Chapter Thirteen
Smackdown, O'Sulivan Style
or: the one where the Metallicar gets caught in the crossfire.
"Vampire bait, huh?" Sam's first words to her as she stormed out to where he was waiting by the car. "Yeah, you know: like shark bait only far less pleasant." Nice try Sam. The guy might've been the more sensitive Winchester but there were very little signs of it just then. No way was a girl going to forget being left in the lurch, defenseless no less, at the mercy of a fang like he had just done. A huff of breath that could have meant any number of things escaped through Sam's nostrils that fogged up to make him look like an angry cartoon bull. Still, he didn't rise to the occasion. Rather he just let the moment pass, choosing to change the subject instead.
"So, that dream you had a while back, before you went off the painkillers for the bruised ribs? Well I might've mentioned it to Bobby." Oh. Was that what the call had been about? Not Dean related or work related but having to do with her own childhood and the connections her subconscious were making between it and 'the new guy'. "Ballsy move, I'll give you that." Credit had to go where it was due, and it really was a ballsy move. He knew what she did to folks who poked around in her past without permission. "I'm going to assume you had my best interests at heart, if only because I've already had my fight for the night." If he'd dared a laugh at that point she'd have socked him for it, but Sam was smarter than that. Sitting on the hood of the car she waited for the words to come.
"We might have a name, a real one, for John Wayne. One that could very well tie him to the dream." Oho! This is where things got interesting. "So? Hit me with it already. Maybe it'll ring a bell." Maybe she'd finally be able to shake off the disturbing juxtaposition of the current urban cowboy and the shaggy, bloody victim of her dream that had crazy glued itself to her thoughts. "Malcolm Mackenzie." Slight pause for effect. A quick glance at Cal to see what kind of reaction the name got, and cue the rest of the info. "I know, a mouthful, right? Bobby says he's been around for ages."
"I know that name. It pops up all over the place in my grandad's journals." Truth be told, the name popped up all over the family journals in general dating as far back as they'd been kept and then there was the dream. Uncle Mal, the half dead guy that neither of them was ready to mention. There was a very strong part of Cal who wanted to march right back into that bar and confront their faux-Duke about his connection to her family. That first part wanted to grill him until he spilled everything Up to and including what his sudden interest in her might be. That part of her also wanted to know where the hell he'd been the night her father had been murdered, or better still while the Earl was after her head.
Fortunately there was a much stronger part, call it her survival instinct, that wanted nothing more than to climb into the car and get as far away as possible. The demons they were looking to exorcise were Sam and Deans at the moment, not hers from the past. So, for now, that was the part that won out. So instead of walking back into the bar and dragging John Wayne out by the ponytail to answer questions, she took to the passenger side and waited for Sam to drive over to Dean's motel.
"So, what's the plan for Dean. Are we busting in on him and dragging him off in the night?" Curiosity got the best of her before they'd even pulled out of the lot. "No. I want to see what his plan is first. If we can figure out what he's doing then it'll be easier to catch up with him if he runs again." Sam was sounding more and more like a cop tailing a suspect with every passing day. I was sort of disturbing, actually. "Okay. Makes sense. For the record? Remind me never to do anything to piss you off. Wouldn't want you to come after me the way we're going after him.
It took two weeks for Dean to feel comfortable enough that he wasn't being followed to start slowing down and stepping out longer than just to get food. Two weeks of motel hopping from state to state. He never stayed longer than to shower and sleep. Even at that, if he felt like he was being watched he'd pick up and go, leaving the credit card behind. It was a giant pain in the ass for those who were trying to follow him; but then that was the whole point, wasn't it?
He'd taken to packing nothing more than an overnight bag to take in to the hotel, if he even bothered with that much. Like a condensed version of his usual rucksack only with just the one change of clothes. Not as much need for laundry and cleaning up as before. He hadn't taken a job since John Wayne had taken him by surprise. Often he'd shower, watch a bit of tv, order some takeout and start to feel antsy, like he was being watched. The fastest way to get rid of that feeling? Take to the road again. Sometimes he woke at three in the morning feeling particularly jumpy and took off again. Other days he wouldn't even bother with the motels, preferring to park somewhere secluded and catch a few hours sleep here and there instead of leaving a paper trail in any name at all.
Sam hated it when Dean did that. Though still fairly predictable, it made finding the idiot a whole lot more time consuming. All that time searching left little to no time for sleep before they were off again.
Cal and Sam slept sporadically in shifts. Sam at night and Cal during the day. It made sense because Sam worked best when his favorite resources were open and available (the library, public works agencies, etc.). So did Cal, and she never performed better than at night. Whether it was hitting the bar scene or charming their way to a free room for the night… or the hour depending on how restless Dean was on any given night. Considering how much moving around Dean was doing that meant they slept a whole lot less than he did, which was saying a lot. "Does the man ever sleep more than a couple of hours at a time?" Cal would whine. "I dunno." Was Sam's standard answer, because he didn't anymore. This man they were following was acting so unlike his brother in so many ways. He was beginning to wonder if maybe they were dealing with a shapeshifter.
Cal had never been so frustrated with Dean, and he was plenty frustrating. She couldn't count the amount of times in the months that followed that Sam woke her up; usually just as she was drifting off into a deep, dreamless sleep. "Cal, c'mon. He's loading up the Impala. We've gotta move." That exhausted voice as raspy as the day old growth that never seemed to leave Sam's face anymore. She'd moan and groan but minutes later they'd be ensconced in the front seat of the car, heading to parts unknown and praying to God that Dean didn't see them following.
Sam was having a difficult time dealing with the fact that his brother was acting like a stranger. Two weeks in he was exhausted, unkempt and completely befuddled by his brother's actions. When he crawled into bed and left Cal to the darkness and her post watching over Dean, he did so fully clothed expecting to have to get up and go at a moment's notice. Cal waking him at dawn so she could get a shot at some shut eye was such a surprise Sam actually got scared that maybe Dean had figured them out and given them the slip.
"He's in there snoring like a baby Sam." Cal reassured him, barely stopping him from running out the door and across to Dean's motel room window. "I went out there and checked on him myself about two dozen times last night." He'd been snoring, tossing, turning and talking in his sleep; but she didn't mention that. Sam would have felt guilty having slept so well while Dean was so obviously not. She figured the caveman deserved a little of what he was getting and Sam deserved a night's reprieve from babysitting his brother's sorry behind.
Cal, on the other hand, didn't sleep so well. Sam didn't try to get her up until sometime late in the afternoon, so it wasn't quantity that was lacking. It was quality. Every time she closed her eyes her mind would conjure up images from her past that ought to have stayed buried. When she wasn't seeing John Wayne the cowboy morphing into her bearded, beat up and bleeding 'uncle Mal' her subconscious was trying to lip read. Specifically: putting words to Dean's silent ramblings, witnessed through the crack of curtain from the dying shrubbery outside his window. I'm sorry babe, leaving you was the biggest mistake I've ever made. Or calling out to his father. Who knew? Maybe her subconscious was right. She didn't want to think too hard about it.
Either way, she didn't feel sorry for him for long. When Sam woke her it was so they could follow his brother to the nearest bar. What they witnessed that night broke Cal's heart and continued to do so until they finally had a plan and all their pieces in place.
So their new routine, the one they followed in the months of planning and chasing between that night and the night they finally approached Dean, was simple enough. They slept when Dean slept. Sam would take the early morning sleep shift (lucky bugger always got the motel room bed). Cal would take the daytime one (Usually on the passenger side of the car while Sam drove). One night she fell asleep in the motel room before Dean left for his usual nightly entertainment. Sam let her sleep and went after Dean alone. He never did tell her exactly what happened, but he didn't take her out to watch Dean as much after that. Didn't take a genius to figure out why, either. Dean wasn't the subtle type.
It's been months now, too many of them. Months of hunting alone, dodging the feds, late night phone calls to Bobby just to let him know he's still alive. Okay, so not 'just' for that. Part of it was to find out how Cal was doing too. Not that Bobby had much to say on the subject seeing as the damned woman was back on the road, hunting too and generally getting herself into all kinds of trouble. Still, she was safe. Safer than she'd be with him anyway. That made his decision worth it.
The hardest part was late at night. Middle of the night had always been the hardest for him, ever since the fire and… and his mother, and yeah, Jess too. Even thought he hadn't known her it had been yet another failure. Yet another loved one stolen in the dead of night right out from under their noses. Maybe that's why the hunt felt so good. It gave him something to do during that time. It was an excuse to be up and moving instead of sleeping and dreaming terrible dreams. It gave him a reason to forget for a while because if he indulged in thoughts of loss while on the job it could get someone killed. Of course, after that encounter with the cowboy and then the near run-in at Harvelle's the hunt wasn't exactly as available to him as it usually was. Not if he was going to lay low. Apparently things changed sometimes, and not always for the better.
Dean was Dean though and some things never changed. After the third or fourth consecutive night of lying awake, the pillow in his arms a poor substitute for the curvy body that used to lay there; he decided to go out and just forget. Best way to do that? Beer. Whisky. Whatever alcoholic drink he could lay hands on and lots of it. (So much for that promise he'd made himself that last time, huh?)
Right around his sixth shot of JD he started thinking… which incidentally? Not usually a great idea when he was that , he started thinking that the pillow? The one that was waiting for him back at his dingy little double bed motel room? Yeah, he could think of a few slightly better substitutes. Ones that would most likely also provide him with the kind of entertainment that would help him to forget. Though, this time? This time it wasn't flames and a beautiful blonde he needed to push from his mind. This time it was a brunette with blue eyes full of fire and life, an impressive knife collection and one hell of a temper.
So yeah, at this point there were two ways things could've gone.
One: bar fight. Because really? Cal was right. Nothing like a good bar brawl to work out a little frustration. Problem with that was he didn't have anyone to watch his back. As drunk as he was there was no way he'd get out of this hokey, cowboy type joint alive if he started something on his own. The thought of his baby in the parking lot being towed away god-only-knew-where because he'd up and got himself killed was enough to wipe option number one off the slate completely.
Two, though; two was a much more pleasant prospect. Two was a pretty little red head with hair that curled just so. She didn't look a thing like Cal, which was good since he was trying to forget her right now anyway. It sure looked like she knew how to tango. Hell,it looked like she wanted to tango. It had been ages since he'd had anyone other than Cal but he knew. Knew what to look for in a girl, how to tell that she wanted. How to tell what she wanted.
Green eyes looked him over appreciatively before she nodded to the bartender. Girl knew what she wanted. Dean had to smile at that. A smile that only grew wider when the bartender hit him with another shot of JD, compliments of his not-so-secret admirer. Good. She knew what she wanted and she wasn't afraid to go out and get it either.
Downing the whisky in one shot he caught her eye. A wink and a nod of thanks and now she was smiling back at him, a full on hundred watt type deal he was sure she used on all of her conquests. Warmed him right down to his toes… or would have… you know, if he could still feel them. That was good too though. Meant the booze were working.
Sucking back another swallow from the bottle of beer in his hand he steeled himself. The past was the past after all. He'd made his choice and there'd be no turning back on that now. Cal would've moved on by now. He was sure of it. Random one-nighters had always been her style, her way of dealing with it, keeping control of her life and getting what she needed all in one shot. The way he figured it? No reason he shouldn't fall back into old habits too.
She was on his arm now. Whispering her name in his ear. Something that sounded like Chris, Christine, Chrissy…or something. Didn't really matter, he just called her 'Red'. She liked it and he wasn't likely to forget it so it was all good. Whatever worked, right?
Wasn't long before they were in his Metallicar, speeding down the interstate as fast as he dared without calling attention to himself, headed toward the motel. She had her hand on his crotch, her fingers splayed across his hard length rubbing ever so slowly up… and down… and back again. They didn't even make it to the room that first time. He barely had the time to park the Impala out front of the motel before she had his fly undone and her mouth was… oh god… all over him. Didn't take long for him to come undone either, right there in the front seat of his baby; fingers drifting through Red's soft curls, thanking God for loose women and fast cars.
The rest of the night was a bit of a blur. Bed springs squeaking, loud moaning, gasps and whimpers, sweaty skin and pumping hips. It was every one night stand he'd ever had and then some which was probably why he couldn't remember most of it very clearly come morning. That and the obscene amounts of alcohol he'd drowned himself in the night before. That probably didn't help the whole memory thing much either.
Coming to was a strange experience, stranger than usual even for a one-nighter. Strange because for a second there, just one short suspended moment in time he thought he was right back at the farmhouse. There was a warm body lying on one of his arms, back tucked against his side, and all felt right with the world… until he curled himself around her. The body felt right, but the hair was all wrong and it brought him crashing right back to present reality. It. Hurt. So. Damned. Bad. She wasn't Cal.
Still it was better than waking up alone and feeling like he wanted to shoot the damned pillow next to him just for having the gall not to be her. It had worked… sort of and so he knew there would be more nights like these. That's how it started.
Now it was some more months later, could've been years for all the attention he'd been paying to time. Didn't really matter anymore, did it? As long as he stayed under the radar, away from the feds and far away from the people he'd left behind it was all good.
There had been so many women by now that he couldn't remember one from the other. Didn't really care to either. The less he remembered of anything these days the better. Blondes and red heads (he never touched the brunettes) all blurring one into the next. Each one a night of near-peacefulness in an endless string of haunted ones.
Tonight was bad. He'd taken a hunt finally, first one in ages. The poltergeist… he didn't even want to think about it. Damn thing had killed a kid tonight, before he could get close enough to kill it. A boy. All long arms and legs with a shaggy mop of hair; reminded him of Sammy as a kid. Made him think of the niece or nephew he wasn't sure had survived the demon's last attack on the Winchester family. Sam had tried to tell him a few times, what had happened after that night. Dean hadn't wanted to know though. He'd had this crazy idea that if the kid had survived it would be safer for Dean not to know. After all, everybody he ever got close to ended up hurt… or dead.
So yeah, there he was sitting at the bar of the latest dive drowning out the memories in alcohol again. Trying his damndest to shut his friggin' brain right the hell off.
Nights like these he didn't pick the girl. Nights like these, when he was this far gone? They picked him. Didn't take long tonight either.
This one was different. Almost familiar, but then these days they all felt that way didn't they? If you've been with one, you've been with 'em all. This one sauntered up to him with a drink and watched him gulp it down. That smile she was wearing was just this side of wolfish and he didn't hate it. Not one little bit.
Usually there was small talk, dirty talk, some kind of talk, any kind of talk really just to get them from point A to that horizontal point B. Not this time. Just a hand in his, tugging him towards the door and implied intentions. Well now, who was he to say no to an offer like that?
They were barely outside and she was molding her body against his in a move that took his breath away. No words, just two hungry mouths devouring each other like the world was coming to an end and their survival depended on getting it on right-the-hell now. It felt good, so damned good to feel the blood rush from his brain. Might as well have hung a do not disturb sign 'cause Dean's thought processors were fried.
She was snaking a hand under his shirt and guiding one of his toward her bra strap and it looked like maybe this time they wouldn't make it past the parking lot, though maybe making it to the backseat of his car would be a good idea seeing as he wasn't too interested in performing for an audience. Funny how he stopped caring once her hand (the sneaky one that only moments ago had found its way under his shirt) somehow managed to sink itself down past the waist of his jeans.
One second he was moaning out a he-ll yeah into the soft, floral scented skin of her neck and the next they were both falling to the ground at the sound of gunshot.
Goddamn thing took out the Impala's passenger side window too. Somebody was getting hurt for this. Bad.
The girl, well he was pretty sure she was in shock. Couldn't say he blamed her, really. Getting shot at was never a pleasant kind of experience, even less so when you're not used to it happening on a regular basis. So yeah, mood killer, right there. No way he was getting laid tonight. That was okay though because right now? He had far more important things to worry about, like who in the hell had found him this time. Demon maybe? Nah, demonic beings don't usually bother with piddly stuff like guns. Another hunter then, or some Joe he may or may not have pissed off at any one of the bars he'd been in lately? Could be the Feds finally caught up with him again.
Whoever the shooter was he was a brave s.o.b. Dean would give the guy that much. He came right out from behind the car he'd been using as cover and strutted right on over to where Dean and his one night stand were hiding.
"Hey sweetheart, why don't you shake that little booty of yours right on back to the bar over there. Time to find someone else to scratch that itch of yours. Winchester and I have a bit of unfinished business to take care of and I really don't think you want to stick around just to get your ass kicked by association."
To her credit, you didn't have to tell the girl twice. Poor thing was shaking and running away before the shooter had even finished talking.
"You know, it's really not very nice to go around terrorizing innocent women." Dean started conversationally in that infuriating way of his, eyes traveling up shapely calves encased in low-heeled leather boots. Damn but the woman looked good in those. Testament to how drunk he really was, that it didn't freak him out to see them.
"Hate to break it to ya there dude, but that one? Not really the innocent type." She nudged the toe of his boot with her own, a voiceless request for him to get up off the ground.
"You owe me a window for my car She-Ra." A mumbled statement from where he still sat. Hey, he was comfortable okay? No way he was going to move for that woman. She wasn't even supposed to be there.
"I owe you a good ass kicking too. Guess which one you're more likely to cash in on first?"
Dean couldn't help the chuckle. Come on, it was a little funny right? Okay, maybe not. He was drunk, though, and everything was a little funny given enough alcohol. Too bad for him Cal was stone cold sober.
"Holy shit Cal! You didn't actually hit him when you shot at him, did you?"
Oh great! She'd apparently brought a very sober Sam with her too.
"Of course I didn't hit him!" This directed at Sam before she turned her attention back on Dean. "Don't think the thought hadn't crossed my mind."
"Oh come on She-Ra, you wouldn't hurt me." The words were barely out of his mouth when he realized how stupid a statement that really was.
Cal was hauling him up by the lapels of his leather jacket and slamming him back against the Impala door as if to prove him wrong. "Wouldn't I? Dude, I really don't think that's a theory you should be testing right now."
This was another one of those dreams he'd been having. Had to be. His subconscious mind playing a sick and twisted joke on him by trying to give him everything he wanted but couldn't have. Well, you know, except the getting his ass kicked part.
"Cal." Sammy's voice of reason again, closer this time. "Toss me his keys would ya? I'll drive him back."
"Nah, I think I'll do the honors. Been waiting a long time to catch up with you Dean." It was a threat and a promise all in one low growl and it left Dean wondering what she meant by it. The way he figured it he was either going to get laid or he was going to get the tar beaten out of him. Hmm, or knowing Cal possibly both. Not necessarily a good thing.
Apparently he wasn't the only one concerned, because Sam was piping up again.
"Look, you're pissed and he's drunk. That's never a good combination. No way I'm leaving the two of you alone. Next thing I know one of you will end up dead. My brother might be a pain in the ass, but I like him breathing okay?"
"Hey!" took him a minute, but the implication hit home. Sammy was saying that he'd be the one losing in a fight like that. Not cool man, just So. Not. Cool. "Dude, are you implyin' that I couldn't take 'er? 'Cause seriously, she's tiny. Only reason she won all those other fights is 'cause she's a chick an'…" and that was it for the great Dean Winchester right there. He had just enough time to register the 'I don't believe it' look on Sammy's face before Cal let her fist fly. He felt it hit home and then felt nothing at all.
She was glaring down at Dean, breath coming in short angry huffs as she watched his chest rise and fall. Dude was down and out for the count. Deserved it too after everything he'd said and done, not the least of which had been that last comment. So then why didn't she feel that familiar satisfaction that usually came with a well deserved ass kicking?
"Great. That's just great Cal."
"What? The dude had it coming. You know he did."
"Yeah, except now we have to haul his drunk unconscious ass back to the motel." There were sirens in the distance, cops for sure. The girl Dean had been, um, 'with' had probably called them. Huh. "Better make that out of State." Because although Sam had definitely been a fan of the 'Shooting Up Dean's Car' plan he wasn't so much a fan of the reaction it had caused. Last thing they needed was for a bunch of cops to recognize Dean and tip off the Feds.
"Hey, don't look at me like that Sam. He's the one who ran off in the first place."
Sam had to know that something like this was going to happen eventually. Improvements in anger management aside, a girl had to do what a girl had to do. Right? And Cal wouldn't be Cal if she didn't remind Dean that there were consequences to treating a girl the way he had. "Yeah, whatever. Just get in the car." Wise man that he was, Sam would let it go until the dust settled. There was no arguing with Cal when she was like this. "Get driving, I'll be right behind you." And knowing what a wise guy he could be Cal did just what he told her to do.
