Chapter Twenty-One

Tried to Run but my Legs Were Numb.

Four days isn't such a very long time. Less than a week. This past year she'd have considered it nothing more than just long enough for a good dye job to set properly and get the right tint. Before she'd met the Winchesters she'd have said it was just short enough to have a good time with someone new without things becoming too serious. Four days used to be her limit before moving on. But that was before.

Cal had been through hell before. She'd been chased by psycho vampires. She'd survived a month long night in the Canadian tundra hiding out in an igloo with an Inuit Shaman. She'd survived the death of both her parents and the kind of heartbreak that comes once in a lifetime.

In her many years of hunting she'd lost fights, lost teeth, watched lives being lost unnecessarily because she couldn't move fast enough to save them. There were so many different times that she should have been broken. A girl had to stay strong though, and she was just stubborn enough to refuse to budge.

So, why then, had four days in that damned closet done the job? How had she managed to let herself be shattered so completely by a stupid out-of-control spirit, an empty stomach and a little exhaustion? If she wasn't so damned sad, right to her core, she'd have been really pissed off with herself. Why couldn't she just get mad? She should've been furious a million times over. Dean had decked Malcolm in that parking lot. She watched him break the guy's nose and toss him in the ditch not twenty minutes past, half asleep and aching in the backseat of his Impala. The Cal everyone knew would've hauled her sorry behind off of that leather upholstery and marched her butt out there to put the man in his place. But no, she'd just stayed put and watched as things played out.

Once upon a time (try even just four days ago) Cal would've been thoroughly insulted to hear two guys talking over her 'situation' and sharing notes on how she'd become so injured and broken, inside and out. Right then, she just couldn't muster up the energy to care. Was it too much to hope for that a little sleep would be enough to set things to rights?
Of course it was. When had things ever come easy for Cal freakin' O'Sulivan? And, good Lord, but she didn't even want to own up to the name anymore. Look what you've let them do to you, you little fool. Pick yourself up and dust yourself off already. But she wasn't listening to that inner voice anymore. She'd shut the damned thing off and wanted nothing to do with it. All that mattered was that Dean and Malcolm were there and that she could sleep safely enough to escape the pain for a while. The nightmares sucked but there was some small measure of relief in waking and escaping them. Just like there was some small measure of relief in falling asleep and not being able to feel for a little while. That's what her life had become, waiting out the pain until those short moments of relief could be had. Pathetic, girl. Just pathetic. And yet it was what it was.

"Tell me there's a plan." The front doors of the car were wide open and Dean was shooting the question over the roof at Malcolm. It wasn't every day that Winchester took direction. "Not yet but I do know a place..." But Cal stopped listening when cracked an eye open and got a good look at the foot she'd propped up. It had swelled up again. As if the pain had just been waiting for her to see what was going on to kick in properly, her vision started to white out around the edges. She might have spoken to tell the guys something was wrong but presence of mind was an issue so she couldn't be sure.

Then, the strangest thing happened. Dean got in the backseat, buckled in and propped her foot up on the pillow in his lap. "Hang in there, Cal. We'll get you fixed up soon, you'll see." Careful not to touch her foot he let his hand rest on her calf, just under the knee. Maybe the human contact was all she'd been waiting for. Maybe it was the reassurance. Maybe it was something else entirely. Cal didn't really want to look too closely at it, so for now she'd live with the mystery.

It felt good to lean back against the pillow that cushioned her back from the cold window and just let the tension go, handing the reigns over to someone else for a minute. She hoped Dean caught the significance there, because she wouldn't ever admit to it and it sure as hell wouldn't happen again. You can work at getting your backbone back later Catie. You earned a good rest. Yeah, maybe ignoring that inner voice was overrated because that sounded like some pretty good advice even if she was the only one to hear it.

"Dean?" "Yeah?" "We're going to have to stop somewhere and pick up some supplies before we disappear." This was not Dean's first clue that the mystery location where they would be holing up was going to be a little more than just 'rural'. "What kind of supplies are we talking?" "Food, water, blankets and a few other things I don't think you've got hidden in that tickle trunk of yours." "You did not just reference Mr. Dressup while talking about my badass car!" Oh, but he had. Not that Malcolm was going to point that out or anything. "Uh, I think I just did." Except that he totally was. Lucky for him Dean didn't want to wake Cal up so he let it go.

"You got a preference as to where we stop? Are we talking stuff that can get picked up at your average gas station here or do we need to go someplace like Walmart?"

"This place I mentioned earlier? It's been sitting empty for about sixty years." Oh. "I'm going to need you to stay in the car with Cal, just in case, and I'm going to need some cash." Malcolm had pulled into the empty parking lot in front of a closed corner store. "Yeah, sure. Let me just get right on that for you." What on earth gave the guy the impression that Dean was the 'sit and wait' type? Still, he carefully canted his hips up to get his wallet out of his back pocket without jarring Cal's foot. He pulled out a couple of twenty dollar bills and a shiny new credit card.

"The card's brand new, never been used so you shouldn't have any red flags to worry about. How long you think you'll be?" Dean was the only one with a phone so there was no way to communicate if trouble came looking for them. If they didn't have a timeline to stick to Dean would never know if Malcolm needed them to come in after him.

"Half an hour, give or take." Which wasn't all that helpful, all things considered, but Dean would probably come running as soon as that thirtieth minute went ticking by.

"What am I looking for?" It made Dean nervous to know that he'd never set eyes on these folks before. He didn't know what their tricks were. Would they look like Cal?

"No one knows where we are. You're looking for anyone who comes near the car. Men, women, children, teenagers…anyone."

"Okay. Just don't be any longer than you have to be, alright? The sooner we're holed up somewhere safe the better I'm going feel about all this." Cal was back to whimpering in her sleep. Her foot wasn't exactly improving. Dean was worried.

So this is how Dean came to be sitting in the backseat of his own car, heavily armed and waiting on a guy he didn't really trust to take a run to Walmart for the things they'd need to survive indefinitely in a place he'd never even set eyes on. Dean's parting words to Malcolm were: "Hey, Highlander, don't forget ice packs… and chocolate. She's going to want some chocolate." At least he hoped she'd want some chocolate. If she didn't ask for the stuff they definitely had something to worry about.

Distraction came in the form of a small group of kids playing basketball down the street in someone's driveway. It was a little late at night for it, but on a weekend in a normal neighborhood with regular families it wasn't that unheard of. So he listened to the delayed, hollow sound of rubber on pavement as the ball was dribbled from one end of the driveway to the other. One hand held the cool metal of the gun that would defend their lives if it came down to it. The other rested on warm skin that rose and fell with Cal's slow, steady breathing. He felt better knowing that for now she was safe. It was enough to ease the sting of having to sit tight and wait. Dean Winchester might not have a whole lot of patience for the waiting game, but when it came down to getting something he wanted he was damned good at it.

Malcolm had seen a lot of change in his centuries of life. There were bad times, like the Black Plague and the Spanish Inquisition. There were hopeful times, like during the gold rush and the American revolution. He'd been a soldier, a sort-of doctor and had helped countless slaves escape to freedom and Canada. Nothing ever amazed him more than the commercialization that had attached itself to everything in these past five decades.

As a boy he'd been taught that if you wanted something you had to make it for yourself. Now he could walk in to the nearest department store and fill a house from kitchen cupboards and furniture to bedroom closets and then some. It blew his mind but he wasn't complaining. It was this commercialization that was going to make survival more than just a possibility.

Dean was going to be pissed off when he found out how much had been spent on that credit card. In his defense it was mostly due to Cal's injuries and the fact that they'd had to leave their stuff behind in her car. They probably wouldn't ever be able to use the card again. Maybe just once more to fill the Impala's gas tank, they'd need to before they got where they were going.

He was paranoid, no doubt about that. The whole time he meandered through the store he'd been scoping out the other customers and tried to keep one eye on the nearest exit. Hard to say if it was the paranoia but anyone he saw more than once was worthy of caution.

True to his word, Malcolm managed to make it through the cash within half an hour of stepping through the door. He was packing up the supplies he'd bought into a couple of brand new duffle bags when the problem made itself clear.

By the door there were a couple of dark-haired children sitting on a bench. Not an uncommon sight at a Walmart any given day of the week, it being the middle of the night sort of raised a red flag. Still, that didn't necessarily mean he'd been made. It was the guys in suits scanning the crowd from the customer service desk that tipped Malcolm off. They were trying way too hard, making sure to eyeball everyone but him. Another cautious look at the kids yielded some interesting bulges under their clothing. Bad news was that they were carrying but the good news was they were undermanned enough to have to bring the kids along. There was a passing chance he might be able to get back to the car and load up before they made their move.

So he gave up on the packing and just wheeled the cart out of the store and straight off the lot, cursing how loud the damned thing was when its wheels met pavement. Little voices shouted from somewhere behind. He's getting away! The pit-a-pat sound of little running shoes racing across the parking lot far more sinister than any horror movie type monster he'd ever faced.

If he could only get to the car they could drive off and lose them somewhere in the twisting back roads so they could disappear.

Panic didn't even factor in until he laid eyes on Black Beauty. The kids that had been playing basketball had given up the game and were slowly making their way down the street, surrounding the Impala at a distance with the obvious intention of closing in and overtaking Dean and Cal who were still inside.

"You sure as hell took your damned time. " Dean was grouchy and on edge, window rolled down, door open and leaning out of the car the better to snark at Malcolm who was still a few dozen feet away. Never mind the fact that Mal was now at dead run, with a shopping cart full of stuff and a newly acquired unwanted entourage.

He was trying to wheeze out the words get your damned gun out, idiot but it just wasn't possible. Lucky for everyone Dean was an observant kind of guy. Before anyone knew what was going on Dean had a shotgun leveled across the roof of the car and had leveled a warning shot somewhere near the feet of the closest ambusher.

"We really need all that stuff?" He asked over his shoulder as Malcolm pulled open the driver's side door and started shoveling the contents of the cart across to the seat. "I'd love to say no but yeah, we really do." Dean looked like he could argue but he was too busy fending off the masses. It felt like it took forever but before long Malcolm was kicking the cart away and yelling at Dean to get in the car. They pulled off with the biggest, baddest tire squeal chased by a hail of dirt and gunfire. The sound of twisted children shouting obscenities haunting Dean more effectively than anything he'd ever experienced before.

"How'd they know where we'd be? We didn't even know where we were going." Suspicion, Dean's old friend, was back but Malcolm wasn't going to cater to it this time. "How does Cal know the things she does? They're connected Dean. They've had feelers out looking for Cal for ages. They knew who and what to look for. These guys are scary good and crazy enough to be really dangerous."

"Well that's just fan-freakin'-tastic. How in the hell are we supposed to hide from these people? I feel like I'm in a bad remake of that Village of the Damned movie. I'm half expecting to find out those freaky kids can read our minds too."

In the heat of the moment Dean had been too focused on fending off those freaky ass kids but now that the action had died down a bit it hit him. "My car. Those little brats had better not have even scratched her paint." Of course he'd be more worried about the paint job on his car than Malcolm's hide. "We're breathing right?" Was all the other man had to say and didn't it just figure the guy wouldn't understand. "We lose them at least?" There was no point hiding if the freaky little kids were just going follow them, was there? "For now." But there was no measure of triumph to Malcolm's voice when he answered. It didn't count as any kind of battle won. They'd come too close and it was just too soon to tell if they would be able to get away long enough to get where they were going.

"We're going to need more than a hope and a prayer, man. I'm getting the impression that's all we're working with." The sober tone was contagious because it was all over Dean.

On the other side of Malcolm's grim reflection in the windshield the asphalt stretched out dark and endless before them. "We'll just have to see what happens then, huh?" If it came out sounding like snark then Dean could just deal with it. There was enough to worry about without having to add hurting a big boy's feelings to the list.

Two days drive was what it took to get where they were going. Two days, four driving shift changes between Dean and Malcolm and just the one stop to fill up the Impala's tank and a couple of spares so they wouldn't have to again. Bathroom breaks were taken on the side of the road in whatever bush was handy, and with Cal that got sort of tricky.

They took every back road available, and some that probably weren't just to be sure no one saw where they might be going. Malcolm took them as far as humanly possible with the Impala before breaking the news that they'd have to abandon her and hike the rest of the way.

"You're kidding me, right? I'm not just leaving her here." Only there was no choice. There were no actual roads that led to whatever middle-of-the-nowhere piece of wilderness hell on earth Malcolm was leading them to. Driving through the brush wasn't an option. Not only because it would wreck the underside of the car but also because it was the equivalent of painting bright red arrows on the ground leading right up to their hideout. There really was no help for it. "I'm not seeing any other options here Dean." Cal was a little less tense but still very injured. Didn't take a genius to see that the sooner they got her stationary the better. "Fine, but you're helping me cover her up in that godforsaken shed. If she gets damaged, it's your ass I'm taking it out on. Got me?" Lesser men had tried and failed, but far be it for Malcolm to argue with a Winchester.

It was a six hour hike into the middle of nowhere and that was without the supplies. Cal had to be carried most of the way. At the end of their little trek there wasn't a pot of gold or a cute little house made of gingerbread and candy. No, what they got was a tiny little clearing with a decrepit abandoned train car and an ancient wooden caravan with no door that looked like a strong wind could knock it right over.

"This is it?" Dean was decidedly underwhelmed. He'd holed up in some pretty questionable places but this took the cake. They needed shelter, something that could take a beating. Something that wouldn't fall apart around them because of a light rain.

"Yep. Home sweet home." Though Malcolm's smile was tight he was genuinely pleased which Dean found pretty weird considering. Not for the first time Dean found himself questioning the other man's sanity.

"You're kidding." They'd just spent countless hours hiking running, dodging and hiking only to end up with a busted up quasi shelter that wasn't even close to livable. It had to be some kind of sick joke.

"Nope." A loving hand travelled along the edge of the wagon, fingers tracing some of the intricate carving along their path. "She's still in pretty good shape considering she's been parked here since the end of the Gold Rush." It would take a couple of days to whip it back into shape, but they had time and until then they had a roof and four walls to keep the elements away.

"She asleep?" He nodded to Cal who was draped across Dean's chest, eyes closed and arms slack. "I think so." There was that at least. The hike hadn't been kind to her. At least now she wouldn't feel like she had to put the effort into helping them clean out the wagon. "Set her down in the shade over there. We're going to have to beat the ticking and let it air out before setting up the pallet for her to sleep on. That'll take a while."

It wasn't until Dean found himself dragging a big lumpy mattress that was older than dirt through the doorless frame of the wagon that he figured out what Malcolm had meant. Little did he know Malcolm planned to set him to work and then just take off. So while Dean beat at the grandfather of all futon mattresses, swearing like a sailor the whole way, Cal slept quietly in the shade. By the time Malcolm had finished trekking the supplies back from the shed where they'd hidden the Impala, Dean had crashed out too, stretched out on his back beside Cal in the moonlight. Muscle memory had him resting a hand on her hip in sleep just in case, the better to wake him in the middle of the night should she start to toss and turn again.

Malcolm wasn't jealous. He couldn't give himself that luxury. That being said, it didn't mean he had to like this bond Cal and Dean seemed to share. Maybe it was the history Malcolm and her family shared spanning back through countless generations. Maybe it was that Cal had saved his life as a child. Maybe he was just experiencing some odd protective fatherly something toward her now that he knew Jacob wasn't around to look out for her any more. Who knew?

Whatever the case, there had been one too many intimate moments since Dean had joined their little duo, shared conversations without words that Malcolm had not been made privy to. Every time they read each other's minds, every time they shared a look or Dean predicted a need before even Cal realized it was there Malcolm felt a stab of something decidedly uncomfortable.

No, he wasn't jealous. He was just feeling a little left out. Right, old man, whatever gets you through the day.