On Borrowed Time

3. The Importance of Real Shoes

PART ONE: RUN

CHAPTER THREE: THE IMPORTANCE OF REAL SHOES

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TEAM ARROW, KANSAS CITY, USA

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"You're getting the boots," Dean stated again, inspecting her foot. Their latest fuel up had landed them in a pile of bloody rags and Felicity laying across the backseat of the Impala with a bottle of Jack held tight in her hand. Dean snatched the bottle out of her hand again and pinned her leg down before pouring it over the wound.

Her fingernails bit into the leather of the backseat and her breath came out in a hiss. Dean passed the bottle back to her and she took it gratefully, taking another deep gulp. "Try to hold still, this is going to hurt," he instructed, before the sharp pain entered the back of her ankle. She cried out and took another large gulp from the bottle. She didn't dare look as Dean stitched her up, instead she squeezed her eyes shut tight and dug her fingers into the seat even deeper.

"I can do this, I can do this," she chanted to herself, taking deep breaths through her gritted teeth.

"I'm almost done. Sing a song or something to keep your mind off of it," he suggested, and Felicity nodded and took another sip. 

"Song, song, ah- 867-5309- no, NO!" she chastised herself for even thinking about it, "shake it off, shake it off -hic-, and the players gonna -hic- play, play, play..." she trailed off weakly, hiccuping again before letting out another cry of pain. 

"Alright, you're done," Dean declared, patting her good leg before she dared to pull herself up and look. She hiccuped as she sat up again and Dean eyed her carefully before pulling the bottle away, "I think you've had enough of this," he declared, screwing the lid back on before depositing it in the trunk. 

Felicity eyed the damage with a slight morbid curiosity. Who knew a door could cause so much damage? There were a few curious onlookers who looked a little alarmed as Dean wiped off his bloody hands, the trail of blood drops leading to the backseat of his car. Felicity pulled herself up and gingerly stepped out of the car before hobbling back to the passenger's seat. The wary onlookers looking rather relieved at the sight of her injured foot. 

The alcohol rushed her system and she groped the hot metal of the car for support as she swayed. "Alright, easy tiger," Dean soothed, helping her into the car with a shake of his head. She watched as he came around the front of the car, running his hand over his face - she seemed to have that effect on him. "Next stop, boots," he declared as he started up the car, and the last thing she remembered was the blast of cold air chasing the hot afternoon air away and classic rock on the stereo.

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When she had woke up, she found herself in the parked car, alone and in front of a- she leaned forward to see- a mall? She groaned and flopped back into the seat before methodically going through the cup holders, shaking cups and bottles for the sign of leftover beverages. She hit gold as she remembered the things from the gas station and reached into the backseat to grab the now warm bottle of water. It was better than nothing, she thought as she drank it thirstily and got out to stretch.

Dean emerged a few minutes later with a bag in hand, and smiled when he saw her leaning against the car. "You're up, great! You can try these on then," he said handing her the bag. She looked in to find a box that undoubtedly contained a set of boots, her size. She looked up at him over her glasses and his expression changed, "Oh, I'm not doing this again!" he said, gesturing to her feet. She grudgingly agreed. "Plus, your feet stink." The large grin plastered on his features told her that he was joking but she glared at him anyways as she perched on the back of the Impala.

He unpacked them and she eyed them dubiously. "No, they don't come in any other colours," he persisted, holding one out to her. She rolled her eyes and grabbed the brown boot from his hold and shoved her good foot into it. "Plus, I uh, threw your shoes out," he added with a shrug. She stopped dead and looked up at him in disbelief.

"You did what?"

"Oh, I threw them out. Two stops ago, you were sleeping," he added, holding the other boot out to her.

"Dean!"

"Put the boots on Sleeping Beauty!" She grabbed the boot and carefully put her bad foot into it as he got back in the car. "Let's go, not much further now," he said, as if he hadn't just thrown out a pair of brand new shoes.

"I'll try Sam's cell again," she said, her voice turning impersonal as she settled back into the car, angry now. "They were brand new," she murmured in disbelief again.

"Look, I'm sorry ok? But I can't be worried about you getting in fights with doors when we're trying to find Sam!" She shut her mouth then, suddenly feeling childish for being angry about shoes.

"Let's find our brother then, I'll grab my phone," she said, dropping the shoes and focusing on the real reason they were here.

She dug in her bag for her cell, long since turned off to keep the charge. She grabbed it then and turned it on, pulling out the box of cassettes from under the seat while she waited for it to return to life. She searched the tapes, arguing Dean's persisting pointing and exclamations as she cringed at some of the titles. Between all of the commotion she hadn't noticed the phone vibrating.

"Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cake-hole!" Dean finally shouted, grabbing the AC/DC tape and stuffing it in the player before she could protest. "Whoo!" he shouted, turning the stereo up even louder as Highway to Hell blasted true, drumming on the steering wheel vigorously as he did so. Their previous dispute seeming to have never happened as she gave in to singing along. Laughing, she grabbed for her phone, seeing the home screen now.

Her heart stopped immediately as she read the name beside the missed call that graced her screen- Sam Winchester. Dean looked over at her and his features slowly fell as he glanced back to the road and then to her again, a look of panic setting in. "What?" he asked, her own alarm obvious in his expression. She groped for the volume dial while the other hand swiped frantically at the screen. Dean's hand found it first, years of habit ingraining it's location into his mind. "Felicity-" She held up a hand to silence him and pressed the phone to her ear in hopes of hearing his message.

"Felicity, Felicity!" Sam's voice gasped for air, as the sound of movement brushed against the speaker. It was as if he was running Felicity thought. "Tell Dean not to -" it sounded as if he dropped the phone then, his voice suddenly sounding far away. "Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii- Cas, no! - omnis legio, omnis congregatio-" and the line went dead.

She pulled the phone back in hopes that her phone had only died, but it lit up, the voice of the automated voicemail system piping up. Dean pulled the car over hard, cutting across a lane of traffic to the protesting horns of the vehicles behind them. "Felicity, what is it? What-" he demanded but she cut him off with the press of the speaker phone.

Sam's voice filled the car and Dean's expression went from worried to a relieved smoothing of the brow, to a deep frown, deepened only further by the Latin she didn't understand. "Is that- is that an-"

"Exorcism," he nodded, his voice tight as he put the car back into gear and aggressively pulled back into traffic. "What the hell Sammy, where are you?" he muttered more to himself than to her. "Try calling him," he ordered, but she was already ahead of him, the phone back up to her ear in an endless stream of dialing and redialing.

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A/N- This chapter just didn't want to be written, originally a chapter in Oliver's perspective I ditched that for Felicity's perspective which I then rewrote at least once. HOPEFULLY this finally turned out ok, let me know!

What do you think Sam was trying to warn them about? Any early predictions?

Moral of the chapter: wear proper footwear. Then again, screw shoes go barefoot! :) haha!