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. We're in the home stretch with this one, two chapters left to go. Keep an eye out for the next in the series. It's 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-Four
Try as you might you can't hide from yourself
She was seeing things in the bush, in the trees and under the brush. Weeks of sleeping, healing, sitting still and now she was going out of her mind. Dean could see it happening the same way she used to get stir crazy when it took too long to find a job. This was different though. He couldn't count on two hands how many times she'd come running to him or Malcolm in utter panic. "I swear to God there was something out there!" Eyes wide, hands shaking and heart racing she'd lead them to the spot where inevitably there was nothing to see.
Thing was, she wasn't the only one. There was something out there, and there wasn't a doubt about it. Malcolm had seen it and come back shaken, if not panicked like Cal had been. "It's nothing Dean, just my mind playing tricks on me. Cal's paranoia's getting the best of me. It's fine. Really." Stubborn old coot had convinced himself into believing that it was better all around to play in to Cal's ruse. Not that he was going to let on or anything. Apparently is was better to pretend nothing was wrong until whatever it was snuck up on them and it was too late. Well, not if Dean had any say in the matter.
Malcolm was too set in his ways to give an inch. He wasn't going to give Cal any cause to worry. She was still too scared as it was. Not that Dean could argue with that particular line of thinking. He didn't like seeing her like that, skittish enough to jump at any old shadow. Twice now she'd managed to stab Malcolm with the knives she'd taken to practicing with. Those damned butter knives looked like they hurt too, worse coming out than going in. Malcolm was taking it all in stride but they were all worried about this quick-to-react-without-thinking bit she was on. She'd have run Dean through too if he hadn't become extra careful about making a little noise so she could hear him coming. At this point it was a necessity of life. He hadn't seen her that jumpy since the day they'd first met, and circumstances had been just as dire then as they were now. The difference then had been her unwavering faith in her own ability to get the job done; her faith in him and in Sam to keep her safe from harm in the case that she should fail. Where was that faith now? On the floor of that tiny little closet where her family had locked her up, waiting for Malcolm to get her the hell out is where.
"When the hell did Cal-freaking-O'Sulivan start to believe that a bunch of snot nosed kids were better at the job than we are?" This from Sam, the one call Dean placed out to him out of desperation. Little brother had always been better at all that emotional crap, anyway. Maybe he'd see whatever it was Dean was missing here. Apparently not. "I dunno Sam. I mean, I was kind of hoping that 'screw you, I'm SheRa the Princess of Power here to kick your ass so take a number already' attitude would come back with her ability to defend herself. She's been throwing dull things at a wall for over a week now and getting them stuck in the process. I'm getting a little worried that the number I've taken is for front row seats at my own funeral here." Not that she'd hurt him on purpose, but what with the seeing things where no one else did and not taking the time to really look at what she was trying to impale… well he was starting to get the picture. Red-blooded, non-self-healing dudes were no longer at the top of the food chain.
"I dunno, man. Seems to me like the only one who's going to give you a straight answer on this one has got to be Malcolm. What's he got to say about all this anyway?" A whole crap-load of nothing was what. "You remember that dude from the Highlander movie? The guy who to took the strong, silent bit a little too seriously? Yeah, well I'm starting to think maybe the guy who wrote the movie might've been acquainted with our immortal dude." Deep sigh of the Winchester variety echoed over thousands of miles across the airwaves between cell phones. "Define 'nothing' Dean." But he didn't want to put into words the one half-drunken conversation they'd had about their broken badass girl.
Malcolm had found an ancient bottle of whiskey, or three, that he'd supposedly stashed away back in the day and cracked it open during Dean's shift. It had to be some seriously potent stuff because about halfway through the first bottle Malcolm sat down next to Dean by the campfire and stared morosely into the flames like maybe if he squinted hard enough he could find the answers he needed somewhere inside them. It was the only hint he'd ever given that he might not be the immortal man of stone.
"I broke her Dean," And you know, as far as drunken confessions, this was not exactly the best opener all things considered. "I broke her because I had to. It was the only way to move this thing forward and end it all, start over." Once the words started coming out it was like a dam being breached. The confession just flowed out, plowing over whoever was nearest with their unimaginable truth. "Wait, what do you mean you broke her? I thought her crazy-ass second cousins twice removed were the ones who did this to her…" But Malcolm only shook his head and motored on. "Now I'm stuck, Dean, because I don't know how to fix her." Oh, fantastic! More good news. What the hell, man? What. The. Hell?
"I honestly thought she'd be able to do it herself, like she always does… but she can't. I mean, look at her. Clearly she can't." Some wild gesturing toward the caravan where Cal was sleeping, even then, tossing and turning so violently through her nightmares that the whole thing shook on the four wheels that served as meager foundations. "Yeah, man, 'cause fixing herself is totally an option right now. Really?" Was the guy really being serious, or was he just screwing with him here? All Dean got was an 'I know, right?' toss of the hands up into the air. Not exactly being helpful for a guy who's supposed to be a wise old dude, are ya buddy?
"Now because I'm the guy responsible for this, and let's face facts here: I might not have been the one who hurt her, but I was supposed to be the one to protect her so I might as well have done it myself" O-kay, note to self: keep centuries old immortals away from well aged, high-test whiskey. The guy was taking cryptic self-blame to an extreme. "I have to fix it. I have to make her better. Only I can't either. I can't fix her because I'm as broken as she is. How the hell am I supposed to make this better when I can't even figure out how to fix myself?" Great, so now their strong, silent type isn't as strong and silent as they were giving him credit for. "Well I don't mean to pick at straws here, dude, but it sure would help to know what exactly 'it' is that we need to fix." Dean never would get a straight answer, but he sure would live with the questions long enough.
The grass was cool with early morning dew beneath her finger tips when she sat down next to the river. She was exhausted, but the dreams wouldn't let her rest. Might as well face the demons in my head on my own terms. This had been the initial motive behind her early morning jaunt through the trees. Really she just wanted to prove to herself once and for all that there was nothing out there, stalking her through the brush. Her father had not raised a week kitten of a girl even though she might have been feeling like one lately. Smart guy, her Dad, because he'd also taught her that kittens had claws and teeth. Maybe it was time to take them out to play. Sure would help if I could figure out who to hurt with them.
The river was only a few minutes from the clearing. It might as well have been on an entirely different continent by the time Cal got there. She didn't like being out of sight of the things that had become familiar, the people who she had recently come to believe as safe. By the time she got to the muddy bank by the sparkling water all she wanted to do was sit down and cry, wishing for her Daddy to come and make things right. Might as well be curled up under those blankets in my old closet at the farmhouse, wishing for Dad to come and kill the vampires. Only this time it wasn't as simple as a nest of vampires. This time it was actual people. No. Not just people. No. These were her own bat-shit crazy relatives. A day in the life… right? Yeah, fantastic! No sarcasm there at all.
Maybe it was because they'd locked her in a closet with that poltergeist. Maybe it had triggered some sort of post-traumatic fear with the similarity of the situation to that night when she'd lost her Mom to the Earl's need for revenge. Cal really didn't know, but she sure as hell didn't like it. She didn't usually dwell all that much on sadness. Oh, sure, she'd take a minute and acknowledge it. Jacob had raised her not to wallow in it, though. Instead he'd shown her how to move past the angst, channel the anger that came afterwards productively and deal with the problem. It was a pretty effective way to move forward. Maybe not the healthiest, but certainly better for a girl than sitting around on her keister gazing sadly out over the water. What the hell is the matter with you girl? You should be raging with righteous anger, ready to teach those freaks a thing or two about family and values. Only, there didn't seem to be any way to jump start the anger or get past that nearly all-consuming fear.
Every time a little breeze blew and rustled the greenery around she would hear the far off howl of restless spirits. When clouds dotted the horizon or blocked the warmth of the sun she felt the ice cold touch of preternatural fingers on her skin. Malcolm knew. As if possessed with the ability to read her mind, he would watch her intently paying silent witness to her tortured thoughts. She couldn't take the solemn looks he leveled on her anymore. It just added depression to agony. He carried a heavy burden of guilt but she didn't have it in her to relieve him of it, already weighted down with too much of her own baggage.
Dean, on the other hand, was pushing all kinds of other buttons. There was no elephant in the room when he was awake. It wasn't unheard of for him to stand at the door of the wagon, look her up and down and ask her very bluntly: What's going on in that twisted little head of yours Cal? Not that she answered him ever. Dean would just nod as if she had answered him and then he'd reach into the drawer where the cutlery was kept and come out with a handful of butter knives. His offering toward peace for the goddess of war in her moment of unrest.
Hours of tossing the damned things at the side of the train car had left the one wall splintered and mangled, a mirror image of what her insides felt like. As glad as she was that she could at the very least throw a knife to defend herself, it was getting old. The urge to curl up into a ball and just hide was getting stronger and harder to fight. Would it really be so bad? Couldn't I just give in to the urge to try and sleep this feeling away? Maybe if she thought it would actually work. Hard to believe it would when every tiny change to their surroundings was enough to illicit heart exploding terror.
The snap of a twig underfoot, the crackle of dried leaves and suddenly she just knew the bushes were teeming with freaky kids waiting to tie her up and cart her off, back to that damned closet. Fine. Let them take me. Good luck breaking something that's already in pieces you little freaks. And just to make it easier on them, she actually did curl up in the grass intent on just waiting for the inevitable. No point in arguing, no point in fighting the inevitable right?
"Huh." A puff of breath, a very male clearing of the throat and all at once the world was back to what she could trust. "Um, what the hell are you doing? Whatever this is, it's really friggin' weird, even for you." Ah yes. Well no one could accuse the guy of beating around the bush, could they? "Anyone ever tell you that you've got the hell of a way with words Winchester?" Of course they had. Tact was not exactly his specialty. Ignoring the blatantly obvious annoyance it tended to incite in people though, that he had down to an art form. "Alright She-Ra. Out with it already. What's going on?" She didn't bother to open her eyes or keep the sigh from passing her lips. "I don't want to talk about it, alright?" So far but not talking about it she'd been able to maintain the illusion that this was all in her head. If it was in her head, then it couldn't possibly be real, right? Exactly.
"Come on, Cal. Cough it up. You're not the 'lay down and take it' kind." Nice. "Yeah, like you've got a clue. You took off remember? Maybe things've changed a bit all this time you've been running. You ever think of that?" Yeah, lashing out felt good. Better not think to hard about the why behind it. You might not like the answers you come up with, girl. "Ouch!" And the jerk had the nerve to laugh at her. Not much of a laugh mind you, but a laugh all the same. "Ok, so maybe I deserve that." Well at least he was admitting to it. "But I don't buy for a second that you changed this much just because I took off. Besides, the way Sam tells it you got mad not depressed." Right. Sam. Traitor. She had the chance to entertain a few uncharitable thoughts toward the youngest Winchester brother as Dean sat down next to her and nudged her to sitting up too. She wasn't too proud to shove him to show her displeasure. Unfortunately there was no satisfaction in the move. It didn't faze him a whit.
"I'm waiting." Was all she got for her trouble. "I'm not letting it go this time either so the sooner you get to talking the sooner we can get this over with." Great, the Caveman was back. Oh she just loved that particular part of Dean's personality, didn't she? It brought out the best in her; temper that is. Ok fine. He wanted it? He was getting it. "Hm. Okay. Well, let's see shall we? Where should I start? A lifetime of hunting and all it took was a weekend with 'the fam' to break me. Oh, and make no mistake Dean. This is pretty broken, even for me. Oh, and let's not forget the part where I'm related to the Children of the Corn. That's my particular favorite, right there. The only living relatives I have are freaky ass kids who are more comfortable hurting people than hunting, which is what they were supposedly raised to do." At this point it would have been more comforting to find out Hannibal Lector was her grandfather because at least there was a way to beat him.
"I get it." There was nothing comforting about the way he looked at her, like none of it mattered. Like she was the only reason any of this was worth it. The weight of it made her pulse jump, her breath hard to catch. At that very moment all that mattered to Dean were the blue, blue eyes he was staring into, the freckles that dotted both her cheeks and met over the bridge of her nose, the perfect bow of her lips that held him fixated, thirsty for their taste. "You little idiot. How long have we been doing what we do? Decades. Centuries if you add up all the years Malcolm's been at the job. You think a couple of punk kids are going to get the best of us now?" It didn't matter that she'd been trying to tell herself the same damned thing. What mattered was that she was too afraid of what those punk kids were capable of to believe it. Also, she was all too familiar with the movie franchise.
Cal was oblivious to the bedroom eyes he was trying to distract her with. "I don't know if you've seen any of the movies but generally the damned kids keep coming back." Okay, he could understand where she was coming from. He and Sam had a hard enough time wrapping their heads around having a demon stalking their family. Finding out she was related to some freaky, messed up people who lived like they invented the idea of cultism had to be at least as bad a trip. But Cal had to know that the kids, her family? They didn't stand a chance against them, whatever the hell it was they wanted. She just needed a distraction, a reason to stop obsessing for a few minutes until she could come back to the problem clear headed. Yeah, sure there Winchester. Whatever you need to believe to justify what you're thinking of doing.
All cocky and over sure of himself, as always, he grinned mischievously at her and tugged the elastic out of her hair. Oh she thought with a start. This was a side of Dean she hadn't seen since that day the FBI arrested him at the farm over a year before. "Yeah, well I don't know if you noticed but I'm pretty damned good at what I do." He dug his fingers into the loose waves, cupping her head in his palms and tilting her head back just enough to give him freer access. "And you…" The steady voice had now gone hoarse and low as he leaned in so she could all but taste his words. "You are legendary." Hot, hungry lips mouthed a path from collarbone to earlobe as he growled out his praise. "The great Caitlin O'Sulivan." He kept talking as his mouth and hands roved, doing no wrong anywhere they went. "Hustler," he twined his fingers in hers, paying homage to her skill. "Hunter," one hand gently traced the path of her spine at the small of her back. "Brawler," both palms gripped her perfect little bum, ripping a wanton little moan from the depths of her body. "And sexiest damned woman that ever lived." One rough, dirty little move and he pulled her up against him hard. There was no space between them, touching as they were from toe to forehead and everywhere in between.
"Screw the Children of the Corn. If they're really that good then they should know better who to pick their fights with." He growled, shifting his weight so she could feel every inch of him before taking the dive and claiming her mouth with his own.
As far as distractions went, that one was pretty damned effective. Her response was instinctual and immediate, no thought required. They'd moved along the steps of this familiar dance time and again so often that she didn't have to think, just move. Her mind shut down and her body took over. Body melding with Dean's as if they were meant to be one person, writhing against him slowly just so in that way that never failed to make his legs shake with the effort to keep on his feet.
"I've been dreaming of this… God I've wanted you so bad for so long!"
She had no response for him, had gone too far over the edge for that now. The way she moved spoke louder than any words she might have tried to use. Dean would have been able to tell if this wasn't something she wanted. Cal wanted. She wanted him with a ferocious urgency that took them both by surprise.
He had her pinned between his thighs and the tree they'd been using for shade when the sound registered somewhere in the back of his otherwise occupied mind. A sharp and sudden clicketyclick. Buried deep inside this moment with her, Dean felt his blood run cold with the realization that someone was behind him, armed and ready to shoot and he had no way to defend himself or Cal.
"Cal?" A whispered inquiry. Did you hear it too? Because there was always the possibility that Dean might be losing his mind enough to have imagined it. He shouldn't have worried. She was way ahead of him. Not a moment had passed since he'd handed her the hilt of his Bowie knife without it being within her immediate reach.
He felt her forehead lifting ever so slightly from the dip of his shoulder just long enough to sneak a look through her hair at whoever it was that had dared to intrude on their intimate moment. There might have been the slightest little smile dancing at the corners of her lips as her one move jerked them both to the point of having to hold on or fall. The quiet whoosh of the knife slicing through the air to her intended target the only sound to be heard until the sharp end thudded as it hit home.
"We good?" Less a question than the shape of words mouthed across the delicate shell of her ear. "Mmhm." A sigh that was nearly impossible to hear over the crash of the body hitting the forest floor to become nothing more than a corpse beside Dean's foot.
He would have turned his head to the side, would have risked a look at the body if only to find out who it was, but she stopped him cold. "I… I can't believe…" Couldn't believe what? That they kids had found her? That she'd nailed the shot? "What?" Gently asked into the curve of her shoulder as he held her, careful not to break the already broken. Cal had begun to tense in his arms as the moments passed. Something had changed, but nothing could prepare Dean for what he had coming. "I can't believe you left me like you did, when we both already knew I'm capable of that."
The shove was rough and tumble and the hand extended to point toward the heap of handiwork that had just saved their lives. There, lying in the dirt and dried leaves, was a boy in his late teens. He would have been writhing in agony were it not for the way the Bowie knife had run him through the shoulder and pinned him to the ground. She hadn't killed the kid, but there hadn't been any mercy either. Dean doubted the kid could pry himself off the ground by himself.
Cal didn't stop to ask the kid any questions, which would have been the sane thing to do. Nope. The girl was mad as hell as she stalked off with a "you deal with this" before hiking back towards the clearing. "Okay." As pleased as he was to see her go from complacent to pissed off in the old Cal's style, no matter if it was a step in the right direction, Dean wasn't all that sure what exactly had just happened. Great, now she grows the backbone. Perfect timing as usual.
It always had been two steps forward and a dozen back with her. Maybe sometimes it was better to leave well enough alone. Lord only knew it could have been worse. At least she'd taken her frustrations out on the kid. Having her storm off like that was better than being on the receiving end of a black eye any day.
"You alone, kid?" Probably smarter to figure out what was going on with the gun toting kid first anyway. "I know better than to talk to the likes of you." Well, that confirmed it. The kid had that O'Sulivan snarl going for him. Cal really was related to a bunch of little psychos. "Hm, you know… if I were in your shoes right now I might think twice about biting the hand. Then again, I'm not the one nailed to the ground. So, what would I know?" The boy didn't flinch when Dean ripped the knife out of his shoulder. His sneer like a promise of what would come later as retribution for the wrong doing the kid was suffering. Well, this was going to be a fun walk back.
It wasn't like the kid could take on a grown man like Dean. He was all long lanky limbs, lithe in the way he'd always associated with Cal. He wasn't blond, like the crazy kids in the movies. He had auburn hair, leaning more toward brown, much like Cal's. There were other small similarities in the cheekbones and the small wrists but there was only one thing that tied this kid to Cal without a doubt. The eyes were without a doubt a family trait. They were the same shape and ever-changing stormy blue that he'd seen in the one picture she kept of her father. The same ones that had caught and held Dean's attention from the moment he and Cal had met.
"No funny stuff O'Sulivan or I put buckshot through your other shoulder, got me?" Such a dark look for such a young kid. Not that he cared. He just wanted to get back to the clearing to see for himself if it was swarming with a bunch of blue-eyed, insane mini-me versions of Cal. "Nice and slow, and keep it moving. I'll bet cash money you know exactly where we're headed." This wasn't exactly what he and Malcolm had hoped for when they'd suggested confronting the pipsqueaks on their own terms, but at least they had the home court advantage. Whatever the case, it looked as if the big show was about to go down. Running wasn't an option any more. Short of killing the murderous brats off, there weren't a whole lot of options left. Dean couldn't help but feel a little underprepared.
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