*Disclaimer: I own nothing related to the show, just a fan, inspired to write. I do own Amie, she is my own creation.
**Spoilers: Story is set during season 9, with flashbacks to end of season 7. I tried to stay true to canon, but story may drift AU at times.
"God dammit, Dean, stop squirming!"
Amie was very aware of the fact that she was closer to Dean than she had been in months. She was straddling him, his right leg between her legs, her knee resting on his inner thigh. Her left hand was pressing his shoulder back as he tried to sit up in the crappy motel room chair.
"What are you doing?" she asked harshly, her frustration showing in her voice.
"Just let me get the whiskey. You're practically tearing me apart!" Dean growled.
Amie straightened up with a sigh, letting the hand holding the thick needle and thread drop to her side. "Maybe if you stopped wiggling around and let me finish stitching you up, you wouldn't feel that way. I'm almost done, just a couple more stitches and I'll let you go."
"I should have just done it myself. Or let Sam do it," Dean whined, "you're kind of mean."
Amie heard a laugh coming from one of the motel beds, where Sam was laying with an ice pack pressed to his head. "Then you'd end up with twice as many stitches, since I'm currently seeing double. Quit being a baby and let her finish." Sam sighed and laid his arm across his eyes.
"I'm not a baby, you're a…baby. Baby." Dean grabbed the whiskey bottle off the table and took a long pull. Once he had enough, he set it back down. "Alright, go ahead."
Amie pushed Dean back in his chair, straddling him once more. She took a deep shaky breath. She hated doing this more than anyone, especially Dean, knew. Pushing a thick needle through the sensitive skin near Dean's collar bone, watching the blood run down his chest, seeing the skin pull taut as she stitched up his wound, it all made her stomach turn. She steadied herself and leaned in to finish. She had no other choice, Sam probably had a concussion and Dean couldn't stitch up his own shoulder, at least not the right side. She tried to be as gentle as possible, not wanting to cause Dean any more pain than necessary. Amie wasn't as mean as Dean claimed.
"Okay, I'm done. You can squirm all you want now." Amie set the medical supplies down and grabbed her bottle of water from the table. She brushed her hair back from her face, wincing as she touched the raised abrasion on her temple. She started to back away from Dean, but he grabbed her waist with his left hand, his fingers sliding under the edge of her t-shirt and brushing the skin above the waistband of her jeans.
"Thank you. Sorry I was being, you know, squirmy." Dean's hand tightened a little bit on her waist as his green eyes flashed.
"Umm, yeah, you're welcome," Amie whispered. She tried to pull away, but Dean wouldn't let go and he wouldn't stop staring at her, like he was trying to tell her something without speaking. Just then, Sam cleared his throat, breaking the mood, whatever it was.
Dean reluctantly released Amie's waist and she backed away from him, feeling a tinge of regret when she broke contact.
"What about you, Sam? Do you need anything?" Amie inquired of the inert form on the bed. She backed farther away from Dean and started cleaning up the blood-stained gauze from the motel kitchen table. She needed distance to catch her breath.
Sam tried to sit up and failed. "Just some water, if you don't mind," he said. He sighed and fell back, putting his arm across his eyes again.
"You're as stubborn as your brother. Just stay there," Amie grumbled. She caught Dean grinning at her out of the corner of her eye. He really needed to quit doing that, it was distracting.
Amie grabbed a water bottle from the refrigerator and moved toward Sam. She needed to sit down, her legs felt like they would give out at any minute. The fight with the Wendigo had taken a lot out of her, but since she was the least wounded, she was trying to suck it up until she got to her own room. Of course, if Dean hadn't tried to play hero and shoved her out of the way, she would be the one being stitched up right now. Probably by Dean. Dean touching her skin, breathing against her shoulder as he worked on her, his strong hands on her body…. Amie quickly shut down that thought and turned back toward Sam.
"Are you sure you don't need a hospital, Sam?" she asked for the second or third time.
Sam shifted slightly, wincing as he did. "No, I'm fine. I just need some Advil and a nap. And for someone to turn off the damn lights. They are hurting my head." Sam peered out from under his arm, squinting at Amie.
"If you're trying to use the puppy-dog eyes on me, it's not working. I can't see your eyes." Sam laughed quietly. Amie moved across the room, turning off the overhead lights as she passed the switch. She reached into her backpack and pulled out a bottle of Advil. She shook five into her hand and put them, along with the water bottle, in the hand not covering Sam's face. She was tempted to sit next to him on the side of the bed, but she knew if she did, she wouldn't get back up, considering how drained she felt. Instead she leaned down, one knee on the bed and pulled the ice pack away from Sam's head. "Let me look at it," she said softly.
Reluctantly, Sam let Amie look at his head. He didn't move his arm, or open his eyes though. His head didn't really look that bad and as she gingerly felt the spot of impact, Amie concluded that he probably just needed rest. He'd most likely have a headache for a couple of days, but by morning he would be okay to travel.
"Take those and get some sleep. I'll check on your head later." Amie pushed herself upright, trying not to wobble as she did so. She didn't need Dean to see her looking weak, he'd just bitch at her about it and piss her off. She turned toward the motel table, where Dean still sat, watching her. She hated it when he did that, just watched her without speaking, it made her uncomfortable. She wished for the millionth time that she knew what he was thinking. She quickly licked her lips, wincing as she hit the cut on her lower lip. Dean's eyes flicked to her tongue, watching it intently, taking another drink from the whiskey bottle.
"Now that I'm done playing Florence Nightingale, I'm going to take a shower. And get some sleep. Not necessarily in that order." Amie glanced at Dean. "Are you alright? Do you want something for your shoulder?"
"Nah, I'm good. Go, get your beauty rest. You need it," Dean smirked.
"God, you're an ass." Amie grabbed her backpack off of the bed not occupied by a sleeping giant and headed for the door. She glanced back over her shoulder at Dean, but he was staring at the space over her head, not making eye contact at all. Typical. She pulled open the motel room door and walked out, roughly and loudly closing the door behind her. "Oops," she thought, "forgot about Sam's head." She shrugged it off and pulled her room key from her pocket. She proceeded to unlock the motel room right next door to the boys' room. God, it was like she purposely punished herself, putting herself as close to Dean as possible. Not for the first time, she wondered if she needed psychiatric help.
Amie entered the crappy motel room and shut the door. She leaned against it as she dropped her backpack to the floor. She could feel the tears coming, but she didn't know if it was her feelings for Dean overwhelming her, or if she was coming down off of the adrenaline high of the hunt. Probably a little bit of both. She moved to the bed, sat down and pulled off her boots. She hated those things, but you couldn't really hunt in flip-flops, now could you? She tossed them across the room and flopped back on the bed. She lay there in silence for a couple of minutes, then turned on her side, curled into the fetal position and let the tears flow. Amie kept telling herself it was just the aftermath of the hunt that was all, just the aftermath of the hunt. With that mantra playing in her head, she quickly dozed off.