Chapter Twenty-Six

Dean picked up the remote from the bed and threw it against the wall, a roar of frustration coming from him.

Sam stood in the doorway, watching him. Dean turned to him. "God dammit, Sam, what?"

"You know what, Dean. Go talk to her," he said, exasperation in his voice.

Dean nearly laughed. "Are you fucking kidding me? Jesus Christ, I was just talking to her! You saw how well that went!"

"No Dean, you weren't talking to her, you were yelling at her. And you weren't listening to her." Sam stepped further into the room. Dean could tell he was angry. "Of all the people in the world, you should understand how she feels. That overwhelming need for revenge, to kill the thing that killed what you love, what you care about. That was the Yellow-Eyed Demon for us. Or Dick Roman after he killed Bobby. That's what this werewolf is to Amie."

"I don't care!" Dean growled.

Sam threw his hands in the air. "What the hell is your problem?"

"She is not going! I don't give a shit what she feels like she needs to do!" Dean bellowed. "How many damn times do I have to say it?"

Sam seemed to snap. "I think you've said it enough. Too bad you can't, or should I say won't, say the one thing that might keep her here." He stalked toward his brother. "You stupid, egotistical ass! Just fucking tell her how you feel. Stop making excuses, stop acting like any kind of emotion is your enemy! You are going to lose the first good thing to happen to you since Lisa if you don't fix this."

Dean stepped back as Sam came face to face with him. "Get out of my face, Sam. Right now." He put his hand on Sam's chest, pushing slightly.

Sam batted Dean's hand away. "No, Dean, I won't! Not until you do something about this! Before it's too late. Stop being a goddamn little bitch!"

Dean took a shaky breath. All of the anger and frustration of the last half an hour bubbled to the surface. Before he could even think about it, he punched Sam, an uppercut to the left side of his jaw. Sam stumbled back several steps before launching himself across the room, slamming Dean to the floor. Dean brought his knees up to Sam's chest and shoved as hard as he could. Sam flew backward, landing on the bed. Dean jumped to his feet, hands up, ready to fight.

But Sam just shook his head. "I'm not going to fight you, Dean. We both know that's not what this is about anyway. Go fix it." He got up from the bed and walked out of the room, pulling the door closed behind him.

Dean sat on the bed, dejected. He couldn't just "fix it" like Sam said. It wouldn't be that easy. If he went to Amie now and told her that he loved her, she wouldn't believe him. She would think he was saying it to keep her in the bunker. Which in all honesty would be the truth. Well, partially the truth.

He needed a drink. He crossed the room and grabbed the whiskey bottle from the side table. He picked up a glass, looked at it, then set it back down. Screw the glass. He drank straight from the bottle. Maybe if he got drunk enough, he'd be able to tell Amie how he felt.

Shit, who was he kidding? Dean could barely admit to himself that he loved her; how did he think he could tell her? Why couldn't she just understand that this was how he was? Talking about your feelings, all that emotional-chick-flick-shit, none of that was his style, and it wasn't who he was. She just needed to accept that. He took another drink from the whiskey bottle and ran a hand through his hair.

He looked toward the door. He'd go talk to her, calmly. Try to reason with her. She had to listen to him if he wasn't yelling at her. Somehow he would convince her to stay here at the bunker. Then he'd call Garth and send him out to Nebraska to help Bill.

Dean grabbed a shirt and pulled it on as he walked out of his door and down the hall to hers. He knocked three times and waited. When there was no answer, he knocked again, louder. "Amie?" he called impatiently.

"Go away, Dean! I do not want to talk to you!" Amie yelled through the door.

"Just give me five minutes, that's all I ask," Dean tried to sound contrite.

"No, I don't think so. There really isn't anything you can say that I care to hear. Just leave me alone." There was a thump on the door, like something had hit it.

Dean decided to try another tactic. "C'mon, baby. Just open the door and talk to me," he cajoled, purposely using the low, gruff voice that he knew Amie liked.

Dean listened for any sounds coming from the other side of the door. "Please?" he tried again. Dean could hear her moving around and the low sounds of either the television or a radio. He waited several minutes, but she didn't come to the door. Apparently she wasn't falling for it. He decided to give her some more time.

Dean hadn't meant to fall asleep. He had been trying to read the book that Game of Thrones show was based on, but sometimes the author just really liked to ramble on and on about inconsequential crap. He'd only set the book down on his chest for a second, but apparently that had been long enough. He looked at his watch as he came awake.

"Shit," he sputtered, scrambling to his feet. He'd been asleep for almost four hours. He hadn't wanted to wait that long to try to talk to Amie again.

He padded down the hallway, bare feet slapping on the floor. He knocked quietly, not wanting to wake anyone else in the bunker. He waited, but there was no answer. He knocked again, louder. He tried the door, but the deadbolt was locked.

"Amie, honey, open the door. I just want to talk to you for a minute," Dean coaxed. He put his ear against the door, straining to hear any sound—the TV, the slight movements like he'd heard earlier. There was nothing, it was completely quiet.

He rested his forehead against the door, one fist poised to start pounding. "Look, either let me in or tell me to go to hell. Just do something so I know you are in there and listening." Dean tapped his fingers impatiently against the door. He looked up when Sam stuck his head out of his bedroom door.

"She's not answering," Dean said. "Let me use your lock pick kit."

"You're gonna piss her off," Sam responded. "More than she already is." But he reached inside his room, grabbed his kit and threw it to Dean.

"I don't care." If she would answer me, I wouldn't have to do this." Dean opened the kit and quickly set to work unlocking the deadbolt. He half expected her to yank the door open before he could finish, that cute, pissed off look he found so adorable on her face.

But Amie didn't open the door, so Dean was able to pick the lock. He pushed the door open.

As soon as the door swung open, Dean knew Amie was gone. Some of her clothes were thrown haphazardly on the bed; her weapons were gone, as were her backpack, boots and jacket.

"God dammit!" he muttered, turning and stalking down the hallway. She couldn't have gone out the main door, he had locked it hours ago and pocketed the key, fully expecting her to try something like this. There was no other way out. He figured he would find her somewhere in the bunker, pissed off and pouting. He was actually surprised that she wasn't back in her room.

"Come on, Sam, help me look for her," he told his brother as he passed him.

"You think she's still here? In the bunker?" Sam inquired, following Dean.

"Yeah. I locked the front door. She won't be able to pick it and there is no other way out. She's probably just sitting somewhere, pouting. Let's find her so I can talk some sense into her." Dean answered as they walked toward the library.

Dean heard grunting and scraping sounds before he even hit the library. He quickened his pace, curious as to what it could be.

"Son of a bitch!" he swore. The noises were coming from Kevin. He'd been tied to a chair and gagged. But more disturbing than that was what Dean saw behind him.

The grate had been removed from the vent in the corner. It was leaning against the stairs. A chair was underneath the vent, a box balanced on the seat.

Sam took the gag out of Kevin's mouth. "Alright, Kev, what the hell happened?" he asked as he untied him.

"I don't know. I fell asleep while I was doing some research. When I woke up, Amie was upstairs, trying to open the door." Kevin pointed at the door at the top of the stairs. "I told her it was locked and you had the key." He nodded toward Dean. "She came back down here and looked around for a second. When she grabbed a chair to put it under the vent, I got up to go get you. Next thing I know, I'm in the chair, tied up with a gag in my mouth. She patted me on the head and apologized. Then she climbed up there, opened the vent and crawled through it. That was three hours ago."

Dean heart seemed to stutter in his chest. She had really left. He had thought she might try and he had taken the steps to stop her. He should have known she would figure out how to get out. He needed to go after her.

"She's headed for Nebraska. That's where Bill said the pureblood werewolf is. Sam, get on your computer and check for signs of werewolf activity there. She'll turn off her GPS, so I'll have to fly blind. I'm gonna go get my stuff." Dean turned to leave the room.

"Wait," Sam stopped him. "What do you mean, you'll have to fly blind? I'll go with you."

Dean shook his head. "Not this time. I need to go after her alone. I don't want her to feel like the cavalry came after her. If we both show up, she'll think it's because I didn't think she was capable of doing this on her own. Maybe if I go in alone, I can convince her to let me help her. You can stay here and feed me information."

Sam thought it over for a minute and then nodded. "Okay, you're probably right. I'll get to work right away."

Dean stalked off. He wanted to get his stuff as quickly as possible. The quicker he got on the road, the quicker he could find Amie. Then and only then could he stop worrying about her.