Amelia’s mouth twists sourly downwards and Dean -Dean, Dean, Sam’s brother, Dean- cocks his head to the side, eyes and smile hard and manic.
"Excuse me?" he says, too sweet to actually be sweet at all.
"You heard me," Amelia’s voice tremors slightly but she doesn’t back down, angles her chin up higher in compensation. "You’re no good for him."
Dean sucks on his teeth and Amelia gets the feeling that if they weren’t in public -standing outside the ICU, Sam laid out in a bed hooked up to hoses and wires and machine between them- and if she weren’t a woman she’d know what Dean Winchester’s fist tasted like by now. She wishes he’d try it, just to give her an excuse to show him how she really feels about getting a call from her insurance at two in the morning and having to haul ass out to Michigan to see what a year’s done to Sam Winchester.
"What’s Sam’s favorite color?"
"What?" Amelia blinks.
"His favorite color," Dean repeats through gritted teeth. "What is it?"
"I-" She blinks again, thrown by the sudden shift in conversation. "Blue? Blue."
"Green." Dean’s hand joggles at his side. "What’s his favorite song?"
"I don’t see-"
"Don McLean, American Pie." Dean rattles off. "Favorite food? Book? Do you even know what movies he likes to watch?"
"I do!" Amelia snaps. "Westerns, he likes Clint Eastwood movies."
Dean laughs but it sounds more like a sob. “I like Clint Eastwood movies.”
Amelia opens her mouth but all that comes out is a half sound, the start and stop of a word, but her mouth has no real plan of action.
Dean exhales slow and loud through his nose and looks her over. “You don’t even know him,” he says, but it sounds like ‘How could you think you could be better for him than me.’