She awoke to bright white lights and a fuzzy head, lying on her back. Hospital? She thought. But soon enough, thoughts drifted up through the swamp that was her mind, and she remembered. Amelia barely managed to choke down her scream. But tears leaked out her eyes. Angry at herself, she raised an arm to dash them away. Then the scream burst out. Her shoulder, oh GOD, her shoulder. The sling didn't immobilize it quite enough. Even the tiny movement allowed her caused almost unimaginable pain. She heard running footsteps, and the sound of a door opening.

"Are you alright? What's the matter?" A concerned face came into her vision. A nurse.

"My," she gritted through the pain. "My shoulder. Moved it. Hurts."

She closed her eyes, and surrendered to the pain.

"I'll put you on a higher dose of pain killer, ok? Try not to move your shoulder. It was dislocated for quite some time, so there was a lot of swelling. It will take a while to heal, but there shouldn't be any permanent damage. The doctor will be in shortly to talk with you, now that you're awake. Other than your shoulder how are you feeling? Any other pain?"

Amelia tried to concentrate on any other part of her body but her shoulder, and failed. "No, I think I'm ok."

"Alright, I'll go tell the doctor you're awake. See you in a little bit."

She left Amelia alone with her pain. A few minutes later, she heard voices outside her door, and soon the door opened.

"Hello, I'm Dr. Hotch," a voice announced, and a pleasant-looking woman stepped into Amelia's view. "How are you feeling?"

"Sore," she grunted.

"That's to be expected. Your shoulder was very swollen when you were brought to us, so it will not heal as quickly as dislocations usually do. It will have to be immobilized for a few weeks. Other than that, you sustained no serious injuries. Some minor lacerations and some blood loss are the worst of it. We have you on an IV for the pain and antibiotics. Do you recall any head trauma? We're not too worried about a concussion, but it's always a possibility in accidents."

Accidents? What kind of accident does she think I had?

"No, I didn't hit my head."

"Good, just making sure. With no concussion, the only thing keeping you here is the antibiotic regimen but that can be switched to pills when you leave. I'd like to keep you until tomorrow just to make sure things are healing properly, but if you really want to you can probably leave sometime today. Now, with your permission, I'd like to do a quick examination, blood pressure, pupil response and such, since that you're awake."

"Sure, whatever," Amelia told him, and submitted to being poked and prodded. Soon enough, she had finished, but she didn't leave.

"There are two men outside," she finally told Amelia. "They're from the FBI, and they seem very eager to talk to you about the accident. I tried sending them away, but they insisted. You don't have to talk with them if you don't want to, I will send them away."

The only word she heard was "accident."

"Sure, send them in," she mumbled.

The doctor opened the door. "Alright, she'll see you."

Two men entered, suit and tie, and came to stand by her bedside.

"Hello, we're agents Hammett and Ulrich, we're from the FBI." They held out ID badges, and smiled down at her reassuringly.

She heard the door close behind the doctor.

"Who the hell are you?" She grunted, trying very hard to keep her eyes from drifting shut from the painkillers.

"FBI, we're-"

She cut them off. "Cut the crap. Dean, wasn't it? I seem to remember you wearing plaid."

They exchanged a glance. After a few seconds, the tall one shrugged, and Dean looked back to her.

"Alright, we're not FBI, but we're here to help. We figured that something nasty was going down here, and came in just in time to save you. Now, we need to know what we're up against so we can kill these sons of bitches. What can you tell us about who attacked you?"

Her eyes drifted shut. "They're," she struggled for the words, "they're not..."

"They're not human?" Dean suggested.

Amelia opened her eyes again. "Wait, what?"

"Just tell us what happened," the other one said.

"Um. Well, we were in the house, my family and I. We were back for a few days. I was upstairs. I heard some noises, then screaming, so I went downstairs. And," she swallowed. "There was blood, everywhere. They had torn my niece apart." She started shaking. "Just ripped her to shreds."

"Did you see them?"

Amelia nodded, and tried to get a hold on herself. "Three. Two women and a guy. Red hair. Blue eyes. Bright blue. Really pale, dead looking sort of. They were eating Marie and my father. They knocked me out then, and I woke up in that warehouse hanging from the ceiling with everyone else."

"Just three?"

She nodded, and wiped her nose on the sheet with her good hand.

"Did you notice anything unusual about them? Anything at all?"

She stared up at them blankly. "They ATE my family. Other than that?" She laughed in scorn. "Didn't really notice. ARE they human?"

"Thank you for your help," the tall one smiled at her briefly, ignoring her question. "We'll stop them."

"Now, obviously you can't just say this to the police if they question you, they'll think you're crazy," Dean told her. "We brought you in, said that we had found you on the highway. Probably best if you don't remember any of it."

They turned to leave.

"Wait," she said, lifting herself off the bed, and they stopped.

"Remember something else?"

"You're going to kill them?" she asked.

They looked at each other again.

"Yes," Dean said.

"Good," she relaxed. "I'm going to help."

"Wait," the tall one said, "what?"

"They killed my brother, my family," she explained. "I want to kill them."

"That's not a good idea," Dean told her. "These things are dangerous."

"Yea, I kind of gathered that," she said, bitterly.

"You're still injured," the other one argued.

"I can still fight," she snapped, and to prove it, she sat up, swung her legs over the side of the bed, and hopped to the ground. For a moment she wasn't sure if her drug hazed body would respond, but she kept her feet under her somehow. She took the two steps to stand directly in front of Dean, pale, dazed, and in pain, but completely determined.

"I need to do this," she told him. "I have to do this."

He stared at her for a few seconds, brow furrowed, but then shrugged. "Fine if you want to get yourself killed be my guest, but you have to do exactly as we say."

"Done."

"Dean," the other one started, but Dean cut him off with a look.

"Stay here until tomorrow morning, then check yourself out. We'll figure out what we're up against."

She studied him. "You won't kill these things without me?"

He looked back at her, then finally, "no."

"Shake." She stuck her good arm out.

Dean sighed, "really? Pinkie promises next?" But he took her hand and gave it a shake. "We're at the Road King hotel, room 239. Bright and early."

"I'll be there," she told him.

Then they left, and she crawled back into her bed, her legs shaking from the effort she expended. She hardly cared. Revenge would be hers. Sleep took her softly, and the drugs muffled her dreams.