Chapter Twelve

So This is What it Feels Like to Slowly Lose Your Mind.

Dean was two sheets to the wind and over his head in memories of things he'd left behind long ago. Harvelle's was a couple of days drive behind him and so were the people that mattered the most to him. The drink of the night was whiskey, neat and meant to make him forget all those things that he missed so bad it hurt. He was trying his best to forget but it wasn't working worth a damn.

Every time the bell above the door jingled to announce a new arrival, images of another time flooded his vision. Knee high leather boots, shoulder length auburn hair that in the right light shone with gold and red. The face of an innocent nothing more than a mask, betrayed by a wickedly female smile… Cal.

He couldn't regret leaving her, not if it meant she was safe and alive. The memories were killing him, had him wishing that maybe things could've gone differently. There was a sharp stab of loss, an empty space she once filled that was now forever destined to feel empty. Yeah, trust the woman to bring out all the chick flick emo crap in him. God, all he wanted was to forget. Was that so much to ask?

Some nights he entertained the idea of taking a girl back to his motel room and just bury himself in her in a vain attempt to touch some semblance of what he'd left behind. This wasn't one of those nights. The loss was too immediate; the pain too sharp. There was no hope in delusion when he sank this low. Nights like these the only friend he wanted around was his old pal Jack. Yep. Good ole JD. He and Mr. Daniels were going to get real friendly before the night was out.

He lost track of how long it'd been since his arrival. Hours had passed since his first drink, this much he knew for sure, or pretty sure anyway. He was also pretty positive that he'd hit double digits with the drinks. The bottle the bartender had been pouring from had been full at the beginning of the night. It was almost empty now and as far as Dean could tell he was the only one in the place drinking the stuff.

Huh, not too shabby, Winchester. Bet that O'Sulivan chick can't beat a full bottle of Jack in one night. Then again, giving what he knew about her it was possible he was selling her short. At least she wasn't around to prove him wrong this time; funny how he didn't find much comfort in that.

Looking up from the amber filled glass in his hand, Dean figured they were probably getting close to closing time. What with the way the bar was starting to clear out and the waitresses being more concerned with cleanup than serving drinks, couldn't be anything else. There were more folks leaving than coming in and the music had died off. A calm hush that was part alcohol and part exhaustion fell over the place as things wound down for the night.

The waitresses slowly cleared their tables and cleaned messes left behind by thoughtless drunk patrons earlier in the evening. The drunks were slowly being ushered out into waiting cabs outside. Dean was expecting someone to usher him out soon too, given the fact that tonight he was one of those drunks and they'd already announced last call. It was a surprise to hear the jingle of the door opening again instead.

There were murmurs of welcome as the new arrival ordered at the bar, though Dean didn't bother to look up from his glass. Whoever it was had to be local because everyone who was still here knew them. He probably wouldn't know who it was but the folks working here did. There was familiarity in the quiet greetings made as the newcomer made her way across the room.

Mind drifting he tried to picture what she'd look like if he cared to lift his head long enough to find out for himself. She had a light walk, though a little heavy on the heel. Probably tall for a woman, but smaller than him for sure or she'd be making a lot more noise.

She'd be slim, he mused, and just a little muscled in all the right places. Probably limber too. Such a shame he wasn't in the mood. He just loved bendy women.

A redhead maybe? Yeah, a fiery little wildcat. Or maybe a soft, curvy blonde whose kisses were as warm and liquid as that first rush of arousal. Anything but a brunette. Dean had sworn off those for good. Still hadn't recovered from the last one. She-who-will-not-be-named. Caitlin O'Sulivan.

He absently listened to the footsteps, mind still knee deep in fantasy and waist high in regret there was no denying existed.

Imagine Dean's surprise when the footsteps stopped right across the table from him. A clean glass half full of sparkling amber slid into the circle of table currently occupying his line of vision, guided by a small and very familiar hand.

"Hey, Winchester. Fancy meeting the likes of you here, eh?" A smoky voice from the past trespassed on his night of sorrow and solitude; the comfort of it nevertheless wrapping itself around him like a warm blanket. He'd known they'd run into each other again sometime, especially after the near miss at Harvelle's. He just hadn't expected it would be so soon.

"What're you doin' here She-Ra?" He slurred at the table top, still not willing to look up and confirm that she was actually there.

"Workin'." If you could speak a shrug it would've sounded just like that. Cal couldn't be any more aloof. For some reason, that really annoyed him. He'd known she wasn't one for dwelling on some guy, but this was ridiculous. Besides, he wasn't just some guy. He was Dean-freakin'-Winchester, thank you very much. It was insulting the way she was just moving on like that… even if that's exactly what he'd wanted her to do in the first place.

"Huh. O'course you are." It was probably way too much to hope for that she might be there looking for him. Couldn't hardly blame her for putting him in the rear view though, he had been the one to do the leaving.

"Wrong tense. Was. I finished with the salt and burn about an hour ago." The wooden chair legs screeched as she pulled it out and sat down.

"So I take it the old broad really was buried out at that farm on the edge of town?" He'd come across the town ghost story while searching for the werewolf he'd come looking to kill. Having already taken care of that nasty, rabid canine problem he'd planned to dig up the woman's bones before leaving in the morning. Seemed SheRa saved him the trouble by taking care of it. Wasn't the first time she'd beaten him to the punch line. Probably wouldn't be the last either.

"Yeah. I haven't heard a sad story like hers in a long time. She sure as hell wasn't a vengeful spirit. Couldn't have gone a more tragic way either." Cal was strangely reflective about this one and he wondered briefly why that was. Restless spirits were usually attached to some sob story or another. Just another part of the job. Usually SheRa was out looking for a party after a good salt and burn. Had things changed that much with her since they'd last faced each other?

Why was it he still felt the need to offer her comfort, anyway? Shaking it off, he gulped down the last of the whiskey and put on his best 'I don't do chick flick moments' look. "Well, it's over now. Maybe she'll find peace wherever it is she went."

"I'd like to think so." There was a hint of sadness in her voice that surprised him. Hearing it there was just enough to coax him into finally looking at her. Hazel eyes got as far as the small, able fingers circling a glass identical to his before he lost his nerve. The sight of her hands alone, enough to make his breath catch and his heart beat a little faster.

"So… why here?" Because the last time they'd been in the same room together that she'd been aware of he'd broken her heart and she'd tried to break him.

"Eh?" Walls up, poker face firmly in place she put on that I could care less air that was so believable. Even drunk as he was, he knew her better than that.

"This table. Me." Suddenly it was essential that he know why. He needed her answer like he needed air to breathe.

"Oh, you know me Winchester. I see something interesting, I indulge." So that's what tonight was. An indulgence. A booty call. Well, it wasn't surprising was it? She was renowned for them after all. All over the damned continent.

"Yeah, I know you alright. You sure about this?" There would be no promises this time. No talk of long term. It would only be the one night and he would leave as soon as it was light enough to. Cal needed to know that because this thing she was suggesting? It just wasn't going to happen if it meant he'd put tears in those big blue eyes of hers again.

"You're seriously gonna ask me that?" She gawked at him, obviously surprised. Apparently she hadn't expected him to care how she felt come morning.

"Uh huh." Well what? He'd left because he loved her; not that he'd tell her that, or anyone else for that matter. It was the only way to maintain her way of life. No way was he going to hurt her without a damned good reason.

"Oh. Well then yeah, serious as a heart attack."

"And you want me to…?"

"Look, we haven't seen each other in ages. Regardless of how things ended you've got to admit that we had fun together."

"Yeah. We did, didn't we?"

"It's been awhile, Winchester."

"Don't I know it."

"Ask me to stay then."

"I'm not stickin' around Cal. Come daylight I'm outta here."

"Me neither, got places to be. Just need this tonight." Need you. Words unspoken, the ones she really meant that only he could understand.

"You're sure?"

"Indulge me." How the hell was a guy supposed to say no to that?

"I'm-uh- real drunk right now. You up for driving?" 'Cause there was nothing sexier than those booted feet pushing the pedal down to the floor and the roar of his baby's engine rumbling right through them both. His hand tracing a path traveled time and again, from the top of her boot right on up to the inside of her thigh and further still.

"We'll walk. Motel's just across the street."

Okay then. At least that explained how she knew where to find him.

There were no more words then. A quiet moment passed as he watched her throat work, swallowing down the contents of her glass. The sight alone was indecent enough to be illegal in thirty different states, though he wasn't sure they arrested folk for that kind of thing anymore.

He woke the next morning in his own motel room bed, not quite sure how he got there, with the ghost of a smile still on his lips. Sliding over on to his stomach toward the opposite side of the bed he took a deep breath looking for the lingering scent of her on the sheets they'd shared.

Instead he got a nose full of cheap laundry detergent and his own stale sweat.

Cracking open an eyelid he took quick stock of the room. There should have been a lamp turned over and in pieces on the floor next to the crap dresser. The chair in the corner ought to have been lying on its side three feet from where it was and the shower curtain should have been ripped right off the rod in the bathroom.

What had happened? Cal wasn't the type to clean up or fix up the morning after. Had they switched rooms sometime during the night?

Slowly he got out of bed and trudged his sorry self over to the window. Maybe her car was still in the parking lot or maybe she figured she'd beat him at the leaving part. Either way, it couldn't hurt to get his bearings.

The bar should have been just across the street, his baby parked right where he could see her. Instead, there was a cemetery. The very same one that was rumored to house the spirit Cal was supposed to have helped along before they'd met up the night before. His Impala was nowhere in sight. Damn it all to hell!

There was the smallest chance that the woman had taken his car for a joy ride again. Now that he was awake and more or less sober, though, the night before was starting to come back to him in bits and pieces.

When he'd walked in to the bar, Dean already hadn't slept in days. The werewolf hunt had worn him down to nothing, but he'd been satisfied with a job well done. There was something about the loyalty between the wolf and its mate that had struck home, though, so he'd needed a distraction.

Three or four shots into that bottle of JD Dean overheard some of the local ladies talking about a ghost in town. Hey, it sounded like a distraction to him. So he'd placed a call to the motel nearest the cemetery where the old girl was supposedly buried. No sleep meant he hadn't bothered to get a room anywhere until then. No use in wasting cash on a bed he wasn't going to use. So he'd drown in JD for the night, crash in the room he'd just rented and get started with the fresh investigation case in the morning.

Damned if he hadn't gone ahead and got himself so plastered he'd hallucinated a wild night with the exact person he'd been trying so hard to forget. There was the vaguest hint of a memory of someone ushering him into a cab, though he was pretty sure he'd got himself into the room on his own steam. "I'm loosing my ever-lovin' mind here!" He whined into the palms of his hands, back to laying face down on the mattress. Maybe sticking around for this ghost thing was a bad idea. It would take a lot of road to put this one behind him. The sooner he got started, the better.


Alright, so what do you do when you're pissed off at a guy? You go out and kill something dead in the bloodiest, messiest kind of way. Cal had done it before and it worked like a charm so now she needed a hunt. Fast. 'Cause if she didn't get the chance to kill of something supernatural soon in order to work out some of this frustrated anger she's got pent up inside (Damn Dean Winchester and his twisted ways of protecting the people he loves) then somebody would end up dead. Well that's how she got into this whole mess in the first place wasn't it? Dean-frreaking-Winchester, of the legendary Winchesters; an icon in and of himself in the hunting community. Son of 'the great John Winchester', brother and protector of Sam, the psychic Winchester. She'd known him to be trouble before even setting eyes on the guy.

Of course, she never figured she'd end up falling in love with the freak. Also, this whole breaking her heart business? Yeah. Never saw that coming either. If someone had told her a year and a half ago that she was going to fall madly in love with a guy only to have her heart broken she would have laughed herself to tears. Then she would have socked the idiot one on principle alone. I mean really. Cal was the one who broke hearts, not the one who suffered from them.

Fitting really, this vampire deal that had fallen into their laps while waiting for the Cowboy to call with a location. Whatever it was that she and Dean had between them had begun with the damned things hadn't it? So why not go out and destroy a nest of 'em to work the heartache out of her system? She'd hit the bar scene first, of course. Call it intel, and if she found herself a one-nighter or a bar fight to work it all out in the process than all the better.

Unfortunately the bar was a little swankier than was their norm. Impossible to walk in with knife hilts peeking out of the rim of her boots without getting kicked out. So she was going to have to rely on Sam to protect her if it came down to it.

"Dammit, I hate this! I feel so naked without my boots." And knives, but that went without saying even though she groused moodily about it anyway. Dressing up was fun, but not nearly as fun as it should have been had she been carrying.

"Yeah Cal, that's exactly what it is. Couldn't possibly be the fishnet stockings or that obscenely short schoolgirl-plaid skirt you're not really wearing." God, Sam was starting to sound a little more like Dean all the time. "Nobody likes a smartass Sam." Who was she trying to kid? He was a Winchester. They practically invented sarcasm. The look he gave her was pure Winchester too. She could hear Dean's voice in his eyes. Yeah, yeah. Whatever floats your boat princess.

Well didn't that just clinch it, right there! To hell with the boots and her knives, she was hitting the bar with all of her womanly wiles and let mankind fall where they may. Nobody told this girl what to wear and got away with it.

So she waltzed into the bar and found herself a jealous, pointy toothed freak instead of a one night stand. It was that first encounter with Earl all over again only she wasn't seventeen this time and she had backup.

The guy wasn't half bad on the eyes for a vampire. He kept her in drinks so at least there was an upside to the supposed wooing process. Dude was obviously trying to get her drunk, hoping to get laid or so she'd thought at first. Hard to say if she'd found their monster until he let his teeth down but Cal wasn't averse to upping the game to get what they needed.

Their suspected vampire quickly found himself in competition for Cal's attention when the bartender started sizing her up. Not surprising that he would like what he saw. Who wouldn't want to ply a half naked woman intent on a little fun with whatever she wanted? That bartender? One hell of an awesome flirt. It was just too bad that when Dean left, he'd taken her poker face with him. Visions of staying past closing time and having her way with Tony-the-bartender right there on the polished wood started playing themselves out in Cal's head. Suddenly the competition could read her mind.

Their vampire didn't open his mouth to object. He didn't snort or huff around about it. He just reached a determined fist over the bar and connected it with Tony's face.

Tony must've been a New Yorker at some point in his life because he didn't even blink. He didn't motion over to the bouncers or put in a call to the cops. Nope, Tony just stuck his tongue into the damaged part of his cheek, testing the tender area for blood, and swung out. Had he been hitting a regular guy the move would have knocked his opponent down to the ground. This wasn't a regular guy though. First sign of hostility and the vampire had his second set of teeth out, ready to feed.

"Sam!" A hoarse cry as Cal jumped the bar and its tender, covering him with her own body as the vampire grabbed for her legs. "Stay down." She ordered her would-be conquest. "You got anything sharp back here?" Tony pointed to a set of tiny paring knives. "Just those, for the lemon." Great. The one night she'd walked into a fight without her knives and now she was stuck with baby sized, garnish-prepping toothpicks. Her backup was supposed to be right by the door, but when she poked her head up above the bar he was nowhere to be seen. "Fine time to be stepping out there Sam!" Putting emphasis on the younger Winchester's name, yelling it loud enough to be heard over the screams halfway across the room.

The vampire had some brave fool by the throat, shark-like eyes leveled on Cal. The message in their depths being you're next. Okay, maybe it wasn't such a bad idea to palm the paring knives after all. "Whatever happens, you stay down here. You hear me? Don't move, don't get seen. If that thing sets eyes on you again he'll go right for the throat and you'll be dead." Tony just nodded, though Cal wasn't so sure he'd listen. He kept eyeing up the shotgun under the cash register to her left. She couldn't worry about him now, though. Not with a rampaging vampire on the loose and Sam gone lord-only-knew-where.

"Hey you, with the teeth!" In one bold move she hiked herself up to standing on the shiny bar top and called the vamp out. "I'm the one you wanted, right? So, what're you waiting for?" It was a very Buffy sort of move, an attention grabbing stunt meant to shift his focus long enough for the folks in the bar to be able to get away. It worked. In less time than it took to blink he had pounced on her, apparently ready to follow through on all the 'courting' he'd been doing throughout the evening. Aw, isn't that sweet. He's a gentleman. You know, if gentleman were all about groping chicks they want to eat after trying to get them drunk all night. Cal sure knew how to pick 'em.

It had pushed her up against a wall, right into a corner so he could properly invade her space and prevent a getaway. He had roving hands, bad breath and some kind of kink that involved smelling his prey. She didn't like it. To put the point across she reached up behind him, pretending for all the world to be giving in, and planted one of the paring knives into the soft spot at the base of his skull. "Sorry, Sharp Tooth, I'm not into mouth breathers." She'd hoped to sever his spine or at the very least knick it enough to make it hard for it to move from the neck down. He did drop to the ground, more out of surprise than any real damage. Glaring up at her, it growled ferociously. "You're a hunter!" No kidding, Sherlock. How'd you work that one out? "And you're about to be dead." There were three more knives in her hands. Too small to sever the head but she hoped to at least be able to immobilize the thing long enough to get her hands on something bigger from the car.

Unfortunately Tony the bartender had his own ideas as to how this was going to end. "I got this, cupcake." He drawled, pointing the shotgun at the vampire's head as if that was going to help anything. There was no time to educate the ignorant, though, because the vampire lunged again; insulted that anyone thought he could be felled by puny buckshot. A lot of things happened then. First, Tony emptied the contents of his gun into the vamp, which made absolutely no difference except to piss it off some more. Cal shoved Tony aside just in time to catch the brunt of the vampire's body-slamming move. Somewhere, someone shouted her name. It might have been followed by the word 'duck' but it wouldn't have mattered anyway, because she was already flat on her back, legs up in the air. The vamp was standing above her, taking a moment to lord the moment of her demise over her. Then it was in two separate parts. His head laying to her left by her shoulder, body sprawled awkwardly to her right.

"What just happened?" She asked no one in particular, staring dumbfounded at the end game of the night's job. "I did." John Wayne was standing off to the side, a wickedly sharp, filthy machete dripping with blood held down at his side. "Where d'you come from? You're supposed to be tailing the Caveman. And where's Sam? He was supposed to be watching my back and he disappeared right when things got messy." She was trying to brush the sticky mess of dirt off the bottom of her skirt, kicking her shoes off at the same time. Wouldn't do to ruin a good pair of sandals in vampire blood. She was rather attached to her shoes. It was the girl in her.

"He's just outside, got a call from Bobby. We got Dean. He's two streets over, out cold at the motel. I got to head out, to do a job so it's on you two now. You up for it?" Uh, no. She was pretty sure she never wanted to see Winchester ever again. Only, it was strangely exciting to think that he was just a few minutes away with no idea that they were nearby. What did that say about her current state of mind?

"Cal. We've got to move. We lose Dean now, there's no telling how long it'll take to find him again." Well yeah, sure. Let me just hop up and run when you call, there, buddy. "Sure thing Sam. It's not like I was almost Vampire bait just now or anything. How high would you like me to jump?" But the sass was lost on the closing door. Sam hadn't heard a word past 'sure thing.' John Wayne extended a hand to her, chivalry dialed up a notch to help her out of the mess he'd made saving her life. "I'll get this before I go." Which was good because if Sam was in too much of a hurry to check if she still had all her parts then he certainly didn't have the time to dispose of a body. Monsters notwithstanding. "Thanks. I owe you one." The faux-Duke smiled slick and toothy. "I'll hold you to that, kid." He warned her but she wasn't in the mood to pick a fight.

A quick flirty wink in Tony's direction and she was strutting the soiled schoolgirl skirt out the door like some twisted supermodel. If John Wayne chuckled as she did so, it wasn't worth her time to do anything about it. She had a couple of Winchesters to put in their place. No better time than the present.