Chapter Eight

Dean waited impatiently for Sam to unlock the motel room door, his foot tapping on the cement walkway. Sam pushed the door open and stepped out of his way. Dean maneuvered through the door, making sure not to hit Amie's head on the doorjamb. Sam leaned in and caught Dean's eye. "I'm going to get everything out of the cars. I'll be quick."

He didn't answer as he moved to put Amie down on the bed. Once she was out of his arms, he took his jacket off and tossed it on the chair by the bed. He leaned over her prone form on the bed, his eyes trying to look at everything at once. She hadn't regained consciousness since they left the Gas-n-Go, not even when he had awkwardly shoved her into the front seat of the Impala. Sam had tried to get him to put her in the back, but Dean needed her up front where he could check to see if she was still breathing and try to assess her injuries. Where he could touch her.

He moved in and sat next to Amie on the bed. His fingers probed her head, where he found a considerable bump on the back. He had seen the blonde demon kick her and sending her flying across the room, her head slamming into the heavy wooden desk. Next, his hands slid down her neck and over her face. The cut on her lip was worse, probably from a punch. Her nose had obviously been bleeding, if the caked blood on her upper lip was any indication. Dean sat her up, pulling her against his chest so he could slip off her jacket, which he dropped on the floor. He eased her t-shirt up, exposing her stomach and the area just below her bra, wanting to see what kind of damage had been done by the kick. Unfortunately, he couldn't tell what bruises were old and what were new. She seemed to breathing okay, so Dean hoped that meant no broken or cracked ribs. His brain tried to comprehend the number of bruises he saw, but it just couldn't. Amie had been a lot worse off than she had let on after the Wendigo fight. And now it was even worse.

"How is she?" Sam asked as he pushed the motel room door shut and locked it. "She wake up yet?"

"No, not yet," Dean answered. "And she's beat to shit. But I can't tell what's from the Wendigo fight and what's from tonight." Sam stood next to him and whistled softly. "Shit, she's one giant bruise," he commented. Dean eased Amie back down on the bed, pulling her shirt down as he did. "Get some damp cloths, will you? I'm want to try to clean up some of this blood."

Sam nodded and went into the bathroom. Dean heard the water in the sink a few seconds later. He moved to the foot of the bed so he could pull off Amie's boots. He dropped them to the floor, rolling his eyes at the neon-striped socks she wore. He pulled those off as well, dropping them next to her boots. Just then, Sam came out of the bathroom and handed him a wet washcloth. Dean set it on the nightstand and turned to look at his brother.

"I'm going to take her jeans off, try to make her more comfortable. I also want to get a look at this cut." Dean pointed to a jagged rip on Amie's thigh that was surrounded by blood. He moved to unbutton and unzip her jeans. Sam snorted. Dean looked up at him. Sam put his hands up and smiled.

"Trust me, Sam, this is not how I envisioned getting Amie out of her pants," Dean deadpanned. He couldn't believe he was joking right now. "Help me." Sam went to the foot of the bed and grabbed Amie's pant leg while Dean pulled the pants down past her hips, being careful to keep her sensible, yet sexy, black underwear in place. He could feel how soft her skin was as his fingers skimmed her upper thighs. Dean took a deep breath. That was so not where his mind needed to go right now. Sam helped him pulled her jeans the rest of the way off and dropped them to the floor. He moved to the other bed and sat down, instinctively knowing that he needed to let his brother be the one to take care of Amie.

Dean grabbed the warm cloth from the table. He cleaned the blood from the cut on her thigh. Fortunately, it didn't look very deep. He moved up and sat next to her on the bed, gently wiping the blood from her face. Amie stirred slightly, groaning. A second later, her blue eyes looked into Dean's green ones.

"Hey," she whispered.

"Hey, yourself," he replied. "How you feeling?"

Amie moved her hand to her head. "Like shit." She glanced around the room. "Where are we?" Her eyes moved back to Dean's.

"The motel in Butler," he answered. "And before you say anything, yes, you're in our room and yes, you're staying here. Got it?" Dean scowled, but he continued gently wiping the blood from her face.

Amie closed her eyes and grinned. "Yes, sir." Amie's grin faded and she grabbed Dean's arm. "I'm sorry, Dean."

"I know. I'll save my 'I told you so' for later. First things first. Do you think you need a hospital? Can you breathe alright? What about your head?" Dean tossed the washcloth to the table and took Amie's hand.

"No, no hospital. My head hurts. Shit, everything hurts. But I can breathe fine. I just want to sleep. Can I have some Advil?" Amie moved to get up. Dean pushed her back down and looked at his brother.

"I'm on it," Sam said as he moved off the bed and start rummaging through his backpack.

Dean put the pillows against the headboard and moved Amie to a sitting position, wincing as she winced. He grabbed a bottle of water from the table and placed it in her hand. Then he crossed the room, poured himself a drink and came back to sit in the chair beside the bed. Sam handed her the Advil and sat down.

"Did the demons say anything? Any indication as to why they might be here?" Sam inquired.

Dean watched Amie squint, obviously having to concentrate on talking. "No, nothing about why they were here. But they knew who I was. The big demon, in the overalls, he called me a 'hunter bitch' before I had even pulled a weapon. That's unusual, because I am usually the last one they suspect. And the blonde, she called me 'that female hunter that hangs out with the Winchesters.' She was going to use me to get close to you guys and report back to somebody she called 'the Queen.' But she got pissed when she couldn't possess me." Amie shifted and pulled down the edge of her underwear, right by her right hip. Dean could see white lines in the skin. "Anti-possession tattoo. Anyway, then you guys showed up." Amie leaned her head back against the pillow and closed her eyes.

Sam looked at Dean, shaking his head. Dean knew what he was thinking. Nobody they knew was safe. Since Abaddon had come back, she had been on a quest to find the Winchesters. Sam and Dean didn't tell anybody where they were, not anybody. Amie was the only other hunter they consistently worked with. And now, it looked like they would have to keep her close as well. Sam jerked his head to the side, indicating he needed to talk to Dean. They rose and crossed to the other side of the room.

"This isn't good," Sam said. "We need to lock down, big time. Nobody and I mean nobody can know where we are. And Amie is going to have to stay with us. No more separating. She was probably the last hunter that Abaddon didn't know about. Obviously that's not the case anymore."

Dean agreed. "Yeah. Make some calls, find a storage unit. We'll park the Mini there. She'll have to travel with us. I'm not letting her out of my sight. She won't like it." Dean glanced over his shoulder at Amie's slumped form. She'd either fallen asleep or passed out again. "But she'll have to get over it." Dean turned and crossed back to the bed. He wrapped his arms around Amie, moving her so she was laying down. He pulled the blankets over her and moved back to Sam, who had set himself up with his laptop at the table. Dean pulled the other chair out and sat down. He refilled his glass from the whiskey bottle.

"You alright?" Sam asked.

Dean contemplated the glass in his hand before taking another drink. "Yeah, I'm fine." He stared off into space. His emotions were all over the place and he was having a hard time keeping himself in check. He wanted to throw something, anything. He wanted to kill Abaddon, but he didn't know where she was, or how to kill her for that matter. He wanted to hole up somewhere with Amie and never leave. He wanted to dump her at the bunker so he and Sam could hunt without him worrying about her getting hurt. Dean rubbed his forehead. Shit, he didn't know what he wanted anymore. He glanced at Amie. She seemed to be sleeping, curled on her right side, her hand tucked under her chin. He knew he didn't want her hurt anymore. Dean took another drink, emptying the glass. He set it down on the table and leaned back in his chair. "Anything?" Dean asked Sam.

"No, I can't find a reason that there would be so much demon activity in the area. Just like I couldn't find anything this morning. But obviously the signs are correct, otherwise Amie wouldn't have stumbled on those demons in that Gas-n-Go. What do you think we should do?"

"I don't know. Wait." Dean tapped his fingers on the table. "Or leave. Shit. We can't fight Abaddon, we don't know how. And I guarantee that she will know where we are, sooner rather than later. We need to go. In the morning. Shag ass back to the bunker and regroup. We need to figure out how to kill Abaddon before we do anything else."

Sam was quiet for a minute. "Yeah, you're right. Let's get some sleep and we'll leave in the morning." Sam closed his laptop and stretched. He looked at Amie sleeping on Dean's bed. "You want my bed? I can sleep on the couch." He pointed to the saggy couch against the wall.

Dean grinned. "Yeah, you're not fitting on that couch. It's like five feet long. I'll sleep in the chair next to Amie. I can pull it next to the bed and prop my feet up." Dean stood up and moved toward the bed. As he passed Sam, he patted his shoulder. "Get some sleep, Sammy."