Enter the usual disclaimer: still don't own the show, the car or the boys. My girl Cal just wanted to take them for a joyride through the sandbox of my imagination. Sorry the updates are so sporadic. We're moving across province and it's been insane around here lately. Another couple of weeks to go and I'll be posting more regularly again. Thanks to everyone who is taking the time to read my stuff. I've only got a couple more chapters of Renegade to write before it's over. The next in the series has already been written and will be called 'We All Fall Down'. I'm pretty excited about it :) Hope you're enjoying the story as much as I enjoy writing it!
Chapter Twenty-Three
You Can't Always Run And You Can't Ever Hide
Dean was beginning to wonder if maybe there was some sort of witchy-type spell work going on to protect the little clearing that was currently their hiding place. Time felt like it crawled by no matter how much work they had to keep busy. Cal rarely left the bed in the caravan but that was mostly because he and Malcolm wouldn't let her. She was still a wreck and the healing process was slow.
Four days in the middle of nowhere and the swelling in her foot was finally going away. She was left with a pronounced limp but Dean was pretty sure she'd be able to shake that off with time. They were living off of canned Chunky soup, coffee, oatmeal and whatever Malcolm managed to catch in the traps he set in the bush that surrounded them. There were wild berries around and the remnants of a garden that Malcolm had abandoned decades before. Asparagus, garlic, leeks, a pretty impressive broccoli plant that could double as an oak tree and some herbs that were apparently hardy enough to grow back every year. What I wouldn't give for a friggin' burger! It wasn't that Dean wasn't thankful they had enough food to keep their stomachs from imploding. He was, really he was. Sam would've loved this stuff. He was the tree hugging, veggie loving one in the family. Not that Dean spent a whole lot of time grousing about the food. He was smarter than to say anything. He was too busy worrying about Cal to put very much thought into their current diet.
The longer they stayed in one spot, the jumpier Cal got. She pretended to sleep a lot but in reality she wasn't getting much more than an hour or two a day. The woman was pretty good at putting on an act, but she sure wasn't fooling Dean. He knew her too well for that.
Even in sleep she was fidgety as hell. Not tossing and turning, the pain kept her from doing any of that, but there was a disturbing amount of twitching going on. Cal never had been very good at being the patient. The only time she was able to lay still was when he had an arm wrapped around her. Then she just sort of melted back against him and settled.
By dawn on the sixth day she was about ready to go crazy with having nothing to do. Somehow she made it out to the train car without waking Dean, who had taken to wrapping an arm around her while he slept. Probably because he was afraid she'd run off while his eyes were closed and he didn't trust Malcolm to stop her. She couldn't blame him considering that was what had got her into this mess in the first place. Malcolm, for his part, was out checking his traps and for signs of possible trouble; doing the rounds to keep them safe.
Cal had grabbed the handful of butter knives from the drawer in the caravan camper and tested the weight of one of the ancient things in her hand. They looked as if they came from sometime in the fifties, and knowing Malcolm they probably had.
Sizing up the wall of the train car she wondered if there was enough edge to the knives for them to stick. The shoulder she'd dislocated was still giving her one hell of a hard time but it was worth the pain if she got to feel as if she was doing something.
"Here goes nothing." Jaw clenched, eyes on that spot on the wall she wanted to nail, she visualized. Any other time the throw would have been executed one smooth motion. She'd been doing it since the age of eight, after all. Her shoulder would have rolled back, her arm would have followed. She'd have held the knife loosely balanced between her fingers and put all of her weight into letting it go. She would have stood still while the normally non-lethal little bit of metal soared through the air and hit home wherever it was she sent it.
What actually happened? She wasn't really all that sure. One minute she was going through all the right motions then the knife clattered to the ground about halfway between her and the intended target. She was falling backwards toward the hardwood floor of the old train car arms flailing. Cal would have ended up on her ass on the cold floor in a lot of pain except that a pair of big calloused hands had stopped her descent. Yeah, ok, so maybe not so far a stretch with two huge, overprotective men hovering over her every breath. But which one did these particular hands belong to? Also, were they friendly? A girl couldn't be too careful these days, especially when she was related to some rather unhinged people who liked to sick their trained Rottweiler type poltergeist on their own damned family.
"Oh, come on She-Ra. You didn't think sneaking out on me was going to be that easy, did you?" His voice rumbled through his chest and reverberated against her back so she felt the words more than she heard them. "Why'd you let me come out here alone then?" She was defiance itself in a tiny, quiet package. "You looked like you needed some space. I figured it couldn't hurt as long as I kept an eye out." He knew her too well. It really freaked her out sometimes. "You were on a roll there for a minute. I was just going to let you do your thing and pretend to look for you when you were done but then you started falling and…" He didn't want to insult her pride but it the thought behind his action was clear so he voiced it anyway, taking his chances. "You've been in so much pain, I didn't want you to have to deal with another setback." He didn't want to see her hurt anymore than she already was. He was being a real sweetheart, acting completely out of character and it was destroying what few defenses she had left. Damned if she knew what to do about it.
They were acutely aware of each other. His hands on her sides were warm enough to feel right through the three layers she was wearing. Her back was pressed up against his chest, heartbeats pounding erratically in an odd little harmony, echoing in their ears and through their limbs. When he squeezed her a little closer all she wanted to do was turn around and let him hold her. She hated being this insecure, hated that he was seeing her this way; hated being broken at all. "You okay?" Soft words whispered warmly against the shell of her ear had her breath coming a little faster. "I…" She wanted to say she was fine but the truth of it was she wasn't really sure what she was anymore. 'Fine' would have been a lie. What would a lie accomplish at this point? Absolutely nothing. There was no self preservation in a lie when the person you're lying to knows you're doing it. "Honestly? No. I'm really not." Might as well own the feeling. Jacob had not raised a coward.
That did not make Dean's 'aha!' moment any easier. For the first time since he'd pulled her out of Malcolm's car broken and bruised she was talking; really talking and he wasn't even trying to hide how happy he was about it. Well, okay. Maybe he was, but she could see it anyway.
Not one to let an important moment pass, of the chick flick variety or not, Dean ever so gently turned her around so he could see her face. Reaching for her he cupped her cheeks in his palms. When she tried to close her eyes to the words that were on the tip of his tongue, tried to hide from everything he said without speaking, he wouldn't let her. "Hey." Pretty and blue, fringed with the longest lashes he'd ever seen she zeroed in on him like he was going to share all the hidden secrets of the universe with her. Whatever you say now, man, you better make it count. Wasn't every day a guy had this girl hanging off his every word. "Maybe not now, but you will be." Simple and to the point, Dean had never really been one to mince words when it really mattered. Right then she felt like she could actually believe him. Maybe, just maybe, she really was going to be okay.
For a moment they just stood there, Dean holding her as she swayed a little on her own feet with something weighty and invisible hanging there between them. A pregnant emptiness as if the silence around them was just waiting for what was supposed to come next. Unfortunately it wasn't meant to last. Cal wasn't ready to take any kind of a step in any direction and Dean knew better than to push. Oddly, that didn't dull the anticipation in the slightest. "Dean? Cal?" Malcolm was hollering from the caravan door. Finally back from his trekking around the woods, he sounded tired and worried. Not that it was any wonder considering he and Dean had agreed to keep Cal resting as long as she'd let them.
With a sigh Dean dropped his hands from where they touched her, took a deliberate step back and then another. "In here!" He hollered back, trying hard to sound calm and collected. It wouldn't do to have Malcolm thinking anything was wrong, would it? He sure as hell wasn't going to let on to Cal how disappointed he was to have Malcolm back either. Taking her cues from Dean, Cal turned and bent gingerly around her injuries to pick up the knife that hadn't done what she'd demanded of it. Maybe it was his imagination but she seemed a little more comfortable in her own skin as she moved. Malcolm was at the door of the train car before he could get a proper feel for her mood though. "Everything okay in here?" After what they'd been through, Malcolm was naturally inclined to be worried at any little thing. Especially with the toll it had taken on Cal. Dean couldn't blame him given his own overprotective tendencies, not that he liked the implication that she might not be safe alone with him.
Instead of answering and before Dean could utter a word, Cal threw the knife again with purpose. This time it did reach the wall. In fact, it became wedged about an inch deep into the slightly warped wood siding and vibrated with the force of her throw. Ignoring the pain in her shoulder Cal turned away from her own handiwork with a proud tilt to her chin, walked past both men and out the door as if nothing had happened.
"What was that about?" Bleary eyed Malcolm was suddenly very awake, gaping at the woman trotting across the clearing toward the scent of fresh brewed coffee. There was something about the way Dean had watched Cal leave and was now grinning like a fool at the knife in the wall that she'd thrown. There was a that's my girl quality about it Malcolm wasn't sure he was okay with. "She might be broken, Mal, but she's going to be just fine." The cheeky bastard had the audacity to pat Malcolm on the shoulder before following Cal out. "I just made a fresh pot. You want some?" Malcolm's answer was a nod only because he was having a hard time finding his voice.
"Dean?" Something in the ragged edged tone stopped Dean cold, had him turning back to face the man who had saved Cal's life. Malcolm looked him over critically from head to toe before nodding at him just the once. "You hurt her and I'll hunt you down and kill you with my bare hands." Not a threat but a promise to be taken with the utmost seriousness. Dean was a smart enough man to know not to say a word but to give the promise its due respect. Still, this was Dean Winchester, a man who had a hard time resisting the urge to spout off at the mouth whenever the opportunity arose. He wasn't known to resist the urge to get lippy. Not even toward his own father. "Braver men have tried and failed, Mal, but don't you worry. If I ever get to be suicidal enough to hurt her there won't be enough left of me to kill once she's done with me." Then, with a wink and a smile, he turned and trotted off to the caravan.
"Damned if you're not wrong, Winchester." Malcolm muttered darkly to himself. "But I'll salt and burn your remains myself if it comes down to it."
Cal knew what living with personal ghosts meant. She'd had her fair share and had taken them in stride, even if her methods of dealing were less than perfect. After losing her father she'd felt like there had been a big gaping hole in her life where he'd once been a solid fixture. This was different, harder to pin down. It was as if learning about her screwed up, in-bred relatives had left a giant void inside her. There was just no wrapping her head around their blatant disregard for life. It was all about the hunt and nothing to do with actually helping people. In fact, when they weren't torturing what they wanted out of folks they basically viewed other people as being in the way of the job: a nuisance at best, an obstacle to be removed at worst. Guess I'd fall under the 'obstacle' category right about now. Wouldn't do to have some broken second cousin wandering around screwing things up for them by complaining to the authorities about how crazy they were. They most certainly wouldn't want that cousin to heal up and come after them for revenge or retribution either.
Her father had raised her to believe in justice rather than revenge. Part of what was making this inner struggle so damned hard was the way justice and revenge seemed to merge together in her mind she'd been battered. Hard to feel grateful to Malcolm, too, lucky bugger that he was. Healing up as quickly as he had was a gift she'd wished for repeatedly since escaping that god-forsaken compound. Sitting around waiting for broken body parts to heal had never really been her thing. It was enough to ruin a girl's disposition and make her a little cranky.
Then there was Dean who was being so…strange. That bit in the train car had been a surprise. A level of intimacy without actual intimacy had developed and she wasn't sure how she felt about that either. Malcolm might have got her in to some seriously hot water but so far he'd kept his promises. Winchester, on the other hand, had left her high and dry without any kind of regard to her feelings and had been running from the damage he'd caused for over a year. What are you up to Dean? Hard to tell what motivation might lie behind his actions, all things considered. If by some miracle they all made it out of this alive, was he up to sticking around? Would he stick by her after she'd sorted out the grisly skeletons in her family closet? It certainly seemed as if he might be considering it, but then Cal wasn't exactly the best person to be making assumptions about the man.
And what about Malcolm? All she knew about him for certain revolved around some really foggy memories from a time before she'd hit double digits. If Cal was being honest with herself she'd have to admit that she'd thought the memories to be a little bit outrageous. Almost as if all the grand stories her father told of her first hunt had caused her to have a grandiose view of what she's actually accomplished that day. You couldn't make up the feel of a machete cutting through flesh and bone though, so that first beheading was real at least. But maybe the depth of Malcolm's injuries hadn't been as bad as they'd seemed. At eight she'd developed nothing short of hero worship for the giant, hairy man she'd miraculously saved from almost certain death. A little girl with a big crush on a man who, it seemed, couldn't die. Now that she was all grown up, she was sure he was sending her all the right signals. No way to mistake the depth of his injuries he suffered at the compound either or how quickly he shaken them off. Malcolm also liked what he saw in her, but in what capacity? Was this admiration for a fellow hunter's skill, or was he seeing her as the woman she was… and did she really want to go there with her father's oldest friend?
No. She couldn't. Not until she got her head screwed on straight again and not while so much lay so clearly unresolved and unaddressed between her and Dean.
"Hey, SheRa! You still breathing in there?" Speak of the devil. That was Dean with his sharp little rap at the door of the caravan. "There's coffee in there with my name on it, I could smell it from all the way over there. Open up!" She didn't know if she ought to shake her head and smile or roll her eyes at the obnoxiousness of it all. She settled for opening the door with a smirk. How the hell do you manage to make it all so easy?
Poking his head in part-way Dean glanced down at her hands. "You put those butter knives back yet?" He asked cheekily with a wink. The man would do anything to get a smile. "Your hide is safe for now, Winchester. I wouldn't get in the way of you and your caffeine anyway. You're scarier than I am sometimes when you're caffeine deprived." It was the closest thing to a compliment he was going to get from her yet and he was cool with that. It was enough to put a cheek crinkling smile on his face.
He poured her a coffee while he made his own but left it for her on the ancient wood stovetop. Watching her take her first sip from the part of the wall he was propping up he took stock while hoping he wasn't being too obvious. "You want to tell me what's on your mind there, Dean, or am I going to have those eyes surgically removed from my back end?" Okay, so maybe she wasn't quite herself yet but she was getting there. "I, uh." He cleared his throat and took another sip of coffee before putting his thoughts into words. "I was just wondering if you were sick of lying around yet? I know you tend to go a little stir crazy, Malcolm mentioned a raspberry patch about a half mile away from here. We could take a walk out there if you want to and you think you're up to it."
Out in the trees a young girl, no older than five or six, crawled quietly through the brush on the forest floor. They'd be leaving the safety of their hiding place soon and she didn't have much time to get back to the others.
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