Chapter Eleven
Amie stretched out in the backseat of the Impala, trying to get comfortable. She had folded her jacket into a makeshift pillow and shoved it under her head. She adjusted her iPod headphones and turned up the volume. She wanted to sleep. Maybe if she slept she could forget everything that was happening. She could feel the overwhelming need to cry taking over. She put her arm over her eyes, hoping she could stop the tears. She also hoped she could block out Dean. His need to constantly check on her in the rearview mirror was starting to get on her nerves. She knew he and Sam were waiting for the other shoe to drop, so to speak. She wasn't sure it was going to though.
She'd managed to suck up her anger and irritation and agreed to do what the boys wanted. But that didn't mean that she didn't feel justified in pouting just a little bit. When they were finally ready to leave, Amie had thrown her stuff in the back of the Impala without a glance at either Dean or Sam. She'd spent the first fifty miles of the eleven hundred miles of the trip to Lebanon, Kansas leaning against the seat, sunglasses on, watching Dean watch her. She had finally grown tired of seeing the concerned look on his face, so that was when she had put her iPod on and laid down. What Dean didn't seem to understand was that once Sam had explained what they needed to do, she had been surprisingly calm. She knew he was right, so arguing was pointless. Especially now that she and Dean were "involved," her being away from the Winchesters in any way was dangerous. Not only for her, but for him and Sam. Obviously, someone or something was after them. She couldn't handle it if something happened to Dean. She'd barely lived through losing those closest to her once before, and she knew she couldn't do it again. As Amie drifted off, her mind unwittingly pulled her into those memories.
There were days Amie couldn't remember why she had become a teacher. Today was one of those days. She wanted to scream and throw things, but then she'd just be acting like one of the junior high students she taught. The only thing getting her through the night was the thought that her husband, Frank, and her son, Joseph, were home waiting for her. She was anxious to hear about Joseph's first football practice and eat the dinner Frank had promised to make. She glanced at her watch for the third time, knowing she wouldn't be leaving for a while. Her last parent-teacher conference was scheduled at 8:00 and she still had to straighten up her classroom. Hopefully it wouldn't take her long.
It was after 9:00 when Amie finally pulled into the driveway. Frank's truck was in its usual spot, but she couldn't see any lights on in the house. She pulled her sweater tighter as she got out of the car; early October in Montana was always chilly. She peered around the yard, trying to see into the shadows, feeling like something just wasn't right. She moved slowly to the front door, on edge. She considered going back to her car to get the gun she kept tucked under the seat, but she felt ridiculous even thinking it. The boys were most likely in the kitchen at the back of the house and she just couldn't see any lights. Wouldn't Frank just love it if she burst in on them sitting and talking, her gun waving wildly? She giggled at the image.
Amie pushed open the front door, setting her stuff down on the table in the hallway. "Hello?" she called. No one answered, but she thought she heard the television in the other room. The light switch by the door had been broken for a couple of weeks, so Amie moved down the hall to turn on the light in the living room. It was a small lamp that cast a very dim glow. No one was in the living room, but Amie noticed what looked like chocolate milk spilled in a trail across the wood floor. What the hell? It seemed to continue on into the other room, Frank's office. Amie felt the muscles in her stomach tighten with dread. She took a couple of steps forward and bent down, putting the tips of her fingers in the dark colored liquid on the floor. She brought her hand up toward her face, finally seeing that it wasn't chocolate milk, but blood, that was coating her fingers.
Something inside her snapped and she shot to her feet, bursting into the office. The streetlight outside cast just enough light for Amie to see both her husband and her son lying on the floor. Frank had his gun clenched in his hand and he was reaching toward Joseph. Her son was curled in a ball on his side, blood covering the floor around him. He had been nearly torn apart. Frank's head looked like a burst melon, his familiar face unrecognizable. Amie hitched in a breath and screamed, stumbling backwards until her back hit the wall. She slid down until she sat on her haunches, her arms wrapped around her legs, tears streaming down her face, screams coming from her mouth. That was how the police found her.
Amie felt the scream rising in her throat. She was just able to force herself awake before it escaped. She shot into a sitting position, her hands flailing at her headphones and pulling them out of her ears. Tears were running down her face. She tried to breathe, but she felt like she was suffocating. Her heart felt like it was going to pound out of her chest. She met Dean's startled eyes in the rearview mirror. As she tried desperately breathe, she felt the Impala slow and drift to the side of the road. Dean was yelling something incomprehensible. A second later, the door flew open and he was pulling her out of the car. He held her by the upper arms, muttering something she couldn't understand. Amie shook her head and grasped his shirt. She knew she was having a panic attack, she knew she needed to calm down, ground herself somehow. She rested her head against Dean's chest, listening to the sound of his heart beating, feeling his chest rise and fall. She tried to match her breathing to his. He seemed to understand what she needed, because he stopped talking, wrapped his arms around her and just held her. They stood like that until Amie could take a deep breath, until her heart was no longer racing.
Finally, Dean stepped back and looked at her. "Alright, what the hell was that?" he questioned.
Amie wiped the tears from her face. "It was a panic attack. They started after my son and husband…." Amie's breath caught in her throat. "…after they died. I haven't had one in forever, but I fell asleep thinking about how I couldn't live through something like that again and then I was remembering it as I dreamt, and it just, well, I…." Amie ran out of words, unable to finish her sentence. She was crying again.
"Okay, okay. It's alright." Dean pulled her back into his arms. She clutched at him, desperate to keep him close. She hadn't felt like this in so long, not since those horrible weeks and months after the death of her family. Over the last year, if she felt a panic attack coming on she was able to calm herself down and stop it. She hadn't expected this one. It had to be because of Dean. He was the first person she had allowed herself to care about since Frank and Joseph had died, and now the thought of losing him had set off the attacks. Amie knew she would have to really work to get herself back under control.
Sam patted Amie's shoulder awkwardly. "We didn't know. Sorry. I mean, I knew they had died. We just didn't…." Sam shrugged. "Well, you've never talked about it."
Sam was right. Amie had never talked about it. She rarely did. Most people—people being other hunters—were aware that her family had been killed and that it had been what pushed her into the life of a hunter. It was just that after their deaths she chose to shut off that part of her life and move forward, killing the evil that was invading the world. If she could keep just one family from going through what she had, than she felt like she had helped. That was all. There wasn't anything else to talk about.
"Yeah, Sam, you're right. I don't talk about it. I don't need to. Look, sorry about what happened, but I'm okay. Let's just go." She moved to get back in the car and was surprised when Sam stopped her. Dean looked surprised, too.
"I'll sit back here. You go sit up front for now. But don't expect to pick the music. According to Dean, driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole." Sam laughed and maneuvered his lanky frame into the backseat of the Impala. He popped his head out for a second, "Unless you're gonna let her drive, Dean."
"Pfffft, yeah, right," Dean scoffed. "In her dreams." He gently pushed her away. "Get in the car."
"Yes sir," Amie smiled and walked around the back of the Impala. She took another deep breath before pulling open the Impala's door and climbing inside.