Supernatural: Dean's Witch Ch. 03

"It was a spell my mom cast on me. Sam found out about it, after... just before you guys left. I asked him not to tell you because I didn't... I didn't want your pity. Or anything else," she added, trying to force a flatness into her voice. "It means... it means my body's tied to yours, since you were the first one I was with... since we had sex," she said hurriedly, her voice breaking on the last phrase. "It means... I'll have a hard time... saying no, to you," she finished helplessly, picking at the nails on her left hand with her right, pulling at the cuticles that were already jagged from stress and this old bad habit. "It doesn't affect you," she added into the silence. "But I can't... other relationships won't work for me now, because of the spell," she said quietly. "Sex won't... be what it's supposed to be, for me. My mom wanted me to stay with the first guy I slept with, so... yeah. It is... what it is. I thought... I thought that was why Sam came, to get me, because you guys decided you might as well take advantage of it, of me not being able to say no or walk away."

After a moment of silence, Dean pulled back, standing suddenly and stepping across the room to give himself some space. His brain was reeling. "Jesus Christ. You knew that before we slept together? Why the fuck would you go to bed with me of all people, knowing that? We'd just met! For fuck's sake, Calla, what the fuck were you thinking?"

Even without her answering, though, he knew. She'd been scared by that guy at the bar, which had to have had her doubting what might happen on some other night. And he'd been there, swooping in like some goddamned hero to the rescue. "I didn't promise you I'd stay around," he said, his voice flat as he leaned helplessly against a wall, staring down at her.

Calla shook her head, still not looking up at the man she'd fallen so hard for, even before they'd slept together. She didn't know what the look on his face would be, whether he'd be horrified or fascinated or disgusted or anything else, or all of the above. She wanted to melt into the shower instead.

Sam stood after another minute, and took off his button-down and leaned down to wrap it around Calla, who hadn't yet moved. "I'm gonna be in the hall; give you guys some space," he commented, already moving out of the room.

Another moment passed before Dean moved, and sat down heavily beside the shower.

"I'm sorry I thought you guys would have planted the guy at the bar... it's been a confusing month," she told him slowly, her voice heavy with alcohol and her gaze still on the floor. "I was thinking a lot of things, and... with the spell... I figured I didn't know you guys that well, and there wouldn't be anything to stop you guys from just..." she trailed off, shrugging, and wishing she had that bottle of Jack to counteract the brief sobriety her admissions had brought on. She didn't want to tell him all of the horrible things she'd been thinking; if Sam hadn't told him about the spell, as he'd promised, then none of them had ever been possibilities outside of her imagination.

"You thought, we came to get you, you'd just end up being some sort of slave to us, instead of the coven," Dean finished for her, and heard her choke on a sob in response as she nodded her head in the affirmative. After that, he wasn't sure what to say, and so he sat silently and let her cry, the quiet only broken by the sound of Sam eventually moving away from the bathroom and down the hall. "We wouldn't have done that," he said uselessly. "Just wish I'd known."

Calla shook her head in response, wiping at her eyes. "It was my choice, and I knew the spell wouldn't affect you," she added belatedly, her crying having mostly abated. "I just didn't want to wait any longer to be with someone, and you... you made sense to me, I liked you so much," Calla finished. "I really wasn't expecting anything from the future, even if I was hoping. I was the one who told Sam not to tell you; I begged him to promise. I was embarrassed."

Trying to figure out what to say, Dean stayed silent until his eyes were caught by a violent shiver that ran through her body. He stopped himself just in time from reaching out. Until he knew more about the spell, he didn't want to touch her even slightly, or give her the option of feeling like he was pushing her in any direction, slight or innocent as it might be. And it wasn't like, even now, he wanted anything between them to fit the description of being innocent. "We need to get you into dry clothes before you come down with something," he said instead, half absent-mindedly as he wondered what came next and wished he had that bottle of Jack in his own hand at the moment. "Sorry about the shower."

* * * * *

Dean was tipping the much-passed bottle of Jack into his coffee when Sam walked into the kitchen the next morning, bleary-eyed and frowning. "Did you stay up all night again?" he demanded, seeing the bottle and the cup in his brother's hands.

"And what if I did? I'm the one who'll have to stay awake today, right?" Dean answered, then tasting his coffee for flavor before he added another hint of the whiskey.

Sam glared for a moment before he crossed the room and took the coffee canister to pour himself his own non-alcoholic cup. He'd crashed around midnight, and told Dean he ought to do the same, but since when did he listen? Now, he sipped his coffee with one hand while pulling down a bowl for cereal with his other. "You gonna eat breakfast, or have you given up eating, too?" he asked.

"I ate earlier," Dean answered, settling in at the kitchen table in front of an open journal. He was on the last one left behind by Calla's mother, and though he'd given up on finding anything useful, he figured he might as well keep going. All night, he'd been reading through the witch's journals and hoping to either get more insight into the spell, beyond what Sam had communicated to him, or else get some hint at where they might look for the rest of her coven. So far, he had more details on spells he thought varied between cruel and useless, but nothing to help the situation Calla had found herself struggling against.

"So what do you want to do?" he asked Sam, his eyes still on the journal, grazing over a spell about finding particular herbs beneath a forest's snow-cover.

"About what?" Sam slid his cereal onto the table and refreshed his coffee before sitting across from his brother. He'd check on Calla later, but given that they'd left her the night before with Advil and water, and given her drunken state, he didn't expect she'd be crawling out of bed for anything any time soon.

"Calla, Sam. You know, the girl you dragged into the bunker kicking and screaming yesterday?"

"Seriously?" Sam looked up from his cereal to catch his brother's eye before taking a few bites of his food, ignoring the other man's glare. "She wasn't fighting coming here, Dean—she knew as well as I did that there wasn't much choice. So, I don't know what you mean by us needing to figure out what we 'want to do,' but as far as I'm concerned, there's not much choice. She stays here and we work on helping her."

Dean was shaking his head before his brother was done speaking, now perusing a spell on herb collection when an area had been covered over in sand, which had him wondering again how often half of these spells got used at all, and how bored some witch had had to be to bother coming up with them. "She can't stay here," he said, his eyes still on the journal until Sam's hand reached out and grabbed it from him, holding it back.

"What do you mean?" he demanded.

"What, are you deaf? I said she can't stay here. This is my place, too—don't I get a say?" Dean reached out and yanked the book from his brother's hand, opening it again beside his coffee. "I'm not saying we won't help her, but she can stay somewhere else while we work on it."

"Yeah, and where's that?"

Dean kept his eyes on the journal. He didn't know the answer, but he knew it wasn't any good for either him or Calla, for them to be this close. Not with everything that had happened between them, and not with the damned spell that they had to figure a way of breaking.

"You don't know, do you?" Sam pressed. "What's safer, Dean? You want her with the coven, after all, or what?"

Glancing up at his brother, Dean pulled his coffee into his hand and took a gulp, enjoying the burn on his tongue and then on his throat as the liquor and the caffeine swept into his system. "Maybe with Mills," he offered, "or maybe Cas has a place he can drop her for a while."

"Right, give Jody another mouth to feed and to keep safe. You don't think we've put enough on her plate, between Alex and Claire? You want a coven of witches looking for her doorstop on top of everything else? We can't keep dropping everyone who needs a safehouse on her doorstep when we've got space here."

"You were okay with us sending her Claire after she had Alex," Dean said flatly, glancing to the door. He didn't have faith that Calla wouldn't wander in, and didn't want this conversation happening in front of her.

"Yeah, Claire being an underage girl with the most complicated relationship ever with Cas and the two of us. Not a lot of choice there. And Calla's not underage—far from it—not to mention the fact that there's nothing dangerous hunting for Claire."

"For Alex, though."

"Jody made that decision, remember? And, again, underage girl. Not exactly an appropriate houseguest for the two of us," Sam insisted. "And besides, we have the space, and Calla's safe here. She's also the only lead we've got on getting anywhere."

"Maybe Cas has a spot..."

"Really? Seriously?"

Dean looked up, watching his brother re-focus on his cereal and gritting his teeth in frustration. Maybe he should have gotten a few hours of shut-eye after all, he thought, but it was too late now. And he knew Sam was right—neither Cas nor Jody could keep Calla safe and offer her space to just be for a while. Not like they could. "So, you want to let her live here for as long as it takes to get this coven off the grid. That's what you're saying?"

Sam shrugged—the answer was clear enough without him saying anything. There didn't seem to be a whole lot of choice. "I'm saying that's what makes sense," he answered quietly before turning his attention to what was left of his soggy cereal.

A moment later, though, he looked up, meeting Dean's eyes. "You heard that?" he asked.

Looking across the table, Dean shook his head and then closed his eyes, taking a breath to try to center himself. Footsteps—Calla. Fuck. "How much do you think she heard?"

Sam grimaced, going through the options in his head. "Does it matter?"

By the time Dean caught up to her, two coffees in hand as a peace offering, she'd reached her door and was fumbling at the knob, cursing at it—she'd apparently locked it accidentally when'd she'd exited. When she turned to him, Dean silently handed her the coffee. "I'll take care of it," he promised.

Calla stared into her cup, noting the caramel color. "You remembered how I like my coffee," she commented without taking a sip.

"Yeah, well, I added some hair of the dog, too, for both of us." When she didn't answer, Dean took a heavy swallow from his cup and then nodded down the hall, indicating she should follow him. Maybe it was just as well they weren't having their first real conversation in a bedroom anyway, he considered, as he led the way toward the couch and chairs that counted as a living room set in the bunker.

"We'll drink our coffee and then I'll unlock the door for you," he promised again, hesitating before taking a seat on one of the chairs rather than the couch—he'd leave that to her, though it was where he'd have normally taken a seat.

Calla watched Dean settle in the chair and took a sip of the coffee, which was perfect. What she wanted to do, though, was to pack up and get out, whether that meant hitchhiking or simply walking. The last thing she wanted was to sit here and pretend friendship.

"You gonna sit?" he asked her, and she finally did.

"I heard what you said, Dean, and I get it. You let me pack up, I'm out," she said quietly, but he shook his head in response. Calla ignored it—he was too polite, too much of a strange sort of gentleman, to admit that he didn't want her there to her face, but she'd heard the brothers talking. Better she get out than be passed off as some sort of burden.

"It's not that I don't want to help you, because we're going to help you," he said quickly, seeing that she was about to interrupt. "But you can't really want to be here, with me," he said. "All things considered, I said what I did because I thought you being somewhere else would be best... but Sam's right. Even if it's not comfortable, this is the safest spot, so it's where you need to stay, and we'll deal with it."

Calla put down what was left of her coffee on the table in front of her and stared at Dean. Clearly, he realized he'd chosen his words badly—that was all over his face. And just as clearly, he hadn't slept. None of that mattered, though, and she didn't have time to pretend that it did for his benefit. "Do you hear yourself?" she asked instead. "Look, I'm sober, kind of, for the first time in a week, and the truth is that that doesn't make any of this easier. I've got a few days, or maybe a week max, before I lose what's left of my life to a group of witches who I barely know. And while being alone and drunk might not sound like the best use of my time, what makes you think I'd rather be where I'm not wanted, or be a burden on some poor woman who has the misfortune of being friends with you?"

"That's pretty harsh, don't you think?"

"Really?" she cut him off. "Really? What, that I don't envy someone who's friends with you, or that I'd rather be drunk and alone instead of an inconvenience? I didn't call you for a reason, Dean. Yeah, I had your number; of course I did, because I couldn't bring myself to erase it, because I guess I'm just that pathetic, but I don't want your goddamned pity," she spit out. Dean looked shell-shocked, and that was fine by her—maybe he'd get angry and kick her out, and make leaving that much easier.

"Are you done?" he asked.

Calla looked up at him, and felt her heart start hammering with both annoyance and attraction. He'd leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over his other and resting his coffee cup on the crossed knee. The set to his jaw was so certain, and so fucking determined, that it made her crazy. "That depends on whether or not you're going to unlock that fucking door so I can get my things and get out," she answered. "I shouldn't have come with Sam and we both know it."

"You came with Sam because you had no other choice." Dean leaned forward, not breaking his gaze. "And we're going to help you—we're not going to let you lose your free will, and we're not passing you off anywhere. That was a dumb idea on my part that maybe I wouldn't even have brought up if I'd slept, but I didn't. So fine, that's on me, mea fucking culpa, whatever, and I apologize if I hurt your feelings, but you've got no choice now but to just settle down..."

"Settle down?"

"Jesus, Calla, you know what I mean..."

"No, I don't, Dean. Does you saying 'settle down' mean you just want me to be quiet and stay hidden away in my room like some good little girl, or for me to meet you in your bed when you want to fuck until all this gets figured out..."

"Goddamnit, I fell for you, too!" he interrupted, practically yelling as he came to his feet so that she jerked back into the couch in shock, away from him. "Is that what you want to hear? Because it's the truth!" Dean had exploded finally, jarring to his feet and stalking to the edge of the room. "That's why I think you're better off somewhere else, alright?" he asked, turning to see the shock on her face. "Because I care about you, too much, which isn't any good for either of us, and I've been trying for a goddamned month to stop thinking about you, and then you show up out of the blue and I find out about this spell... what the fuck else am I supposed to say?"

A moment went by, and then a minute, and Calla still sat staring, trying to catch up with him. "You can't be serious," she finally answered. "I don't... you can't be serious."

"You believe what you want to believe, Calla," he answered quietly, having turned away again. He couldn't believe he'd admitted that, erupted like that. She'd have been better off believing that he'd forgotten about her, probably. "But you need to stay here."

A moment went by, but she nodded jerkily. She couldn't think what else to do. Maybe she was running out of time... but if nothing else, she wanted to know if he was telling the truth.

"I'm gonna go get your door unlocked." With that, Dean came back to grab his coffee cup and then he headed back the way they'd come.

Behind him, Calla stayed still on the brothers' couch, and realized that her hands were shaking only when she reached out for her cup. Somehow, she felt more confused and lost than she had less than an hour ago, when she'd been in their hall and realizing that she was hearing Dean say that she shouldn't stay there. Now, it was as if nothing had changed and everything had changed, all at once. As if things were okay, for the moment... and would very soon be ripped apart anyway.

* * * * *

After unlocking Calla's door, Dean shut himself into his own room and paced, his music blaring as he tried to block out the scene he'd left Calla with, and what he'd told her. If he hadn't been so tired or had that whiskey and still been buzzed from a full night of drinking and reading instead of sleeping, maybe he wouldn't have been so stupid, but it was too late to take any of it back now.

Outside of his door, Calla had come to a stop, her hand poised to knock. She could hear him stomping back and forth, and then what sounded like him hitting or kicking something. Passing by her own door, she'd seen it standing open and waiting for her, but passed it by in hopes of talking to Dean about... well, about everything. She didn't want to leave this stewing. Much as the brothers thought that she was safe here, she felt like she was running out of time—too much so for her to waste part of it with arguing or ignoring Dean.

Finally, she knocked, but got no response. She knocked again, and then called out his name when there was still no answer. He'd told her once that he tended to retreat into music when he was stressed, and it occurred to her that perhaps he was wearing headphones. Instead of knocking again, she inched open the door to peek inside.

Sure enough, he was wearing headphones, leaning over his desk. His fists were planted on the edges, his body leaned over it with his head down, his whole body slumped as if it was only the desk that kept him from falling face-forward into the piece of furniture that held only a few books, a large knife, and a small reading lamp.

"Dean?" she tried, but still he didn't hear her. She pushed the door open further, and took a half step into the room as he whirled on her, so suddenly that she stepped back and into the wall beside her.

He'd sensed more than heard the door open, and was half-cocked to reach for the knife laying on his desk when he realized it was just Calla, prompting him to slide the headphones from his ears so that rock blasted out into the room and he had to reach to his belt to turn it down.

Calla waited for him to say something, but instead he leaned back against his desk and perched there, waiting for her to speak. "I know you were up all night—if you want me to leave you alone, I will... but I thought we should, maybe, I don't know..." she trailed off, looking around for a seat. He was leaning back against the only one in the room, which was tucked under his desk. Unless she sat on his bed or helped herself to perching on his dresser, she was left to stand awkwardly where she was. "I thought maybe we should talk," she said quietly.