Chapter Nine.

"The Wrong Place, The Wrong Time."

Once again it was Sam who managed to provide all the research, doing so with his usual insistence on fine detail characterised by long rambles on mythological genealogy that were often more lectures than briefings. Still, after sifting through several possibilities he did finally manage to arrive at a likely suspect for Cal's reservoir drownings – a water hag, specifically focussing on the lore around Jenny Greenteeth an Old English variant who was prone to pulling in and devouring small children.

Cal, for his part, did nothing to help on the investigation front, simply sitting back as Dean sifted news clippings and nodding in what appeared to be mock-enthusiasm as Sam filtered through pages of text and traditional folklore. Once a water hag was identified however, he was all eagerness.

"Well what are we waiting for then?" he'd beamed, bouncing from his chair and clapping hands together, "Let's waste it!"

Despite Dean's protests Sam had let Cal lay down the plan, arguing with his brother in a hissed whisper that it had been the other hunter's job in the first place. Dean had countered with the fact that they had done all the work but it hadn't seemed to matter and seconds later Cal had been offering a less than perfect plan.

"Ok, we all split up, divide the reservoir into three and each try and draw her out."

"No,"

Dean had not been buying. The last thing he wanted was Sam in any sort of proximity to Cal, especially if he was alone and in a position where he could need back up. Cal was not good enough to cover Sam's back. He wasn't good enough to cover anyone's back. Sam however had frowned,

"It makes sense Dean,"

Did it? Cal too had seemed eager to placate any fears,

"Okay, we just make a quick sweep. We don't find anything, we meet up and do a more thorough search together. Sound better?"

Only mildly, but since Sam seemed keen to fall into line with whatever Cal said – which in itself was grating enough – he didn't have a lot of choice.

"Fine."

Dean's search ended up being the wooded section at the far side of the reservoir, a mass of tall trees and sweeping branches dipping down into the gently rippling water which meant wrestling a path through the undergrowth – a fact clearly at odds with the route Cal chose for himself along the well-marked hikers' trail. Dean's dissent was palpable but following a quick exchange of looks with Sam he mercifully kept quiet. It was probably best he take his anger out on the branches anyway.

Sam's section took him directly along the most frequently used part of the reservoir, past the picnic benches that had been so well used in the summer and the little fishermen's jetties jutting out over the glassy stillness beyond. Around him everything sat quiet in the dark, the lack of sound making the calm swish of water against the banks sound vaguely thunderous, a constant lapping almost rhythmic in tone, like a natural beat, the crunch of his feet against the path the only other noise that offset the natural silence.

Somewhere in the dark across the other side of the reservoir, Sam could almost see Dean in his mind's eye, stomping through the tree line, gripping his gun and probably muttering death wishes about Cal.

The whole thing was still intriguing, intriguing in the sense that Sam still had no idea where his brother's bad blood had come from. It wasn't often Dean held a grudge, only usually against those who hurt or threatened his family and if that had been the case then Cal wouldn't even have survived the first night. The only other explanation was the sketchy one Dean had given him earlier about Cal being without a conscience, only that didn't make sense either. Men without consciences rarely saved the lives of others. Then there was the whole magical moving bag thesis Dean had, which was just insane. After all, who put someone in harm's way just to save them again? What did Cal possibly have to gain from such a scheme and where were the guarantees that a plan like that would have worked anyway? What if Dean had managed to get the upper hand over the vetala in the first place? What if it had thrown him down next to where the bag had actually been? No, Cal was all right even if Dean's caution made Sam hang back just a little. He didn't want to disbelieve his older brother but what it all seemed to boil down to was Dean's refusal to accept the fact that Cal was, in whatever sense, a reformed character. It was an endless puzzle but abruptly it fell from his mind as the sound of something hitting the water drew his attention back to the job at hand, a loud and heavy splash that echoed in off the trees and sent the calm waters bobbing violently around the bank.

Raising his gun upwards and swallowing hard Sam stepped in towards the nearest jetty, the toe of his boot inching out onto the cold damp wood as he peered down into the churning ripples, shot through with a cloud of mud and silt disturbed from the bed. There was no sign of anything that had caused the disturbance, no tracks on the bank, no figures or forms in the water, seemingly nothing under the surface. Cautiously he stepped fully onto the wooden walkway, taking it one shuffle at a time, his eyes alive for signs of sudden movement.

There was nothing.

Or at least there wasn't until the jetty gave way beneath his feet, the wood breaking clean through and dropping him into the drink with a suddenness that left him with no time to even shout out a warning.

The water was shockingly cold, ripping the breath right out of him as he submerged completely, the cold compressing his chest and seeping into every inch of his being as his surroundings reduced to a field of bubbles and oppressive blackness. It took him a second to regain his senses but quickly he kicked out, driving himself upwards with a furious urgency for breath as panic began to claim him.

He was in the middle of a pitch-black expanse of water with a human-devouring hag in it. Yeah, he needed to get out.

His head hit the solid underside of the jetty with a hard crack, sending his vision reeling and making him involuntarily open his mouth in a yelp of surprise. The water gushed in at once and abruptly the panic descended full-force as further realisation hit him. The jetty had collapsed above him and he was trapped. Underneath it. Underwater. Oh God.

Instinctively Sam's hands shot upwards, pushing his weight against the wood and being rewarded by a vague shift, the merest hint of compliance as it lifted up and away from the water. Just as he was anticipating success however it suddenly slammed down again, hard and uneven, ramming into his skull once more. Something was pushing it down onto him. Something was trying to drown him and it was starting to succeed as he hammered with his palms against the solid wood, his chest on the verge of bursting as it pushed him further and further downwards, pressing him into the bed with such force that he didn't even have the space to swim around it.

Where was Dean? Where was Cal?

A gunshot answered his question, the sound loud even underwater and ricocheting off the bottom of the lake. Splashing somewhere to his left and a sudden swell and change in the water told him that something else had entered the drink. A minute earlier and he might have been concerned but as he struggled to stay conscious his priorities shifted. As his chest began to spasm painfully, he opened his mouth in an involuntary response, the water rushing in again and cutting a way down his throat. He began to cough violently, being met with nothing but the rush of water and a horrifying sense that he was drowning.

He barely felt the wood shift away from above him until hands dove in through the water, hauling him up onto the surface and pulling him backwards into a solid chest.

He felt the air before he could breathe it, too busy coughing up great mouthfuls of the muddy water to be able to draw in any oxygen, weakly allowing himself to be hauled back towards the bank and dragged onto dry land with a grunt from his rescuer. Belatedly Cal fell into view, his face a picture of worry,

"Sam?" he barked, "Hey, Sam? You okay there?"

Rolling over to expand his lungs, Sam continued to cough, mixing it for the first time with an intake of air, scratchy and painful against his throat but air nonetheless. The relief felt brilliant.

"Y – yeah," he managed to croak through an alternate mixture of coughing and shuddering gasps, earning himself a hard slap on the back from Cal who was abruptly grinning with the thrill of the chase,

"Holy hell!" he exclaimed, "That thing almost had you!"

Sam blinked, understanding starting to filter into his brain through waves of relief. The water hag. He was about to ask what had happened to her when suddenly the moment was interrupted by a shout of alarm followed by the thud of heavy boots thundering in their direction,

"Sam!" It was Dean, even through water-filled ears he would have recognised that single syllable anywhere, managing a half-way normal breath as his brother drew in close and dropped into a squat beside him, one hand taking up a ball of soaked clothing and the tone softening slightly in a combination of all-out concern and a demand for some sort of reply, "Sammy?"

"'M'okay," he croaked unconvincingly, starting another series of watery coughs and obliging limply as Dean pulled him upright into a floppy sitting position, bracing him against his own side. Dean didn't seem particularly sold, instead turning to glare at Cal who had respectfully backed off a few paces and was watching quietly,

"What the hell happened?" he growled, the anger in his voice almost sharp with hatred. Sam winced on Cal's behalf unable to muster the strength to defend him. The other hunter was on his own, nor apparently, did he seem to mind much.

"I don't know," came the casual reply with a shrug as Cal paced towards the water's edge and peered in, gun still clenched in his hand, "I heard a splash and the next thing I know that damn old hag is sitting on top of the walkway pinning Sam under,"

Dean blinked, his incredulity momentarily tempering his rage,

"Wait. She pinned him under?" he repeated, as if for clarification. Cal nodded,

"Yep. Damned if I knew they could do that but I guess Sam here is a lot bigger than the kids she usually goes for," he shook his head absently, scanning the water and then turning around as he came to a conclusion, "Good thing I got back in time, few more seconds and he'd have been a goner."

The statement stalled Dean's retort, the truth regardless of the circumstances not something he liked to hear and unconsciously he tightened his grip on Sam's shirt, feeling the chest heaving under him as his brother began to better regulate his breathing, the coughing subsiding to an occasional splutter alongside deep drags of air.

"What happened to the hag?" he asked instead, sensing that Sam was in no mood for an argument. Cal grinned suddenly, holding his shotgun close to his chest and laying an arm across it casually,

"Wasted her. Don't worry, she won't be back."

"You sure?" Dean fired at him, glare narrowing patronisingly,

"Yep."

The gaze he got back was unflinching and, realising that no more ground was or should be made while Sam was sitting beginning to shiver beneath him, Dean dropped his head and nodded slowly,

"Fine. Come on Sammy," turning back to his brother he to began to shrug gently out of his jacket, draping it carefully over the younger's shoulders and watching him nestle into it gratefully, "Let's get you back before you freeze, okay?"

If there was one thing neither of them needed then it was Sam sitting out on an icy November night soaked to the bone. Everything else could wait, well, almost everything.

"Dean?" Sam began quietly, his voice halting, "I dropped my gun,"

It was a strange admission, borne of shock and chill and ultimately completely unimportant. Dean laid a comforting hand on his shoulder, managing an amused smile,

"Don't worry about it Flipper,"

It didn't get an answer but it did get a responding smile and a vaguely derisive snort both of which were comforting. Straightening up, Dean helped Sam to his feet, taking most of his initial weight and standing still until he was sure Sam had his balance.

"You okay?" he asked again, receiving a more convincing nod,

"Yeah," another long drag of air, "I think so."

"Good," clapping him on one shoulder, Dean wheeled him in the direction of the car, gently pushing him forward, "I'll catch you up in a minute,"

"W – what? What are you going to – ,"

The look Sam got back was almost scornful,

"Look for that gun of yours, what do you think?"

Maybe a Sam that hadn't been half-drowned would have fought back against what was probably a blatant lie, but whatever his feelings on the matter for once the youngest Winchester was in no mood to argue, instead turning in an awkward shuffle for the pleasant vista where they'd parked the cars. Dean watched him go in silence, waiting until he was past the tree line before dropping his gaze and letting his emotions show. In the silence Cal went to step past him,

"Maybe I'll go help him out," he offered absently, "In case – ,"

He stopped abruptly as Dean's hand wrapped around his arm, dragging him back until they stood nose to nose beside the quietly lapping water.

"This ends, now,"

"What?" Cal replied, brow furrowing in confusion. Dean smirked, the other hunter knew exactly what he meant and they both knew it.

Play stupid all you like Rudman, I'm not buying.

"This. Working together," Dean wasn't holding back, nor did he feel the need to, "Tomorrow you pack your stuff and you leave. You don't call us about jobs, you don't call us ever. Got it?"

For a moment Cal didn't respond, a variety of unreadable emotions crossing his face, primarily hurt.

"Sure," he offered eventually, blinking and throwing in an awkward shrug, "I was going to head out anyway. There's a salt and burn I was looking at. One man job."

"Make sure it stays that way."

Shrugging out of his grip, Cal turned, his face so convincingly confused that for a moment even Dean's resolved wavered. Maybe Sam was right after all. It was only a fleeting thought.

"You know Dean," Cal offered before he turned and trudged away into the darkness, his tread defeated, his shoulders slumped and his final words echoing around the woodland, "You don't know me half as well as you think you do."


Hmmm, the plot thickens (or at least I hope it does!) So, what are we all thinking of Cal at this point?

Sorry, I forgot to upload yesterday, that's the trouble with working weekends and having days off mid-week, you never really know what day it is! Hope this was worth the (little) wait though!