Chapter Nine

Amie opened her eyes. She wasn't quite sure where she was and it was too dark to see much of anything. She tried to lift her head to get a better look around, but it felt like a giant spike was being pounded through her left eye as soon as she moved. She closed her eyes for a minute, hoping the pain would lessen. When it didn't, she tried taking a deep breath. Shit, breathing hurt. What the hell had happened to her? She tried to think through the pain. She remembered rain, demons, Hostess products, screaming and flying through the air. At some point she had seen Dean's face, worry etched through the lines around his eyes. Sam asking questions. Her pants were missing, but she didn't remember taking them off. Her tongue snaked out of her mouth, searching for the cut on her lip she knew was there. It was definitely bigger. Her thigh hurt, but it was minor compared to other parts of her body. She remembered being in the Impala, the engine growling as Dean drove. Her head had been resting on the seat next to his leg. But why had she been in the Impala and where the hell was her car?

Amie kept her eyes closed, but stretched out her arm until she met resistance. It felt like a leg. She figured she knew who it belonged to. "Dean? Dean?" She patted the leg, hoping it was enough to wake him up. The leg shifted and she heard a grunt. "Dean? Dean, wake up."

Suddenly, the leg was gone. Next thing she knew, there was a face next to hers. Amie could smell whiskey. It was definitely Dean. She signed in relief. Callused fingers brushed the hair from her eyes.

"Hey, you're awake," Dean whispered. "Do you need anything?" He ran his fingers repeatedly through her hair. The motion was soothing.

"No, but I feel awful. Especially my head, it's killing me. Are you and Sam okay?" Amie tried to look at his face, but opening her eyes was too painful.

"We're fine. Stop worrying about us. Why don't you go back to sleep?" Amie didn't want to sleep, but Dean was still rubbing her head and she felt herself slipping away. He must of thought she had gone back to sleep, because he stopped and started to move away. Amie grabbed his hand before he was out of reach. "Wait."

Dean put his face back next to hers. "What? Do you need something?" Dean's thumb traced her cheekbone.

"Don't go," Amie whispered as she tried to pull Dean closer.

Dean seemed to sense what she needed. Suddenly, Amie felt herself being lifted and moved over. Pain shot through her head, causing her to gasp. Then a warm, solid body was under her torso and head, strong arms wrapped around her and a hand was smoothing her hair. She brought her hand up and tightly gripped the waistband of Dean's jeans. She felt like a drowning woman grasping at a life preserver. If she let go of Dean, she would fall back down the black hole of pain. She tried to take a deep breath, but it hurt too much. She closed her eyes, hoping for sleep. She could smell Dean, the smell that was unique to only him—a combination of whiskey, Old Spice deodorant, gunpowder and something that could only be described as Dean. As she began to drift off, Amie remembered the first time she had noticed that smell.

Amie shifted uncomfortably, trying to nonchalantly push Dean's arm away. Instead he tightened his grip, pulling her closer. She put on her best fake smile and sipped her beer. Dean was trying not to laugh, she could hear it in his voice. This was turning out to be the longest night of her life. Playing nice with annoying suburbanites and pretending to be Dean's wife was not her idea of fun.

"Really, this house is haunted. You're joking, right?" Dean flashed a smile at the couple standing next to the punchbowl.

Amie tuned out what Dean was saying. It wasn't the house that was haunted anyway, it was the bust of some ancient Roman that was haunted. Well, not haunted, cursed. That's what they were after. That's why they were playing married couple, so they could get a look around the house and the security system. It would make it a lot easier when they broke in tomorrow if they already knew where to look.

Amie had been surprised when Sam called her. When her phone rang, the familiar lines of AC/DC's Back in Black filling the car, she'd been shocked. "Hello, Sam," she answered.

Sam laughed softly. "Hey, Amie, you busy? Dean and I could use some help."

Amie sighed. "Oh really? Does Dean know he needs my help?"

Sam laughed again. "Yeah, he does. He's not happy about it, but he knows."

Amie smiled to herself. "Okay, what's up?"

Sam filled Amie in. They were trying to recover the cursed bust of an ancient Roman. It was in the house of a well-off couple on the outskirts of Vale, Colorado. Sam had already gone in as an FBI agent investigating the mysterious deaths in town. The house had a security system the likes of which the boys had never dealt with and they needed to get inside to get a closer look. This couple, the Parsons, was having a welcome party for some of the new people in town and that was their ticket inside. Dean had convinced them he was the newest lessee of a house down the street. But, he'd mentioned a wife that would be in town before the party. Now he needed a wife. Hence, Sam's phone call to Amie.

"It was either you or Garth. And Dean said he didn't want to be married to Garth. So that left you," Sam joked. "Will you come?"

Amie had agreed, even though she found it difficult to work with Dean. He seemed to think she was incapable of doing anything. He complained about her shooting, despite the fact that she was a crack shot. She was too short, too skinny, her nails were too long, her hair was too long, you name it, Dean complained about it. Amie thought he just really liked to complain. And it wasn't like he was easy to work with. First of all, there was his always distracting good looks, his off-color jokes and his incessant need to always be right. Oh and let's not forget the flirting. Always flirting. And if she was going to be honest with herself, she found herself thinking and feeling things for Dean she did not want to think or feel. She found it hard to concentrate when she was with him; she felt constantly off-balance, her emotions all over the place.

The annoying couple excused themselves to mingle, but Dean didn't let go of Amie. Keeping the smile plastered on her face, she turned to face him. "You can let go now," Amie said through clenched teeth. Even though she wasn't sure she wanted Dean to let go. She kind of liked the feel of his arm around her waist.

Dean chuckled, "Nope, not yet. I think we should go upstairs."

Amie tried to glare at him, while at the same time all kinds of unwanted thoughts ran through her head. Dean must have mistook her wistful expression for a fearful one.

"Relax," he said. "We'll wander up there to look for the bust. If anybody comes along, we can make it look like we went up there to do other stuff." Dean winked at Amie. He dropped his arm from her waist, but took her hand and led her toward the stairs. "Try to look like your enjoying yourself. The pained expression isn't cutting it." Amie adjusted her face into what she hoped was an excited, lustful expression.

Once they reached the top of the stairs, Dean let go of Amie's hand and moved quickly down the hallway. Without Dean having to ask her to, Amie stayed at the top of the stairs, watching for anyone coming, as Dean opened each door looking for the bust. At the fifth door down, Dean leaned out. "Bingo!" Amie quickly ran down the hall and stationed herself outside the door. She peered in, trying to see what Dean was doing. She saw the bust across the room, near a wall. Dean was checking the windows, muttering "shit" to himself repeatedly.

Just then, Amie heard someone coming up the stairs. "Dean? Dean, come on!"

Dean was still checking the windows. "Hold on!" he whispered.

Amie didn't think they had time to 'hold on' so she stepped into the room, closing the door. She took a deep breath and crossed the room as quickly as possible. She grabbed Dean by the arm and swung him around. Because she caught him off guard, she was able to shove him into a nearby chair. She quickly straddled him, grabbing his hands and sliding them up her jean-clad thighs. Amie unbuttoned several of Dean's shirt buttons. And since she'd gone this far, she decided to take the plunge and go for it. She leaned over Dean and started kissing him. He immediately responded, grabbing the back of her head to pull her closer, deepening the kiss. Suddenly, for Amie, it wasn't about pretending anymore. She wanted Dean to kiss her, she wanted his hand sliding up her thigh. Heat exploded through her body. She heard the door open behind her, but she didn't turn to see who it was, instead she pushed herself closer to Dean, inhaling his very male scent—whiskey, Old Spice deodorant, gunpowder and something that could only be described as Dean.

Dean responded to the things she was doing, one hand moving farther up her thigh, the other to her waist. This wasn't working out quite like Amie had planned, but she didn't want it to stop. When Dean grabbed her-

Amie's eyes shot open, the memory of what happened that day jolting her awake. The giant spike of pain was back, pounding into her left eye, causing her to wince. She lifted her head carefully from the hard pillow under her cheek. She glanced down and realized that it wasn't a pillow under her cheek, it was Dean's bicep. They were laying in the bed, her on her right side with Dean wrapped around her, his right arm under her head and his left arm around her waist holding her against his body. He was snoring lightly, his breath blowing against the back of her neck. Amie winced again at the light streaming through the cheap motel curtains. Since she hadn't noticed it when she woke up earlier, she guessed that it was morning and that was sunlight. When she shifted slightly to try to see the clock, Dean rolled onto his back. Amie thought she might have woke him up, but a few seconds later he resumed snoring.

She carefully pushed herself into a sitting position, her head pounding the entire time. She checked the clock-7:00 a.m. She needed to use the bathroom and she really wanted a drink of water. Getting to the bathroom was going to be interesting. The pain moving through her body made even the thought of standing up a daunting task. But since she didn't want to wake up Dean and ask him for help, Amie slowly eased herself into a standing position. So far, so good. She started across the room, moving slowly so as not to fall. Her eyes skimmed the room as she walked. There was a bottle of water on the counter by the bathroom door and luckily, her luggage was stacked on the floor in front of the counter. That was going to make this so much easier. Once she got to the door of the bathroom, she pulled her luggage in and snagged the water bottle. She leaned against the sink for a minute to catch her breath. She took one last look into the other room to see if the boys were still sleeping and then closed the door.