This is not a gentle waking, an ease back into consciousness.
The pain in my arm has me awake so fast that the wind is knocked out of me.
I hear voices.
Gadreel.
Cameron.
I lay as still as I can, trying to synonymously get air back into my lungs and hold my breath.
"If you want to help, see if you can find a phone and call the police." Cameron says.
Her voice sounds guarded, but not half as much as it should be. Not if she knew the monster she was speaking with.
I open my eyes a slit, realizing that Gadreel won't be able to see me. Cameron's shielding me from view. Slowly, I reach behind the girl, clutching my bad arm to my chest.
How bad is it?
No time to find out.
As discreetly as I can, I tap her t-shirt, right over the angel blade at her hip. Get the hint. Play along.
I don't know if Cameron got the message, but she's not backing down from Gadreel. "Are you not answering me for a reason?" she says brusquely.
"Girl, you're obviously out of your mind from the crash. Just get out of the way and let me help this poor man." Gadreel says slowly, dabbing at a southern accent.
He steps closer, and I shut my eyes. He can't know I'm awake. That would just put Cameron in more danger. I'm in no shape to fight right now.
Cameron spreads her feet apart and jams her hands against her hips, her shadow falling over me in the coming twilight.
Confidence. Noun. A feeling of self-assurance arising from one's appreciation of one's own abilities or qualities.
"I'm not out of my mind, and you are not helping him." She barks.
I reach out and tap her hip again. Kill him. Kill him now before he can kill you. Or me.
Her reaction is instantaneous. The knife slashes out as she lunges forward.
I use the time she's giving me to pull myself partway out of the window.
Agony races from my fingertips to the back of my neck, forcing a strangled moan from my throat. I volunteer my skin to the spiked shards of glass beneath me, dragging myself across their unforgiving surface.
Knobby gravel, dirt, and grains of sharp glass that I plow through make themselves at home under my nails.
I crawl over the shotgun before I realize it's there, so I have to pull it out from under my chest before I can aim it. I grip it tightly, ready to pull and shoot the second I can see clearly. I can't see; all I see is the color of pain. It's an actual color, I swear.
Gadreel lunges at Cameron, but she ducks to the side, lighter and quicker than a deer.
I strain my vision until a space clears up. Cameron dives to the side, and I take the shot. I raise the gun and put a bullet between his eyes, thanking my stars that Dean taught me how to shoot with my left hand.
I keep the gun leveled at Gadreel's body for a few seconds, just to be sure.
He's not moving.
The pain of...everything...takes over. My fingers become limp noodles, dropping the lead weight of the gun.
"Are you okay?" I gasp to Cameron.
"I think I should be asking you that." She comes forward swiftly, crouching at my side in the glass confetti.
"Can I just comment, you are way too tall." She reaches out her hands, bending and swaying as she struggles to get me to my feet.
My arm declares nuclear war on me.
Somehow, I'm on my feet, leaning on the smoking remains of the sunnyside up car, pointing the weapon at the still body at my feet.
"Cameron, meet Gadreel." I say flatly.
I proceed to empty the entire contents of the gun in his face.
She whistles, crossing her arms and staring down at the mess "I'm pretty sure he's dead..."
"He destroyed my life. I'm not taking any chances." I growl.
I double over my arm as it flares out. The limb looks like a school parking lot...full of speed bumps.
"Do you have service?" I ask Cameron wearily, waving my hand like a phone near my ear.
"My phone's still in the car, but I'll check." She crawls through the driver's window and emerges moments later with the phone clutched in her hand.
"One bar. I'm not sure if it will work, but we can try."
I'm going to pass out. I sit on the ground, letting my head hang down.
"Give it a shot." I sigh.
"Should I call anyone in particular?"
I focus on breathing in...stay awake. Out...don't pass out...in...
"Dean. 452-6658."
...out…
...in...
I tentatively put my fingers against my arm, feeling for all the places it's broken. I count seven.
"Gadreel might be out for the count, but Metatron will still be coming after Dean. We have to warn him and Cas."
She presses the phone to her ear, swaying from one foot to the other impatiently.
"Here, gimme the phone." I gasp.
When she hands it over, I cradle it in my shoulder and continue searching my arm out with my fingers. The light wreaths Cameron's head in a dusky purple, and I realize the sun's going down.
I hiss as my fingers dip into another gap between bone fragments.
I was wrong. Eight breaks. I don't think it qualifies as an arm anymore. So floppy; maybe it's a tentacle.
Dean's voicemail screams into my head, and I wait out his voice until I hear the tone.
"Dean. It's me. If you get this, head back towards I-25. We're on the road coming towards you. The car flipped. I took care of Gadreel, but Metatron is probably still coming. Hurry, Dean."
I hand the phone back up to Cameron. "We need to keep moving."
She nods, looking out at the setting sun as she tucks the phone back into her pocket. "Can you move on your own?"
Can I? No.
Will I?
Probably.
I get to my knees, then tentatively try to make it to my feet. My plan backfires and in a second I'm back on my knees.
"Do you need help?" Now that I'm on my knees, we're about the same height.
"Give me a second." I sit back on my heels, hugging my arm against me and trying to breathe without crying like a girl. After a moment, I pull my knife out of my belt and cut away my sleeve, then slip out of my jacket. I tie it around my arm.
"I wouldn't mind a hand up." I admit.
She sticks her hand out. "That shouldn't be too hard." she clips.
I would laugh if it didn't hurt so much. I stretch out my good hand, bracing myself.
In a moment, I'm on my feet, but I think that's about as good as it's going to get. Saying that my arm absolutely throbs every time I move anything is an understatement.
"You're strong." I rasp.
That's a major understatement. I must at least double her body weight, but that didn't seem to phase her.
I'm definitely beginning to question whether or not this girl is human.
She smirks. "Thank you."
I start limping down the road, biting the inside of my lip to keep from screaming at every step.
I stumble only a few steps in, and in a fleeting blur, I catch sight of my left hand. The one Cameron used to help pull me up. Pieces click together quickly in my head.
"Let me see your hands." I turn to her.
"Why?" she asks, holding them behind her back.
"Don't be stubborn. Just let me see."
She slowly holds out her hands, palms down.
"Turn them over." I order firmly.
After a moments hesitation, she faces her palms upwards.
They're cut. Badly. Blood doesn't so much drip as it does pour from the slits in her skin. The sight of the wounds sends me into instinctive emergency mode. I yank a bandana from my pocket and stick the corner in my mouth and pull, ripping the fabric in half.
She holds out her hands willingly, not meeting my eyes as I one handedly try to bandage her hands. I step up to her before she can back away and start clumsily wrapping the cloth around. She bites her lip, but beyond that, she is expressionless. Blood instantly leaks through the green fabric, creating a dismal, gruesome Christmas collage.
For a moment, I study Cameron's face to make sure she's okay, and I see Jess again. The confused look she wore when she was baking brownies once and burned her hand, and wasn't quite sure if it hurt yet or not. But there's something else here too...something even more raw and wild than Jess. It scares me.
Before I know what I'm doing, I bend down and kiss Cameron's bandaged hands, then turn and start heading down the road.
"Let's get moving."
I don't bother to look back to see if she's coming. I don't want to see her reaction.
Half an hour later, the sun has disappeared completely. I'm still ahead of Cameron a little, but that won't last. I'm only going to go a few more steps without collapsing. Then again, I've been thinking that for the last half hour. I guess it's a Winchester thing. Regardless of whether or not there's a way, there is always a will.
Only a couple more miles, now. We'll be at the bunker, I'll see my brother, and he can stitch up Cameron's hands.
They need stitches. Definitely.
I take another step forward and somehow end up on my knees.
I will get up again. Where there's a will. Free Will. Team Free Will.
Damn. This hurts.
Suddenly, Cameron is right on top of me. "Are you okay?"
"I've been better." I grind out. "Look, unless you think you can carry me, I think we're going to have to wait for Dean to come to us."
I will get up. I will.
She looks at me, sizing me up. Diagnosing me. Examines me. "I guess we'll have to wait..."
"Maybe we could try walking for a while longer if I could lean on you." I suggest. "I don't want you getting caught out here. It's cold, and Dean's not answering."
I will. I can.
She nods. "That would work."
I stagger to my feet and put my hand on her shoulder, far below me. She's too short to lean much of my weight on...it's like trying to use a toothpick as a cane. Her look are deceiving. She's sturdy; she's already proven that.
My saving grace -now our saving grace- in the form of a roaring engine hits my ears.
Moments later, the headlights of a black, '67 hard top Chevy Impala blind us. Some people would just call the car a mess. It's been rebuilt hundreds of times from the disasters its been through. But I call it home.
The man behind the wheel, who's been rebuilt more times than the car, calls it baby, and as he jumps out of the car and runs towards us, he call me a multitude of angry, dirty names. But when he's got his arms around me a moment later, I know that he doesn't mean a single one of them. In just one moment, everything that has separated us, that has driving us apart with no reunion in sight, seems to evaporate.
I scream as Dean's hug crushes my arm. He's instantly in big brother mode, taking his jacket off and adding it as extra support to my arm, then lowering me into the backseat. Then he's distractedly introducing himself to Cameron, who murmurs a quick greeting and slips into the front seat as he holds the door open for her.
As she gets in, she glances back at me, eyebrows raised in a silent question.
I nod, barely able to force out a smile. Thumbs up, sunshiney days, unicorns and rainbows.
She relaxes and focuses back to the front.