Supernatural: Dean's Witch Ch. 04

"Now that the spell's done, I think we should go out tomorrow and get started, if you feel rested enough. The witches should have picked you up today, so they'll still be looking. We can get you set up in a café on your laptop and be watching. With any luck, it won't even matter that we can track you—we'll follow you and the witches back to the coven's location as soon as they pick you up. The spell's just for an extra layer of safety." Sam tucked the cloth-bundled arrow into the side of his computer bag and then looked back up to meet Calla's eyes—they looked scared, he realized. Scared like she'd been when he'd found her at her apartment, drunk and in a holding pattern. He should have expected it maybe, but he hadn't, and a spear of guilt ripped into him. "Listen, if you've changed your mind..."

"NO." Calla shook her head, holding his gaze. "This is the best way to end this, you're right."

Sam took in the set of her mouth, and her hard eyes—she'd made up her mind, clearly. "And you're sure that the witches will wait until they're all together, to do anything to you? They'll want to be a whole coven, in privacy?"

Calla nodded, thinking over the letter and everything she'd ever heard about coven operations. "Anything serious, anything at a level like this, would have to be done with the whole coven present. And there'll be time—something like this, knowing my mom's coven, there'll be a trial first, where they go over every detail of what's led up to this point. I wouldn't be surprised if that was expected to take days, because they'll want to know everything I knew of Mom, you guys, what happened... it wouldn't be quick," Calla finished confidently, thinking to herself that the trial they'd want to go through could easily even take a week or two. The brothers would have plenty of time to find her. Her mother's coven was nothing if not rule-bound and orderly—well, all of them excepting her mother had been, anyway.

"Alright, well, we'll be right behind you. Dean won't want to let you out of his sight, so we'll only be far enough away that they won't spot us," Sam promised.

Calla met his eyes and forced herself to smile, willing him to believe that they were on the same page. "I think I'm going to go lay down. You think it'll be another hour before Dean gets back?"

"More than that," Sam answered, holding back a grin. Dean had told him he wanted to get Calla something nice, and knowing Dean, him shopping for a gift for her would by itself take a few hours. He'd probably go back and forth between a bracelet and a necklace for ages, and then settle on flowers. "He had some other errands to run besides groceries. You want me to tell him you're napping?"

Nodding, Calla turned toward the rooms. "Yeah, in fact, I might get a bath to help me relax and then take a nap, and just see you guys around dinnertime. If that's okay?" she added, hoping it seemed like an afterthought.

"Yeah, that sounds like a good plan. Tomorrow's gonna be big," Sam acknowledged, thinking again that she still looked scared, and tired. He'd have to tell Dean to make sure to let her get some rest that night.

* * * * *

With the earrings he'd bought stuffed into his back pocket, Dean first checked Calla's room and the bathroom, but despite what his brother had said, he didn't see any sign that she'd slept in the bed since beginning to join him in his own room. With that in mind, he checked his own room next, and then the kitchen, after which he rushed through a search of the areas that counted for living room and study areas. Sam was at the main table reading some tome of a book, but there was still no sign of Calla.

Wracking his brain for where she might have gone, Dean stopped by the table and asked his brother, "When did you say you saw her?"

Not bothering to look up, Sam flipped a page and kept reading. "Around eleven. I got the impression she was going to skip lunch in favor of a bath and a nap—said she'd see us at dinner."

"And she didn't say anything else?"

Sam finally looked up, and when he did, the unease in his brother's face transferred itself into his gut. He looked to his watch. 5:00. "Did you check your room?" he asked.

"Man, of course, I did. You think she started exploring the bunker?"

For a second, Sam thought about saying that made sense. It's what he or Dean would have done in a strange place if they'd started going stir-crazy. But then... Calla wasn't them, and he'd been recalling the look on her face all day. I should have checked on her before.

"Sam?" Dean leaned into the table, and the look on his face turned hard. "Sam, what the hell did you do?"

"Fuck, Dean, it wasn't me, it was us. We were gonna tell you tonight." Sam turned to stand up even as his brother's hands slammed down on his chair's armrests, trapping him in place. "You want to let me up?"

Dean practically growled at him, unblinking. "No, goddamnit, I want you to tell me what you did."

Sam closed his eyes for a half a second to try to figure out where Calla would have gone, but she'd seemed on board with the plan—she'd helped form it, for Christ's sake. "Back off and I'll tell you, alright? We search for her while we talk," he added.

As soon as Dean took a step away, Sam slid his hand into his computer bag and pulled out the fabric-wrapped arrow he and Calla had spent part of the morning forming. She'd told him that her distance from him should be indicated in how strong the arrow's pull was in a given direction, and though he hadn't expected to need that particular perk of the spell, he was glad for it now.

Putting it on the table at his side, he looked up and met Dean's gaze. "We had a plan for tomorrow, Dean," he started quietly. "We were gonna go to the city and set her up in a coffee shop, and wait till a member of the coven came to get her, you and me watching. We put a tracking spell on her just in case she got out of our sight. But the plan was for tomorrow—I swear to God I thought she was napping all this time," he added.

Dean looked down at the small wooden arrow his brother had pulled out. It looked flimsy, at best. "Let's forget about the fact that you decided to take it on yourself to put her in danger, without talking to me about it first—"

Sam cut him off. "You would have listened if I'd talked to you first?" Before his brother could answer, he stood up to face him down and kept going. "She wants this over, Dean—I talked to her because I knew you'd bulldoze her into us continuing to hide her until we figured out another plan, no matter how long that took. This made sense and it was safe, and we were going to talk to you about it tonight; we weren't doing anything behind your back..."

"Except making a goddamn plan!"

Whirling from the table, Dean slammed his fist into the nearby bookcase, and took some satisfaction in the crack of the wood against his knuckles. The pain was what he'd needed, to focus.

"Look, I'm sorry, alright? But this was never part of it. If I'd had any indication she might leave, I would have been checking on her all day," Sam said from behind him, and Dean could hear the truth of it in his voice.

Dean took one deep breath, and then another, before he turned back to his brother and saw him picking up the arrow. "So, the tracking spell, what do you have to do?" he asked.

"It should connect me to her, through this—the arrow will point toward her, and I'll see her immediate surroundings," Sam told him, and then Dean watched him hold the arrow lightly in front of him, cradling it more than keeping it steady, and then he closed his eyes and whispered some Latin. The arrow jerked toward the west, and Sam opened his eyes a moment later and breathed out. "She's in a bookstore coffee shop in the city."

"Alright, so let's go," Dean answered, already turning.

Speaking up, Sam stopped him as he bent to re-wrap the arrow in its fabric and stuff it into his bag. "She wants us to find her, Dean—she put herself in front of a window looking out on the city, knowing I'd see her like that. She didn't run away."

Dean glanced backward to see his brother's eyes on him, and swallowed down whatever retort he'd been about to make. It wasn't worth it. He was aware enough to understand that Sam was right, whether he'd admit it or not—he'd been ready to hide Calla here for as long as it took, knowing all along that there was an easier, faster way to bring the coven out. With anyone else, at any other time, he wouldn't have been so protective, and Sam had seen through his excuses well enough to know that it would take the two of them making a plan and ganging up on him to get him on board. Even then, he would have fought it.

Dean gave a quick nod and turned away. "I'll meet you in the garage."

He was tucking the earrings into a desk drawer when Sam appeared at his doorway, brandishing a piece of notebook paper.

Sam held it out to him, turning it so that Dean could see Calla's handwriting. "She left this in my room—guess she figured it would take us longer to find it there."

Dean and Sam,

I'm sorry, but I have to give them a chance to let me off the hook. Before you guys appear and do whatever it is you have to do... if you have to. They deserve to know what's hanging in the balance. I need some time before you get there, and Sam's plan is great, for me, but it wouldn't leave any extra time. I know what it feels like to have lost magic. I can't lay that fate or any other on any of them before I give them a chance to just let things go. I'm heading back to the city alone, and I hope I'll see you there, if you'll forgive me for taking off on my own.

If you want to come after me... The spell Sam has will work, and they'll want to talk over what's transpired for days, if not a whole week or more, before doing anything to me, so I know you'll have time to find me. I'll be okay for a few days. There'll be an informal trial with the whole coven—nothing will happen before that because they'll want me to tell them everything I can about the spell you used on me, Mom, and you guys—but I swear, I won't tell them anything they won't already have learned on their own. You guys mean more to me than them. If you do come, seriously—Please, Please, Please don't come in guns blazing. Let them have the freedom to change their minds and let me have my fate for myself, if they'll let me go without it going any further.

Please understand, Dean, I just couldn't let things keep going like they are, not knowing if you'd want me around if not for feeling like you have to protect me. I don't want pity, and if I'd stayed for weeks and weeks longer while you guys came up with some other plan... I'm afraid of how I'd feel about you after all that, and then to have to find out that all of this was protection and pity, and that it was time for me to disappear out of your life—well, if that's what we're coming toward, I'd rather it happen sooner or later, before I get in any deeper with you. It's not your fault, so don't think that... fuck, I'm rambling. I'm sorry. I hope you understand.

I have to add... if you guys don't want to come after me, don't feel like you have to. You're not responsible for me, and this is my choice. But regardless, thank you for everything, whatever happens next.

--Calla

PS. Dean, please don't hate me for taking off like this. I hope you understand.

Dean read it twice, and then looked up at his brother. "We need to move."

* * * * *

Calla took another deep sip from her tea and tried to calm her heartbeat. She'd been in the coffee shop for an hour or so already, but figured she'd wait until six before she opened up her computer, knowing its signal would grab the attention of the coven. That would give the brothers time to find the note, and for Sam to see her here at this window with the city outside, if he wanted to. It hadn't occurred to her until after she'd left that he might not use the tracking arrow at all. That he might find the note, and pretend the arrow didn't exist, and just tell Dean when he got home that she'd booked it without giving any word or goodbye. She didn't think he'd do that... he'd been the one to take her to the bunker to begin with, after all. But, at the same time, she couldn't help doubting everything right now. She was no longer herself, not without her magic, and she didn't seem to be able to find confidence in any decision she came to. Nothing was solid anymore.

The fact that she'd spent the day helping someone else make a certain spell, lying to him, and then hitchhiked down the highway... none of it matched up with the girl she'd been just two months before. All she could do now was hope that what happened next would help her get back to who she'd been, somehow. Maybe the coven would even be able to find a way to counteract the powder that had taken her magic, once they knew the full story, and that could solve everything.

As things turned out, she didn't have until six. It was 5:27 when she looked up to see Judith approaching her from across the coffee shop, her lips turned down in a scowl. Calla rose to greet her, but didn't get the chance to speak before Judith cut her off.

"You weren't at your apartment today. It seems you haven't been there for a few days, in fact. You settled your affairs, I take it?"

"Judith, do you—"

"Calla," the witch interrupted her. "Did you settle your affairs?"

Shit. Calla stared for another moment into the other witch's face. This woman, Judith, had been the closest thing to a friend or family member she'd had in her mother's coven. She'd been a babysitter to her, and taught her some beginning spells, and let her stay with her in high school when her mother had gone on one of her rampages. And there wasn't an iota of softness in her face now. This had been the one woman Calla had thought might be an ally for her argument... and that clearly wasn't going to be the case.

"Everything's taken care of," Calla answered her, picking up the book she'd been reading from the table and stuffing it into her backpack.

Silently, Calla followed Judith out to her car in the parking lot, and slipped into the backseat as directed. She glanced back to the coffeeshop and the table she'd occupied by the window as they pulled out, wondering if Sam had seen her there. They'd had dinner at around six the night before, and if Sam hadn't found the note yet and used the location spell... there was no telling how difficult it would be for him to figure out where she'd gone.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there when you sent the car," she offered, her eyes on the passing city streets. "I'd intended to be, but we closed up my apartment a few days ago."

"We?"

Calla swallowed. She shouldn't have said that. "Someone helped me get the last of my things out—I was staying with him. In fact, I'm hoping that we can talk about them as we go over everything, so you'll understand..."

"Stop, Calla," Judith interrupted her, glancing backwards with that scowl still darkening her face. "Luisa saw you with a hunter, one of the Winchesters who killed your mother. There's nothing to talk about. You were with them, and now you're not. We'll get you settled and then we'll take care of them. I assume it's one of them who seduced you? Who you were talking about on the phone?"

It took a moment for Calla to answer, but when she did, Judith's hands clenched tighter on the wheel and Calla thought for a moment that the pity and anger she saw blossoming in the front seat might be something she could use. Until the other witch spoke.

"Well then, it's just as well you won't have your will, come tomorrow. You'll be bettter off with us than as some hunter's slut."

* * * * *

Calla's eyes moved from one witch to the next, looking for any suggestion of understanding among them, but saw nothing. She'd told them everything, swearing over and over again that she hadn't given up her mother's location and that she hadn't suspected Dean of being a hunter until it was too late. But although the women had reacted to the story, and seemed to pity her situation, she'd so far gotten no impression that it changed things. No suggestion that they might have a way of reinstating her magic, or that they'd give her any leeway.

And it seemed that what she'd expected to take a week, based on how the coven had once operated, had only taken a few hours.

Seeing their eyes hardening against hers, Calla blinked back tears and let her nails dig harder into the palms of her hands. She should never have come here. Even Judith was staring at her as if she was something less than human now that she'd again refused to give them directions to the Winchesters' bunker. When she repeated the question for a third time, Calla willed herself to keep her dignity in place, at least, and simply looked back at the woman in turn, remaining silent. She wouldn't cry or beg these women for anything because it would do no good, and although she knew they'd get the location of the bunker from her eventually, Calla would give Sam and Dean all the time they could to prepare.

Rosalie, the witch who'd replaced her mother in leading the coven, stood from the table where they'd been sitting and brought over a large wooden mixing bowl from where it had been left on the room's sidebar. She didn't look at Calla as she placed it in the center of the table, instead rolling up her sleeves and glancing to the other witches. Shawna was the first to join her in standing, and Calla watched as she pulled a stoppered bottle from the folds of her skirt and emptied it into the bowl. When Luisa and Judith joined in the preparations, Calla closed her eyes. She couldn't watch.

* * * * *

"So, how does this work?" Dean asked as his brother pulled the arrow out once again. They were standing in front of the bookstore where Calla had been earlier, but the place was closed up for the night and there wasn't any sign of her.

"It'll point us in the right direction," Sam answered, even as he closed his eyes and gripped the tool lightly. For a moment, there was nothing, but then he felt the arrow shifting and he saw her again. She was inside a building now, laying on a bed in a small room. Her eyes were closed, though he couldn't tell if she was actually asleep. There was nothing in the view to offer a hint as to location, though—no windows, no convenient letter with an address label, no nothing. Not even another person. "She's sleeping," he said, opening his eyes and looking in the direction of the arrow. It pointed straight into a park, beyond which lay more businesses, a subdivision, and a sign for the highway.

Dean looked at it, and then at his brother. "I'll drive," he said simply. "You tell me where to go."

Back in the Impala, Sam kept his eyes on the slightly shifting arrow. Following its lead, they went around the park and then back to the street housing the row of business Sam had seen from where they'd been standing. Thirty minutes later, they were still traveling down the same street, moving north with the arrow's prodding, when they had to change roads in order to keep going in the same direction. The arrow hadn't acknowledged the change at all, but for when they'd turned to get to the other road to begin with.

It was another ten minutes on when the country road they'd been following began to show occasional farmhouses along little side drives, and the arrow began shifting to the left in tiny increments that would have been unnoticeable, but for the texture of wood shifting in Sam's hand. He looked up to the speedometer and to the occasional houses. "Slow down—I think it's coming up. On the left somewhere."

Dean glanced sideways to him and the arrow, then slowed the car.

A hundred yards further down the road, the arrow was pointing to a large brown ranch-style home, set well back from the road against a copse of woods. They passed it by and parked on the side of the street.