Firefly – Chapter 17
BY: Suz Mc
He tried to be quiet but it was hard when he was in such a hurry. Dean left his bag in the hall and tried not to stomp as he made his way up the stairs to the loft studio. Light flooded through the open door and down the stairs to greet him as he got closer to the top. Today, he was even willing to tolerate her revolting musical choices and he swallowed a groan as "True Colors" wafted through the air.
Calley was standing barefoot in front of a larger than normal canvas that was about two feet taller than her five-two body. Her black sweatpants were rolled down low on her hips and the black tank top she wore was splattered with paint. She was a great artist but sloppy as hell. The piece looked nearly finished but that was just his opinion and it was generally wrong.
"You look ready for a break," Dean called out, laughing when Calley jumped.
"Oh my GOD! You're here!" Brush and palette hit the floor, scattering gobs of color everywhere.
Dean's arms were filled with girl and she didn't waste any time occupying his mouth with something much more fun than explaining why he was home three days early. He would tell her about the rare occurrence of finding a spirit's bones in a marked grave and having a salt and burn actually work on the first try at some later time.
"Amazing greeting you give, Girl," he said, when Calley let him come up for air. "Can I go out and come in again?"
"If you leave this house, I'll hunt you down and kiss you to death." She started with the kissing again and Dean reached up to tangle his fingers in her curly blonde hair and gave up talking for a while. She felt so good against him and he wrapped his arms around her to hold her closer. He wanted her as close as she could get.
Abruptly, and somewhat painfully, Calley stopped rubbing the inside of his mouth with her tongue and pulled away. Taking his hand, she led him over to the painting in progress.
"What do you think?" It was like her to simply accept that he was here and not throw pointed questions about where he'd been and what he'd been doing.
"She's beautiful," Dean said, taking in the bright, round face of a little girl. "Who is she?"
Calley reached behind her and pulled his arms to circle her waist. "I don't know. Her face just popped into my head. Might not even sell it I like her so much." Whirling excitedly inside his grasp, she smiled up at him. "Wanna go grab something to eat? There's a really cool new restaurant beside the gallery. I'm sure they have pie. Chocolate pie," she said, wiggling a little against his zipper.
"Damn, I love it when you talk pie," he whispered, not thinking about pie at all. "Let me grab a shower."
She rose up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek and said, "Me, too. I'm a mess."
"You are."
"Meet you in thirty minutes," she said, taking off for the stairs.
He had to laugh at that. "When have you ever been ready in thirty minutes?" he said, slowly following her down the stairs.
Dean took a long time with his shower, washing off the dead and soaking his tired muscles. He'd driven all night to get back to her and his body was paying for it. When he wrapped a towel around his waist and emerged from the steam into the bedroom, he expected to find Calley's clothes scattered everywhere as she went through five different outfits. That was not the case.
The room was still and ringed with candles and didn't smell the least bit like the rancid motel room he'd been in the night before. There was the faint hum of Bad Company B-side songs playing in the background and his muscles were definitely not tired anymore.
"We're not going out, are we?" Dean said, turning toward Calley who was curled up under the sheets.
"No, we're not," she purred, wiggling her finger in his direction. "You're dropping that towel and bringing your pretty ass over here to me." She let the sheets dip a bit so he knew there was nothing but eager woman underneath.
"Pretty ass?!" He had to laugh out loud at that one. Calley was naked, wrapped in only her slippery yellow sheets, ordering him around like he was porn star for hire. "Is that all I am to you? A pretty ass?"
"It's one of my favorite parts of you. The first part I noticed," she said, patting the bed beside her and smiling in a very dirty way. "I saw your pretty ass walking away down the street and I was just mesmerized."
Dean made his way over to the bed and watched her dramatically lick her lips when he dropped the towel to the floor and eased into bed beside her. "Yeah, and if you hadn't been objectifying me, that mugger wouldn't have grabbed your purse and I wouldn't have had to save YOUR pretty ass from being dragged down the sidewalk."
"Objectifying?" Calley said, slipping her arms around his body. "Is that was I was doing? I thought I was just people watching. Painters do that and your pretty ass is just so aesthically enticing. That's not objectifying, is it?"
"Yes, it is," he said, feeling the warmth from the shower still clinging to her skin. "But you can keep on doing it." Slowly, he pressed his mouth against her neck, drawing small circles against her skin with his tongue and loving the way she arched upward in response. Being completely naked in bed with Calley before dinner was an excellent way to start the evening and he tried to get as much of her skin against his skin as he could.
In a surprise move, Calley shoved him off and onto his back, pulling herself onto his chest. "Oh, no you don't. You're not going to turn me into a puddle up under you until I get through with your pretty ass, Dean Winchester."
"You like saying that, don't you?" It was his turn to lay there helpless as she whispered "pretty ass" over and over into his ear and rubbed her perfect tits all over him. This was the kind of sex he wanted with Calley. Nasty and fun and later it would get hotter and crazier.
He was thinking of something to say and decided to keep his stupid mouth shut while Calley ran the tip of her tongue across his lips and down his neck. His fingers were trailing all over her back and running down to settle on her pretty ass that fit perfectly in his hand. Brain power for being witty disappeared when Calley rested her cheek against his stomach and looked up at him with those sky blue eyes that made him crazy. Rocking her head back, she stroked his hard on with her hair, smiling at him, knowing she was driving him nuts.
With a smooth motion, she got to her knees eased hot pink lips around his dick and he had to bite back the very uncool gasp that bubbled up in his throat. He was drowning in the heat of her lush mouth holding him in and when she scraped those even white teeth against his shaft he nearly came undone. For an instant he thought this would be the perfect last moment of any guy's life. Crazy hot girl willing to hold you in her mouth until you lost your freakin' mind.
And he really was losing his mind. Every rational thought was draining out of his head and into her mouth with each stroke and pull. She started digging her tongue against each vein on his cock and moving him in and out of her mouth and he grabbed the sheets in his fist to keep from letting go.
"Baby," he gasped out, reluctantly, "you better stop or this...is going to be…over way way way too soon."
Just to torture him, Calley pulled him out slowly, keeping up the pressure until he was sure his eyes were rolling back in their sockets. In his temporary blindness, all he could do was feel her climbing up his body and he rolled over to get her under him.
"Now it's time for your pretty ass," he whispered into her ear, sliding his fingertips over her body. The sassy control she'd shown before dripped away as he touched her and she melted underneath him, a satisfied hum vibrating in her throat.
"Please," she whispered when he hovered over her mouth.
Dean kissed her lightly and said, "Please what?"
"Please do anything you want."
This time the kissing was deeper and stronger and she pushed her tongue into his mouth and they tangled until he had to break the kiss to breathe. He was hungry for every taste of her and licked and sucked his way down to rub his face against one spiked nipple.
It was Calley's turn to come undone, bucking and wriggling in rhythm as he rubbed her with his tongue. That got to her every single time and Dean smiled against her sweet spot in his mouth.
Sharp nails scraped against his back, digging harder and harder as she came more alive under him. This was the place he craved to be. Her legs wrapped around him, holding him and desperate to have his touch. It didn't matter who he was or what he'd done; right here, his imperfections and sins didn't matter.
Calley was spread out under him, arching and wet and he stroked her until she was a weak, begging mess. His cock was a board that was about to break in two unless he got inside her. Fumbling beside the bed, Dean stretched out over her and struggled to open the drawer to get his hands on the protection he needed, only to have Calley gasp and tangle her hand in his fingers.
"Wait…don't…"
He had pressed down too hard on her and he was afraid he had hurt her. When he was on top of her he felt too rough, too big, definitely too old for her, too everything.
"Did I hurt you, Baby?" he asked, pushing off of her.
"No," she moaned, pulling him back down closer and still holding his hand. "It's just..."
"Just what?" He leaned down until their mouths were almost touching again.
"Don't get anything out of the drawer."
That one he had to think about for a second until his sex strangled brain made sense of it. "Do you mean what I think you mean?"
"I think that little girl in the painting wants to be born, Dean. Can we make her? Tonight?" She kissed him softly and quickly, still shaking.
Leaps of faith often happened in the most unusual of places and Dean flung himself off his personal cliff. "Definitely," he said against her lips, feeling the smile that curled under his mouth. It wasn't like the thought hadn't crossed his mind before and if she was ready, he'd get ready.
"Are you sure?" she said, all the while, pulling him closer with her legs wrapped around his waist.
Inching his way inside her, he stayed close to her ear. "The beautiful woman who loves me wants to have my baby?" The groan was involuntary as he pushed deeper and deeper. "I'm so there."
The slow and easy soon gave way to frantic thrusting together as she met his pace, crushing him over and over inside her until he didn't care about looking cool or sexy anymore. She was gasping and screaming for him to fuck her harder when her insides let go into waves of spasms and then she was whimpering and calling him God. He grunted and clinched his teeth like that would keep him from losing his sanity when the orgasm drained his brain and strength and left him a sweaty chunk of body on top of Calley. Big, badass hunter Dean Winchester was reduced to a shaking pile of man, babbling sloppy versions of "I love you" over and over into his woman's ear. It was true and saying didn't scare him like it used to because it was the truth.
When he could see again, he knew he'd done his job. Calley's face was pink and damp and tears were dribbling from the corners of her eyes. When she came, she lost every emotional control and tears were the giveaway.
"God, I love you," she said, catching her breath in a half sob, "I knew when I saw you, you were the one I needed. The perfect one."
The perfect one. He liked being called the perfect one. He'd heard her say that to him before, long ago, he just couldn't quite remember when. He kissed the corners of her eyes and said, "Sure it wasn't just my pretty ass?"
"Well, there's that," Calley groaned back to him. She reached up to stroke his face and said, " I hope we made our baby right this second."
"So do I."
"Wait! Stop!"
He was trying to slide out from inside her and she tightened her legs around him. "Uh, Baby, I'm more than willing to keep trying," he said, kissing her again, "but it's gonna take me just a minute or two."
"Keep trying," Calley said, laughing softly and relaxing her vice-like grip around his hips. "I like the sound of that. Keep trying, Baby."
"You've got to keep trying, Calley!"
The doctor's voice was less encouraging than it had been for the past two hours that Calley had been pushing. Now, it was more like an order, an anxious order.
She was soaked with sweat and Dean's arm under her shoulders was the only thing holding her up. When this pushing crap had started, she was red faced and determined. Now, her color was some weak, pale gray and there was only pain and fear dripping out of her every pore.
"Calley, listen to me. You've got to keep trying. Don't quit on me now, Baby." He grabbed a towel and wiped her face. He shoved her wet hair back from her face and held his hand there so she could feel him. Her eyes were closed and it was hard to tell the difference between the tears and sweat on her cheeks.
"I can't do this. It hurts too much."
"Calley," the doctor called up from his weird catcher's stance between the stirrups, "I think if you can give me one more strong push we can get this baby out and we need to get this baby out now. Understand?"
"Can't we just hit pause and start over tomorrow? I'll do better tomorrow," she turned toward Dean, a confused and terrified expression on her face, begging him to save her. "Tell them I can't go any more. Please? Tell them."
Those eyes had lost touch with what was really happening here and they were scaring him to death. They were desperate and defeated. "Calley," he made his voice strong and his grip on her even tighter, "you have to do this once more. You can do this and get this baby here. Give it one more try and it'll be over. Remember your painting? She'll be here and the pain will be over."
Calley's whole body arched with the strain of pushing and he held her up, amazed at what she was doing. He'd always loved women, ever since he was a boy and discovered legs and tits but now he admired them, especially this one. Men couldn't do this. Men couldn't make a human being and shove it out.
She was screaming with what little energy she had left and all at once a whole, live baby spilled out of her body into the doctor's hands. Calley crumbled back against his chest, gasping for air.
"It's a girl," a nurse said, giving Dean the thumbs up sign and they hovered over the baby.
"Is she okay? Go see!" Calley practically shoved Dean off of her toward the end of the table.
As if on cue, the baby girl started screaming bloody murder, kicking her feet and flailing her arms as they evaluated her under bright lights. Dean hovered over them, wanting to get close, wanting to stay out of the way, wanting to see his daughter and wanting someone to say—
"Looks great. A normal, healthy baby girl, Dad," the nurse said, trying to clean up the wiggling, furious infant.
"Dean?!" Calley was getting her strength back in a hurry and demanding answers.
"She's perfect and pissed," he called back as they put the squirming little girl in his arms. The pink blanket couldn't hold her and her arms shot out, shaking and letting him know she wanted answers, too. "That's right, kid. Let everybody know you're here," he said as she wailed in his hands. He knew there was a big stupid smile on his face and he couldn't help it. She was tinier than he imagined a baby would be, barely filling up his hands, but she damn sure filled up the space she was in with noise and wiggle.
Dean held the baby's little forehead close to Calley so she could kiss her and whisper mother things to her and then he leaned over Calley to tell her that she was the mightiest pretty ass he'd ever met. He kissed her and didn't talk again because he was afraid he was going to cry if he did and Baby Girl was crying enough for all of them.
"Go introduce Emily to Sam," Calley whispered and lay back against the pillow exhausted. Emily Claire. They'd talked about naming the baby that if it was a girl and it was. She was. Emily Claire Winchester sounded light and happy, except for the Winchester at the end, but he'd make sure that "Winchester" part didn't touch her life and she'd be a normal, happy baby girl. He'd keep it all separate and she'd never have to be touched by anything evil, ever. If he could stave off the fucking apocalypse, he could damn sure keep one kid and one woman safe.
Sam. He had to show Sam. The baby settled down as he left the delivery room and walked down the hall to where Sam was pacing back and forth. She looked up at Dean with deep brown eyes. John Winchester's eye. Dad's eyes in Emily's little face. What a hoot.
"Sammy! Look!"
Sam got all choked up, like Sam always did, and put his big hand on Emily's head as if he was trying to protect her from something. Little brother's long arms circled around them both and he acted like he wanted to confess something but he didn't. "You deserve this, Dean. You really do," Sam said with big Sam-like tears sliding down his face.
A nurse suddenly showed up at Dean's elbow to take the baby to the nursery. "Just for a while, Dad," she said, smiling broadly. "Go back to Calley. She needs you now." Her look got more serious, darker, and she said it again. "She needs your help. Go."
Sam looked at him, his face still wet and worried. "You need to go now, Dean. Run."
The hallway got longer and longer as he ran. It was different than before. Not the bright, happy maternity ward colors. The lights were getting dimmer and the air took on a dry, stifling taste. Dean saw the door to the labor and delivery room and it had changed. It didn't swing easily back and forth. Made of solid metal, a huge silver knob held it shut.
Calley's scream cut through the air, echoing around him and he jerked at the doorknob, trying to get to her.
"Calley!!" He screamed back to her, struggling with the door. His only answer was another long, agonizing wail from the other side of the door.
"I'm coming! What's going on?!" Dean kicked hard against the door with his boot and it didn't budge. His shoulder didn't make any more headway and he slammed against the door over and over as Calley's voice grew more and more horrific.
"Please…help me, Dean…hurting me!"
He felt his shoulder crunch apart as he pounded into the door in a futile gesture.
Light began to blast through a window that wasn't there before and he ran to it, pounding his fist against the glass. His knees buckled at the scene on the other side of barrier. Calley was naked and tied to a wooden rack. Not a rack. The rack. The rack Dean had lain on in Hell and laid others on to shred them to pieces. Her hands were tied over her head and there were several men hunched around her as she struggled and begged. One bastard was on top of her and when she screamed he slapped her hard against her cheek. Blood ran from her nose and mouth and she was losing the strength to scream.
"Get the fuck away from her! You're all dead!"
Dean saw a chair and flung it into the glass, only to have it bounce back and clatter to the floor.
"SAM! Come help me!" He screamed behind him in the darkness, slamming the useless chair against the glass once again. "YOU BASTARDS ARE ALL DEAD!"
They were circling her like a pack of wolves waiting to feed on a wounded animal. They pawed and scratched at her, leaving her bruised and marked. One of the men had a knife and pricked tiny holes in her thigh letting single drops of blood ooze out over her skin. They took turns with her, high fiving each other and grinning through the window at Dean as he tried again and again to break the glass. He felt the gun stuffed in his belt and grabbed it from his back. Over and over he squeezed the trigger, sending round after round into the glass only to have them ping back across the room and ricochet around his head. He pumped another round into the door lock and it bounced away harmlessly to the floor.
He was helpless and impotent there on the outside watching Calley be torn to pieces.
"Please stop…Dean…don't hurt me..."
Another man had climbed on top of her and wrapped rough hands around her waist before he started slamming into her tiny body. Calley was begging and whimpering, but the son of a bitch just kept pounding into her. He saw the ring. The amulet swinging against her face, the sharp edge of a horn piercing her cheek.
His stomach began to boil up into his mouth when the man turned to face the glass and he looked into his own eyes.
"YOU BASTARD!"
Dean's body shook against the mattress and he gulped air like he hadn't sucked in breath in hours. He clinched his fists into the sheets, trying to ground himself in what was real. The bed. The room in the Roadhouse. The silence that was true and not part of the nightmare.
"Jesus," he whispered, closing his eyes again. He was drenched in sweat and now the air conditioning sent a shiver across his flesh.
A nightmare. He'd tried to bend the ugly truth into a pretty fantasy and even his own brain wouldn't allow it. The truth was the truth and it was going to stay that way. No nighttime sex dream with some invented version of Calley was going to change what happened or how his daughter came to be. No pretending or revenge was going to make it different.
He wiped his hand over his eyes, trying to force back the headache that was pounding against his skull. The truth had a way of sprouting up no matter how hard you pretended that it didn't exit and he felt a nauseous pang at the thought of Emily ever knowing the truth. He didn't even want to know it.
A cool hand against his shoulder jolted him sideways and he jerked his body violently.
"Emily?"
She was standing beside the bed, touching his sweaty skin with one hand while those big brown eyes were pinned to him. He felt filthy with her innocence right beside the thoughts and images fixed inside his brain, like she could see them and know the horrible things he'd done. He wanted to peel it off and burn it so she could never know.
Pulling himself together, Dean reached out to stroke her cheek. "Are you okay, Cutie Pie? Did you have a bad dream?"
She shook her head back and forth, worry wrinkling her forehead in the dim light from the window.
Dean tried to get his breathing down to a less asthmatic beat. "I woke you up, didn't I? I'm sorry. Daddy just had a bad dream, too." Offering her a weak smile, he added, "We're quite a pair, huh, Cutie?"
She had to get up on tiptoes, but Emily leaned onto the bed and kissed the melted hand on his shoulder as if to say she understood. That was their connection. One of common pain and fear.
He was touched by her compassion and planted a kiss on her head before she moved away. "I'm okay, Emily. Why don't you go back to bed?"
It was quickly clear that she didn't want to leave and she stood still at the edge of the bed, looking at him and waiting for another option. When it didn't come, she turned slowly and padded away toward the open door. She seemed so small when she paused in the doorway and looked back.
Dean wanted to tell her to come back and crawl into his bed and go to sleep. That he'd keep the dreams away and she could stay there as long as she wanted. But that wasn't going to help her move forward or get stronger. It would be more for him than for her.
"You don't have to be scared, Emily. The door's open and if you need me, I'm right here," he said, giving her a warm smile and a thumbs up while he tried to make himself strong enough to take it.
Emily gave him a sleepy, half-smile in return and ventured out across the hallway.
Exhausted, Dean fell back into the bed and forced his eyes shut. He was sorry the first part of the dream wasn't real. Calley deserved that much, not what she got. All he could do was try to make Emily's life more beautiful than her conception had been. If Sam could get enough information to wreck whatever train was heading their way, Dean could do that.
Dean tried to put it away and get back to dreams that didn't end in blood and screaming, if that was possible.
TBC