back at least twice an hour.
"You guys okay?" Sam asked.
"I'm doing a lot better," Sophie said, smiling and stroking Miriam's head.
"You two took a while," Dean noted, getting up and following Sam into the hall.
"Charlie broke her arm," Sam explained, "ER was slow."
Dean rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.
"We need to fix this," Sam said.
"You think I don't know that?" Dean grumbled, "I hurt my wife, Sam. Of course we need to fix this."
"I'm gonna call Cas," Sam said, "You keep up with the sleep and the health food and the not drinking. I think it was helping."
"I'm on it," Dean said, "Just as soon as Sophie's healthy again we'll get back to eight hours a night."
"You look like you need it," Sam said.
"Bitch," Dean snorted, turning to go back to his room.
"Jerk," Sam replied.