She stitched the wound in about fourteen minutes. It was a little sloppy but it wasn't bleeding anymore.
Dean stood up again, this time clutching the back of the couch for support as he slowly made his way toward the mirror. He ran his finger along the grooves of uneven stitching and glared down at Meg.
"What? I never said I was any good, but someone had to stitch up that hole in your head or you were gonna bleed out."
"How did you even get a job at that hospital, Nurse Masters?"
He started back toward the couch as Meg crossed her arms indignantly, watching him as he went.
"It was a mental hospital, jackass, I mostly just had to give out meds and change all the light bulbs that Clarence broke."
Dean smirked. Almost offering her half a laugh. But then his vision started rocking again and he knew he wasn't making it to the couch. He started sinking, reaching out desperately for the rickety side table. Meg grabbed him around the waist and attempted to pull him back to his feet. She managed to get him to the point where he was leaning most of his weight on her, arm draped across her shoulders, too dizzy to even care that it was Meg.
But it was Meg. They weren't friends. He'd told her so, plenty of times.
"Le'mme go... I can do it..."
"So that little display of you shrinking into an unconscious heap of Winchester was just for funzies, right? No, I got you, okay?"
"Demonic... Bitch... We're not... Even friends... I told you..." Dean slurred, becoming less and less coherent as a swirl of gray fog clouded his vision.
Had he been looking at her, or capable of looking at her, Dean would've seen Meg bite her lip in that irritated smile of hers as she mumbled, "Alright, then." and released him.
He fell to the ground, his legs completely unsupportive of his body at the moment. She stomped across the room to the light switch and flicked all three switches on. The unlit lamps in Rufus's cabin all popped on, nice and bright in Dean's photosensitive eyes.
"Aw, shit... Meg-"
"We're not friends, Dean, what do I care if all these lights-" she ripped open the curtains, allowing the sunlight to flood in, "And all the fucking loud TV I want-" she turned on the TV, blaring the loud sobs of a Spanish soap opera, "Is gonna hurt your concussed head like hell? A friend would've accommodated to your hypersensitive needs."
"Meg..."
"But no, I'm a demon, and demons are evil, right? That's what your daddy told you? So, obviously staying with Cas and stitching your thick fucking head was all just part of my evil agenda."
"I'm sorry..." Dean croaked from the floor, fingers clutching his head tightly, arms blocking out the light.
Meg turned back and glared down at the pathetic, curled up ball of Dean Winchester and sighed. She closed the curtains again and slapped the light switch again to turn the lights off. She snapped her fingers and the TV turned off. She crossed the room, stepping lightly on her feet an crouched down next to Dean.
"Now, what was that?" Meg whispered.
Dean hesitated and hissed back, though through the pain and irritation was a distuinguishable honesty, "I'm sorry. You... Helped Cas... Helped us... And we... I... owe you."
Meg smiled, helping Dean to sit up, "Now, was that so hard?"
"I'm gonna throw up."
Meg nodded, giving him a sharp pat on the shoulder before standing up to go look for a bucket.