21. Stitches

Red. Knife. Blood. Stinging. Pain. Fainting.

I don't replay the entire incident in my head, only flickers. I'm glad for the flickers, they cause me enough stress.

Once I push away the thoughts, I take in my surroundings. I know I'm back in someone's bed, probably my own if I have to guess. Someone's with me, I feel their warm hands on my arm. I'm not dead, I'm alive. I'm alive on fool's luck.

I decide to open my eyes. My vision is a bit blurry at first, so I have to blink a lot. Once I see clearly, I see that I'm back in my room, and that Dean is at my bedside. I snort quietly. He's got my left arm and is running a needle and thread through it. I watch curiously.

His eyes are taken off the stitching long enough to meet mine. He smiles tenderly. "Hey, Max," he says quietly.

"Hey," I croak. God, my voice is scratchy. "You my doctor?"

"Yeah."

"Where's Sam?"

"He went back to bed."

"Oh." I clear my throat. I want to sit up, but since Dean's doing patchwork I don't want to.

"You haven't been out long, if you're wondering." The green eyes go back to the stitching. "I just started this fifteen minutes ago."

"I feel like I've been out for longer."

"You feeling anything?"

I shake my head. "You got me on painkillers?"

"Would you rather be waking up with burning arms?"

"Definitely not." I continue to watch.

"This doesn't bother you?"

"Not really."

"You ever stitched yourself up?"

"No, but with some things I've seen, this is the least worst of them all." I wince as I feel the tug. "It's the feeling that creeps me out." I shake my head. "I can't understand it. How could I have not known I had a demon nesting in me?"

"It probably wiped your memory."

"They've got to have some serious power to do that." I scoff.

"Some do." He snips the thread.

"You should have become a doctor," I half tease. "Your patchwork isn't half bad. I'm assuming you two get injured a lot."

"More than we'd like," he admits. "If you want to get comfortable, do so now before I start on the other arm."

Taking his advice in mind, I sit up, painfully using my arms to put a pillow behind my back. "Did you believe it?" I ask as Dean rethreads the needle. "What the demon was saying?"

"What, about it posing as you? A part of me did. But I should know better. Demons are well-known for lying out of their asses a lot."

I snort out a laugh. "I can see why." I flinch as I (somehow) feel the needle poke through my skin.

"You don't have to look, Max."

"Would you rather me stare at you the entire time?"

"It would be nice to have the attention from a woman," he jokes.

"Don't expect me to shower you with sappy flattery. That's not my style."

I think I hear an echo of a laugh from him. "I didn't think it was."

I examine both my arms. The one that's freshly stitched up makes me look like a monster, and there's faint reddish tint on it. Must be from the blood.

"We almost lost you, Max, to it," Dean says softly. "It knew where to hit...I thought you were dead in my arms. There was so much blood..." He keeps himself focused on the stitching. "We left a trail when I carried you in here. We'll have to clean up the mess soon."

Looking now, I can see some red, dark tint to his clothes. I must've bled out onto him. But I doubt that traumatized him any. Blood would be the least of his worries.

"So the clothes, and my sheets...?"

"All stained."

I sigh. "Damn it." I pause for a heartbeat. "You and Sam have any ideas as to how the demon got into me?"

"I've got a theory. A demon would be downright stupid to try and get to you through here. It got you when you were outside the bunker. My guess is that first grocery trip we took, when you had that spell in the bathroom."

"You think the demon caused that?"

"It's possible, or it's possible that you had a bad spell, like you told me. Either way, the demon saw the chance and took it. It did everything perfectly to keep us all unaware." He grimaces slightly. "But we should have picked up on something. It covered its tracks until here."

"Maybe it got too caught up in its game." I shrug.

"We don't blame you for that, Max. I hope you know that."

"But I should have told you," I whimper.

"You didn't know."

"You're right, I didn't. But I think Portia had an idea."

"Portia?"

I nod. "She'd sensed something was wrong with me, suggested that I tell you. I wanted to, Dean, I did, but...there just wasn't a good time. And eventually I forgot all about it." I bite my lower lip. "And...and there's something else. I should have told you when I noticed it."

At this, he stops the stitching to look at me. "What, Max?"

"I...when we were at the Cassity farm, I...I saw the Hellhound, w-without the glasses. I saw it when it got Margot, as clearly as I see you now."

"But you didn't make a deal."

I nod. "No, I didn't. So, I'm wondering if...if that was a side effect to having the demon in me."

"It's possible. They can see the hounds, no holy-oiled glasses needed." He finishes up my right arm, snipping the thread. "Now I wish you had said something. We could have stopped this...you wouldn't be like this."

"Dean, it's not your fault, it's mine." He moves away to grab some white gauze. "I should have said something, but I didn't, because I thought it was a fluke."

"Well, now you know for future reference to come to Sam or me for anything like that again." He starts with my right arm, wrapping the top of my wrist first. "If I go too tight, tell me."

We lapse into silence as we both watch the gauze eat up my arm, at least to my elbow.

"This is why I didn't want you to hang around, Max, so you wouldn't get hurt," Dean tells me lowly. "But really, where else do you have to go?"

"That's just it. I have the streets, and I don't want to go back."

"Maybe it's time we took you out of the field and put you permanently in here, just so you're out of the way. You definitely are with this. Other arm now, if you can move it without hurting."

It takes some time, but I move myself so Dean as better access to my left arm. "I think staying here is the best idea I've heard in a long time. Even with the demon attack, it's still a pretty damn safe place."

"But you do realize this means you're not touching a gun anytime soon, right? I don't want to have to re-stitch you all because you tried to fire one shot." Dean tugs the gauze on my arm so that it's not loose. It's not suffocating my arm.

"Fine, officer, I'll behave."

"You want to tell me what that demon was talking about?"

"What do you mean?" He can't be referring to what the demon said about how much I mean to him, or he means to me, can he?

"It said you were...damaged." He says the word delicately, like I'll bite his head off.

"Well, take a look at where you found me. I tried to steal the Impala." I shrug. "That should say enough about me."

"I don't know, my gut tells me it's something deeper. Something you want to bury."

"Everyone has something they don't want to remember," I say stiffly. "I'm sure you and Sam have your demons to hide, no pun intended."

"Oh, yeah, there's a whole novel full." Dean finishes off the gauze on my arms. "There we are. Now we've got the closest thing to a mummy in the bunker."

I would nudge him, but I don't want to tear the stitches beneath the gauze. "Thank you."

"We couldn't let you die, Max. You've been through some shit with us."

"Yeah, yeah I have." This is much bigger than what I've had to deal with more. "Does this mean you two are my butlers for a while since I'm limited?"

"We're not waiting on your every whim, Max," he scolds me. "We're not your babysitters. You're, what, thirty-five?"

I look at him, mouth agape. "Never ask a woman about her age, Mr. Forty."

"I am not that old."

I cock my head. "Really? Fifty? You have to be older than me."

"Tell me your real age, and I'll tell you mine."

"I have your word?"

"We'll see how honest you are. Real age, go."

I look him dead in the eyes. "Thirty-three."

"I'm only older than you by a year."

"You look aged for a thirty-four-year-old."

"Yeah, well, my job will do that."

"Fair enough," I consider thoughtfully. "You think you and Sam can teach me some demon exorcisms? Or defense methods? You know, just in case something happens again?"

"If we can find the time to, sure. But if not, you'll have to do that on your own."

"I don't want to have another episode of this again," I said defiantly.

"Let's hope we don't. Try not to scratch these, either. Just try and rub them."

"That'll get annoying fast." I frown.

"I don't want my masterpiece tampered with."

I giggle. "Oh, God."

"Least you got some color back in you."

It's the moment of weakness that snares us both. First it's the silence, then it's the blue eyes meeting green. The rest of it plays out. I'm sure my cheeks get more color-probably go ruby-red-as big hands cup my face. If my arms didn't hurt so much, I would have gladly put them around his neck.

For someone who's a badass on the job, the kiss is...soft. Timid, almost-something I don't expect coming from Dean. The touch is soft, like if he puts any more pressure on me, I'll shatter. Why is this happening? Should this be happening? I should be asleep. Dean should be in his room, asleep. Why...? Is this because I'm in pain? Is this a pity-kiss?

My mind feels a bit clouded over once we break apart. He still has my face, and our eyes meet. I want to look down, but I can't bring myself to.

"Dean..." I whisper, trying to figure out where I should start.

"I-I think we need to sleep this off," he says quickly, clearing his throat. "Clear our heads, you know? It's-it's been a long night."

I don't get a word in; Dean grabs the medical stuff off the bed and removes himself. He doesn't even say "goodnight" as he leaves the room. I want to hug myself. What's going on? We just kissed. Why? Was it a fluke? I wanted to talk it out with him, but he fled so damn fast from my room that I didn't have time to think up words.

I'm left to my thoughts in silence. I'll take these thoughts than the demon incident earlier tonight any day of the year.

**[whispers] Dax.

Well, their kiss had to happen sometime, right?**