When I was little, too little to be left behind in a motel room and too far away from anyone trustworthy enough to keep an eye on me while my family went out, I was the Impala's benchwarmer. I would sit there and brood as they shuttled from place to place, talking to witnesses, families of victims, logged time at the library and the police station and the morgue. I hated it and would complain and whine and whine and complain until Dad threatened to put me out on the side of the road if I didn't shut it. I didn't think he would actually do that, but with John Winchester, it's best not to call bluffs. So I would seethe more quietly.
I didn't appreciate being relegated to that again, but in this hunt for Dad, which had turned kind of dire over the past few days, that's what had happened. And what's worse, even now that I was older and this was a case that DIRECTLY AND DEEPLY AFFECTED ME, I wasn't being TOLD anything, which made me so angry I could spit. They had leads; I knew they did, and we were in a new town, from what I could gather, the last place Dad had been seen. But whenever I asked a question, I was offered cheap words of comfort, ignored, or snapped at, depending on the circumstances (and the brother).
"What's a woman in white?" I demanded one day when they were actually in the middle of TALKING about women in white, so I figured it was a relevant enough question.
They continued as if I hadn't spoken. I gritted my teeth and tried again. "Guys. What is a woman in white?"
Sam, to his credit, glanced away from Dean. "It's uh—it's what we think Dad was here hunting."
"But what is it? Is it dangerous?"
Dean let out an annoyed sigh. "No, Cal, it's one of those perfectly harmless monsters."
Stung by his sarcasm, I smacked him on the shoulder. "You don't have to be a dick about it," I grumbled.
He fixed me with a look. "Sit back and put your seatbelt on," he instructed.
I gave the back of his seat a petulant little kick before slumping back with my arms folded, glaring daggers at my brothers. "Kick my seat again, little girl, I dare you," he growled before turning his attention back to Sam and continuing their conversation where they'd left off.
I felt a little like crying, and a lot like kicking Dean's seat again, much harder (but I didn't have a death wish). The thing was, my certainty that there was nothing to worry about, that Dad was invincible and was going to show up any day now and be pissed off that we'd started a freaking manhunt for him like he was some sort of rookie, was beginning to fade as the time went by and Dean and Sam grew more worried. And the fact that they didn't seem to think I was old enough or mature enough to be told any details, even if the details were scary or painted a worrisome picture of where he might be or what might have happened to him? That was making me nuts.
When Dean got out to fuel up the car, Sam turned around in his seat and looked at me. "You hangin' in there?" he asked.
"Oh yeah," I said snarkily. "Having a blast."
"I know it's boring," he said. "Once we check in somewhere I'll see if I can convince Dean to let you hang out and watch TV while we head back out."
I frowned. "He's never had a problem leaving me alone before; why now?"
"I don't know; with Dad missing he's reining everybody in. You know Dean. Trouble surfaces, his protective instincts go wild."
"Yeah, because otherwise he's so chill."
Sam grinned at me and I looked away, because his smile had always been hard to resist and I wasn't ready to forgive him yet.
"Hey, so. When are you leaving?" I asked instead of returning his smile. "You told Dean you had to be back by Monday."
He hesitated so long I almost thought he hadn't heard me, except we were in an otherwise-silent car and there's no way he didn't. Finally, he said, "I do, yeah. I think we've made good headway; Dean can take it the rest of the way no problem."
I laughed, but there was no humor in it. "That figures."
"What?"
"That you can't wait to get back to your regular life, the one without demons and monsters and … us."
"Callie, come on. That's not—"
"Yeah, that's exactly what you mean," I interrupted him. "You have to get back to classes and Jessica and, like, beer, or whatever it is college people do."
"Callie, it's not like that. You guys needed me, and I dropped everything. I'm here."
"You're borrowed," I spat viciously. "From your real life."
"That's not fair," Sam said, and I could sense that I had hurt him. I even flinched, because I loved him so much and the idea of hurting him was repulsive and made me want to scream. His voice was strained, almost angry but mostly just filled with emotion. "Cal, I tried, okay? Over and over and over again, I called you and called you and you wouldn't talk to me. All I could think was that you didn't want anything to do with me. What was I supposed to do with that? I was trying to give you what you wanted!"
"No one cares what I want!" I screeched, suddenly and completely undone. "You left us, Sam, and Dean only wants Dad, and Dad hates me, and I don't belong anywhere!"
I was crying and I couldn't make the tears stop or the words stop and Sam was looking at me in horror, like I'd suddenly started speaking in tongues and he didn't know what to do to make it stop, so I fumbled for the door handle and found it and opened the door and hurtled out into the gasoline-scented air and took off running from all of it. From Sam's betrayal and Dad's absence and Dean's impatience and my own purposelessness. I couldn't do this. I couldn't do this.
My feet left the ground and the air was almost knocked from my lungs as an arm caught me around my middle and swung me up against an unseen chest. I didn't have to look to know, though. I knew Dean's scent by heart, leather and motor oil and whiskey and aftershave. Family and comfort and home. I buried my face in the crook of his shoulder and neck and continued to cry. I could feel his movements as he finished filling the Impala's gas tank and placed the nozzle back in its holster before moving that hand up to my back, pressing me firmly against his shoulder.
"Hey, hey," he said. "You're all right, kiddo, it's okay."
He held me like that for a long time, and at one point I know Sam got out of his side of the car and was going to say something but Dean shook his head at him and Sam gave up and retreated and when my sobs subsided Dean opened the back door of the Impala and shifted me into the backseat. He reached across to pull my seatbelt across me and buckled it securely, then gently brushed my hair out of my face and said, "You want a Coke?"
It was a comfort offering, and I knew it, and I wanted him to think I was really all right, so I nodded.
He bought me a 20-ouncer from the gas station market and handed it to me along with an unexpected kiss on the top of my head.
And then we were on the road again, and none of us had said any of the things that needed to be said.
Winchesters, were we all.
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