Supernatural: Dean's Witch Ch. 01

"It must be nice, having a brother. I always wanted a sibling."

"It's good, yeah," he answered her, letting the conversation drift. For a moment, he tried to keep his mind on his family, and then he tried to think of her mother, but his mind wouldn't focus anywhere. As she'd been nestling closer, her tank had drifted down so that he had such a view of her full breasts that he was finding it impossible to keep even one eye on the television, and her breath against his chest was hot through his t-shirt. When two of her fingers began making lazy circles along the side of his ribs, he caught his breath in and closed his eyes for a moment; his dick was hardening, and she'd notice before long if she didn't fall asleep on top of him again.

She wasn't falling asleep, though. Instead, her hand pressed into his side and ran over his abdomen, languidly wandering along his front and pressing into the cotton of his shirt, tracing his muscles, exploring. Her other hand was crushed between them; he could feel it between her thigh and his. Going off of her cue, he gave up on distracting himself from her body and he rubbed the hand that had rested on her shoulder down her arm, letting his fingertips brush the side of her breast with each caress, and she shuddered beside him.

In another moment, he'd reached over to turn off the television, and angled his face to her so he could see her expression; he wasn't entirely surprised, or even disappointed, to see fear mixed in with the desire there. Her eyes seemed bluer than they'd been earlier, and the flush he was getting used to stretched from her cheeks down her neck. "I want you to kiss me," she whispered up at him, so quietly he almost couldn't hear her, but he did.

Her lips were soft, and her small mouth opened to his the moment he pressed in as she stretched up toward him. Tasting her, he sucked lightly on her lips and found her waist with his hands as one of hers settled to rest on his forearm, as if for purchase. Without thinking, he pulled her up and over him, sucking the gasp she emitted into his own mouth as he settled her on his thighs to straddle him, one of his hands holding to her hip while his other snaked up to the nape of her neck, cupping her head and pressing her in closer. She tasted sweet, like the coffee they'd been drinking not long ago.

Letting himself tangle one of his hands into her hair, he angled her head sideways so that he could more easily reach her neck, his other hand massaging her waist, having found its way to her skin, just under her top and above the top of her low-rising jeans.

He listened to the soft sounds she made as he kept kissing, nipping along the side of her neck, and he noticed when she shivered with pleasure in response to his hand tightening in her hair and shifting her sideways. She liked him controlling her movements, the way she was reacting, and he tightened his grip with the thought. His dick throbbed within his jeans and he pulled her in closer, knowing she had to feel him now through her own jeans, the way he'd positioned her. He couldn't get enough of her, and the way she was moving against him and under his mouth and hands said pretty clearly that she felt the same.

Underneath his attentions, Calla gasped when he bit down lightly at the base of her neck, jerking under his touch and hearing herself mewl softly with every one of his kisses, each time his lips met her skin. She moved to meet his lips with hers and was stopped by his hand in her hair, pulling her back so that she felt like she'd break apart with desire when she met his eyes and saw the control there, and the lust.

"I like the sounds you're making, Calla," he said gruffly, and she closed her eyes again as his hand gripped onto her waist harder and held her down against him, pressuring her down into him so that she felt the bulge in his jeans against her. She moaned, barely able to breathe, she wanted him so badly, when he brought her forward again and bit down on her lower lip, sucking it between his teeth. She heard herself moan more loudly, and couldn't even recognize the voice as her own when she gasped his name, it was dripping with so much want. She could feel herself, wanting him, wetter than she'd ever been, and him throbbing against her.

Dean shifted with her in his arms, suddenly, landing them lengthwise on the couch so that he was above her, looking into her face. He groaned when he felt both of her hands slip under his t-shirt, and he was barely conscious of grinding into her as he kissed her again, practically sucking the breath out of her as he felt her grip tighten around him, holding onto him as one of her legs angled out and wrapped around his own.

He hadn't a thought of stopping, or of giving her more time to think about stopping, when his phone rang from the table, blasting out notes to tell him his brother was calling. A moment more, though, and he rose above her, catching his breath and watching as she opened her own eyes as if emerging from some dream-state. Neither of them had been thinking of anything but pleasure, he knew.

"Fuck," he groaned, swinging away from her to perch on the side of the couch and grab up his phone. "What?" he demanded, even as he felt her pulling herself up to a sitting position behind him, fingers combing through her hair.

"Uh, hey to you, too," Sammy greeted him.

"What do you want, Sam?"

"Fine. Look, I dug up a property that's in Calla's name; it's about two hours from here. I was thinking I'd call up Ronnie and we'd check it out."

Dean closed his eyes, standing to pace away from the couch and trying to bring himself back to the case. Ronnie was only an hour away, and he wasn't as good as Dean when it came to hunting, but he was competent; he'd have Sammy's back... assuming nothing went wrong. "I could come with, tomorrow morning," Dean told his brother anyway, looking out the window at the dimming light and realizing that he and Calla had already talked and kissed their way through all of the afternoon.

"Either way. What do you want to do? She's either there or she's not, and I don't think Ronnie would wanna go out there tonight anyway."

"Yeah," Dean decided. "I'll come with in the morning, all right?"

"You sleeping there tonight?" Sam asked in return, and Dean could hear the laugh in his brother's voice; for some reason, it bothered him, though it wouldn't have normally.

"Yeah, probably, I think so. I'll pick you up tomorrow—say, 10?"

"You got it," Sam agreed before Dean closed out the call and turned back to Calla. She looked flustered, and embarrassed... and gorgeous, but the smile she gave him was all nerves and sex.

"Colleague," he commented, holding up the phone for a moment. "Sorry," he added, but he stayed standing where he was, just across the room from the couch. He wanted nothing more than to take this blue-eyed witch to bed, now, and make her scream against him, but he'd also just gotten off of a phone call that had revolved around hunting her mother; the whole thing felt... wrong.

"Everything okay?" she asked, leaning forward. Her hands were combing through her hair, nervously now, and Dean realized that his staying where he was was throwing her off. He stepped back to the couch and sat beside her, leaning back, but keeping an inch of air between them.

"Yeah, just some business I'll have to take care of tomorrow. Listen, Calla..." he started, and then closed his eyes for a moment to take a deep breath and try to get more centered. "I didn't mean to push you, or for us to... I just wanted to kiss you," he told her quietly, not sure if he was apologizing or not. She'd asked him first, right?

Calla looked at the man beside her on her couch—the man whose hands had just been all over her, and whose lips had been driving her crazy just a moment before, and whose hands had been controlling practically her every move, making her want him all the more. She shook her head, taking her gaze back to his face. She wanted him. "I wanted you to kiss me," she said simply, and then she added, "I want you to do a lot more, Dean; I think I want..." she ducked her face, letting out an embarrassed laugh that made his dick harden all over again, "I think I want everything, if you want me," she told him, and then she enjoyed the surprise drifting over his face, before he seemed to tamp it down.

Dean reached for her knee and let his fingers trail over her lower leg that was perched up on the couch between them, and he tried to remind himself of how innocent she'd seemed the night before. He wanted to be careful here. "Calla, I'll be honest with you—if that call hadn't come, I'm not sure either of us would be dressed right now. There's something about you—" he trailed off when she looked down, shy again, and so he reached out with his other hand and nudged her chin upward so she was looking at him. "You don't have to be shy around me, ya know."

Calla huffed out a chuckle, shaking her head again. "I don't usually... I'm not usually like this," she offered helplessly.

"Yeah, I kind of figured that," he answered, and then paused. "Listen, why don't we just..." he stopped, sighed, and started again; she looked terrified of what he was about to say. "I don't want you to regret something we do; after what happened last night... maybe this was too much, too fast, and if we keep going," he stopped mid-sentence, not even sure what he'd been about to say.

"I won't regret it, Dean," she promised, and he believed her, though he rather wished he didn't.

"Calla, fuck, I can't believe I'm gonna say this, but I think we should just... slow down. If you still feel like this tomorrow... hell, I swear to God I'll take you into your bedroom and drive you crazy." He watched her eyes get wide in response to what he'd said, and he shrugged back at her nervous laugh; it was the truth.

"Promise?" she asked, her cheeks flushing right down to the hickies he'd left on her neck.

God, he wanted her.

* * * * *

Morning found Calla almost thankful that Dean had to venture off on a work errand, though she'd been incredibly thankful when he'd agreed to sleep on her couch for one more night. As the night had come on, she'd felt less and less sure of herself, and more nervous about him leaving when she remembered her nightmares. He hadn't been hard to convince to stay.

But though she'd done a good job of not thinking of her mother, what with Dean around, now she needed at least a few hours to herself. Another body had popped up overnight, and on top of that, the more she thought of what was hanging in the balance with Dean... the more she needed to try to get through to her again about not just her rage, but the spell she'd cast on her teenage daughter, as well. However unlikely any such conversation might be to make a difference. After four calls, trying every ten minutes, her mother finally picked up, and Calla steeled herself to be patient.

"Are you alright?" her mother asked, apparently out of breath.

"We need to talk," Calla told her, even less inclined toward any preamble. "When are you planning on stopping all of this? Do you have any idea how much suffering you're causing?"

After a pause, her mother's voice came back, calmer. "Yes, in fact, I do, and I wish you'd help me."

Jesus. Calla sat down at her table and took a gulp of her coffee. It was always the same thing. "You really think killing is appropriate mother-daughter bonding? Because I have to tell you, that might be the reason we don't talk more."

"Any time together is bonding, and I don't have time for this if you're going to be so stubborn as you were in our last talk. I'm traveling. What do you want?"

"Mom, please, again, I want you to tell me how close you are to being done," she growled.

"I don't know. There are hunters involved this time... it would be easier to get rid of them now rather than later, I'm starting to think. I need to make up my mind before I decide when I'll... take a break. Would you want to help me with hunters? After all..."

"NO. Are you kidding me? They wouldn't even be after you if you'd just stop. And how would they find you, anyway? Just back off and they'll forget about you." Calla paused, breathing, and remembering what actual hunters would do if they did find her mother. "I'm worried about you," she continued. "And if you kill hunters, there'll be even more of them after you. You know that."

Calla heard her mother sigh on the other end of the line, and gripped her coffee in frustration when the eventual response was nothing more than a noncommittal grunt. Her mother would do as her mother would do.

"Dear, is there anything else?" she asked.

"Yes, actually," Calla said, more softly, and took another breath. "We need to talk about the spell."

"The spell?" she echoed. "Which one would that be, dear?"

"You know damned well which one. I want it off of me; it's held me back since... well, for too long," Calla hedged, not wanting to give her mother any idea of how long it had stopped her from being serious with a man—that could just prove her point, after all.

"I want you married, and happy, and stable," the witch on the other end of the phone hissed. "It's time you understood that."

"And it's time that you understood the spell is holding me back!" Calla took a breath, and then she added, "And what if I were raped? What then?"

Silence greeted the question, confirming for Calla that this had never even occurred to her mother.

"What happened?"

"I'm fine—" she began.

"What. Happened." Her mother's voice was raspy now when it cut her off, dark, and Calla's heart all but stopped. Suddenly, she realized exactly what she'd done by bringing this up.

"Nothing, Mom, nothing, but..."

"What happened?"

Calla took a breath, and downed her coffee in one gulp, wishing for whiskey although it was barely half past 10 AM. "A man... pushed me up against a wall, as I was coming out of a bathroom. He kissed me, and I got scared, but my date interrupted him before he could do more. Like I said, I'm fine, but if I'd been alone... Mom, that spell..." She broke off, listening to her mother breathing, and realizing that whatever happened today—however her mother let out the extra rage Calla had just unleashed in her—this was going to be her fault.

"I'll kill him. You tell me his name; I want to kill him next."

"Jesus, Mom! That's not the point, and for fuck's sake, I don't even know his name. He got thrown out, and we left."

"We?" she echoed.

"My date brought me home, yes."

"What's his name?"

Calla sighed. "Forget it, Mom. We've just met."

"But he's the reason you're calling," her mother stated flatly.

"And so what if he is? But, Mom, again, what if I had been raped? What then? With that spell in effect, I'd be..."

"You'd be okay," her mother said quietly. "I'd remove it then; I'd have to. But if you're dating someone you like this much, then maybe you should give him a chance first. I won't remove it unless there's... no other option, Calla. I didn't place it to... trap you. You do know that, don't you?"

"And the fact that I feel trapped doesn't matter?" Calla took a breath, but allowed herself to latch on to her mother's earlier comment, just the same. She'd said she'd remove it if she had to. That was the first time she'd allowed even that much leeway, which offered some comfort as her mother fell back into familiar arguments, apparently having lost her rush to leave the phone. Stilled, Calla's mind went back to Dean. Since that man had attacked her, she'd realized that her mother's spell wasn't just unfair; it was a time bomb. And much as her mother insisted she would remove it, so far as Calla knew, there was no guarantee of that happening.

When she lost her virginity, her body would keep craving whoever had taken it—whether she loved him or hated him. If she'd been alone, she could have been raped, and it would have been that foul-smelling drunk who her body would keep hungering after then, forever, even as she hated him, and hated herself for it. She'd waited all this time, putting off dating seriously because she was afraid of making the wrong choice, but she'd never until this week thought about not being able to make the choice for herself. She supposed it hadn't seemed possible, cruel as the spell already was.

Calla came back to her mother's voice, saying such familiar, cold words. "It's insurance, dear, that you'll never get tired of the man you fall in love with. So fall in love, have sex on your wedding night, and live happily ever after. You'll never be bored of him or stray, and he'll be so fascinated by the electricity between you that he'll stay, as well."

"It's not a love spell, Mom. You can't save me from what happened to you with Dad."

"No, but your father wouldn't have cheated if I'd been as welcoming as I should have been, and if I hadn't cheated. I won't have you going through the same thing, and I won't have some man marry you and take you for granted like your father did to me; he drove me to wander, and then he blamed it on me, and everything was ruined. You know that," Calla's mother hissed. "The spell won't drive love, but with it running in your blood, you'll do that yourself."

"That's not kind of like a mom saying her kid's the bestest at everything, you don't think?" Calla couldn't help responding. It wasn't, but it was close enough.

Her mother kept speaking, and defending her decision, but Calla had already made up her mind. She wouldn't be waiting until her wedding night, or even until she was sure of a commitment. Dean made her feel safe. Better a man who I'll want to remember, if he's gone tomorrow, than one I don't know or will hate, she thought to herself, realizing that, even still, she was hoping Dean wouldn't disappear at all. She couldn't wait, though. Even if this meant he'd be the only one she could ever find real pleasure with, once they went through with it, and even if she'd be doomed to be on her own if he left, she wanted to be done with the worry she'd been feeling the last few days. If she was going to be alone anyway, she might as well take the risk now, and eliminate a later disaster.

* * * * *

Just a block from the house, Sam and Dean realized not only that it was a wild goose chase, but that something had set the witch off anew. Within minutes, three of their phones went off with texts alerting them to new kills, spread around a 100 mile radius. By the time they got to the house and confirmed it was empty, and essentially abandoned, they'd gotten two more calls.

Settled in a coffee shop, Dean took from his bag the one trump card he had—he'd taken Calla's laptop that morning, begging to borrow it for the afternoon with the claim that his own battery had run down and he'd lost his car charger. She'd agreed without giving it a second thought. Now, while Sammy began a desperate search through her files—she hadn't even locked it, apparently, she so trusted him with it—Dean called her to warn her that it might be tomorrow before he was back, that something had come up. Hearing the stress in her voice, he guessed that she had the same thing on her mind that he and his brother did; she knew her mother had jumped off the deep end and been stacking up bodies all morning.

Hours later, the bodies had slowed down. The day had amounted to fifteen kills, though, nearly tripling the witch's recent body count. But Sam had also found an address that wasn't more than an hour's drive from where they were. Heading out, Dean focused on what was coming, and did his best to block from his mind the fact that they were going after Calla's mother.

As dusk was falling, they reached the address Calla had had saved in her email as her mother's new mailing address, and her own old mailing address from some summers before. It was listed under a name the brothers had never seen in relation to the women—without Calla's laptop, they wouldn't have found it. The place was an old row house, carefully maintained and totally innocent, from the outside. With green siding and light brown trim, it blended into the block as just another dwelling, nothing outside to bring down suspicion.