So this was initially inspired off of a dream I had awhile back.
I decided to spruce it up a bit more and add depth and story. :)

Honestly, I haven't decided much on the placement of when this all takes place.
The story is sort of it's own branch/AU, but would probably be sometime during season 8.

Warnings: blood, gore, language.

Disclaimer: I own nothing of Supernatural, except for my character, Charlotte.

**Updates will always be on Fridays and Wednesdays**

Blood sprayed everywhere. It splattered against a nearby wall and spotted anything else that was close. The blade had swiped clean through the soft throat of the witch with a satisfying ease. Charlotte was rather taken aback at how easy this whole hunt had been. She was a bit weary though because 'easy' meant that there was something much worse below the surface.

She let the body drop with a hard thump on the wood flooring, and turned to look for her two companions. They'd reluctantly brought her along. Actually, Charlotte had to convince Dean to allow her a weapon, and with a heavy sigh he had placed a dagger in her hand. The weapon sat well and balanced nicely; it wasn't too big, and the pommel was comfortable in her palm.

Charlotte wasn't very good with guns, but given a decent blade and she could kill most anything. She at least had speed and accuracy on her side, if nothing else.

The house they were in was a good three stories and had a basement. Somehow they had gotten separated. Well… somehow isn't exactly the best way to describe the situation. More of, Charlotte ran off and chased after one of the witches while the Winchester's got tossed around by another. She just couldn't let the other witch get away. Plus, she knew Sam and Dean would be fine without her. They were notoriously the best of the best.

She stayed quiet, listening for any noise that would indicate their whereabouts. Her shoes tapped softly along a rug, which lined the hallway that she was walking down. That's when she heard a very distinct male voice: low and gravelly and sounding thoroughly pissed – Dean.

Charlotte quickly, but silently, skittered down the hallway and peeked around the doorframe. There they were, in all their tall and flannel glory, the Winchester's and they were pinned against a wall with rather peeved expressions. The witch, who wore a pleased grin, continued to banter back and forth with them. If Sam or Dean noticed Charlotte's presence, neither one of them indicated that they did.

Carefully, she began inching her way toward the witch. Charlotte was sure not to bump into anything, and her fist clenched tighter around the dagger – thud! Suddenly, her head slammed against the rough wood floor. For a while, she laid there dizzy and gripped at the side of her temple, while her vision dotted with white spots.

"Fuck…" Charlotte muttered under her breath, before picking her gaze up toward the witch.

"You think I didn't notice you? Sly little bitch," The witch growled out, tilting their head, "I should kill these dumb bastards right in front of you. Wouldn't that be fun to watch, hm?"

Charlotte clenched her jaw, and her stare never wavered. "She bled really nicely, you know. Her blood painted the walls and it was beautiful."

The witch froze, a look of disgust and pain wrenching their features, "What the hell did you just say?"

"Did I stutter, or are you deaf?"

"Watch this. Watch this trick," The witch jeered, and dropped Sam and Dean back onto their feet, but neither one of them could move. With a slight wave of their fingers, the Winchester's had their guns in hand and were forcibly bringing the guns to the sides of their heads.

"Char…" Sam bit out. His face tensed up when the cold steel was pushed into his hair, and pressed against his skull.

Her stomach dropped. If she moved, they were dead. If she didn't move, they were dead. No matter what, they were all screwed.

"Wait, wait, please, don't," Charlotte changed tactics, and put on a pleading face. If she could only get in the right position, then she could toss the knife directly into the witch's throat. However, she was still flat on the floor, and Charlotte felt that any sudden movement would mean the end.

The witch kept their eyes on Sam and Dean, clearly taking enjoyment at watching them squirm. With a wormy and sickly sweet voice, the witch drawled out, "Sweetheart, I can't wait forever."

Charlotte slowly sat up onto her haunches. Now she had a clear shot of the witch's throat. Finally. She blinked over at the Winchester's, and indicated for them to start talking. If there was anything to go by, the witch liked to listen to themselves talk and enjoyed taunting anyone who would listen. Dean was the first to start barking words at the witch, distracting them from Charlotte for the time being.

Without another moment's hesitation, Charlotte darted up and tossed the dagger deep into the witch's throat. She'd sunk the blade all the way up to the hilt; the point stuck out the other side, glistening with dark blood. The witch's eyes were wide with disbelief, and their throat clicked as they tried to talk, before thudding to the ground; blood slowly pooled around the lifeless body, thick and oozing.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Dean snapped, shaking a finger at Charlotte as he stepped toward her. Sam had put his gun away, but Dean, with an annoyed sneer on his face, still gripped his gun firmly.

"You're alive. I'm alive." Charlotte retorted and she stalked up to the witch, yanking out the blade with a meaty shink. She pointed the dagger at Dean, her face stern, "Don't lecture me."

"You could've got us killed." Dean persisted, his brows crinkled together and his mouth set in a hard line.

"Just because I've been out of the game for a few months…" Charlotte began, but dropped what she was going to say. There was no use in arguing. Either way, Dean was going to be pissed with her. "Whatever. I'm going back to the car." She stormed off, boots clicking mercilessly behind her, and she held the dagger in a death grip.

"Are you alright…?" Sam asked, once he'd caught up with her, "You've got blood…"

"It's not mine, don't worry," Charlotte relieved a soft smile, glancing up at him. "If anything, I should be asking if you're okay." Quietly, she added, "I'm sorry about all of that. I was really careless."

"Oh, ah," Sam frowned slightly, "It's okay. I mean, we did make it out alive… ah, Dean just, y'know… clings onto what could've happened. He does care about you."

Charlotte nodded in understanding, before changing the subject as they reached the car, "I think I need a good night's sleep, honestly."

The drive back to the bunker had been an awkward and quiet one; the only sounds greeting their ears was the growl of the Impala and whatever old-age music Dean had playing. Charlotte was too tired to care, or even bother with conversation. She'd nestled in the backseat and pressed her head against the window, peering outside at the blurring scenery. Sam and Dean were speaking in hushed voices; Dean's was grumbly, like an angry and grinding song, while Sam's was gentle, like a soft and sad lullaby.

Before long, they had reached their destination and Charlotte was lying in bed, feeling half-dead from exhaustion and hunger. Though, no matter how tired she was… she just couldn't seem to fall asleep. Instead, Charlotte stared at the ceiling while her eyes burned and her stomach growled.

There was a gentle click as the door, to her temporary room, opened.

Charlotte didn't even budge, "Yeah?"

"You hungry?"

That caught her attention, and she sat up on her elbows, "Starving."

Dean came sauntering over, and he was holding a paper bag in his hand, "Made a late night food run. Hope you're okay with hamburgers…"

"Definitely," Charlotte said, a corner of her mouth tilted up. She sat into a crossed-legged position and made room for Dean to sit down on the bed. He started digging around in the bag and pulled out a few burgers, and set them between himself and Charlotte.

They both dug in after that and, once they had had their fill, Dean finally mumbled out, "I'm… I'm sorry about earlier. About the way I acted."

At this point, Charlotte was sprawled out on the bed, and her head was rested on a pillow. Her brain was hazy from sleep and being full, her eyelids drooping. She waved a hand dismissively and smiled, "It's alright. I was being an idiot. But hey, I killed that first witch all by myself. You have to admit that was pretty rad."

Dean smirked, "Yeah, rad." He clambered to his feet and collected all of the trash, before making his way toward the door.

"Hey, Dean."

"Yeah?" He paused, glancing back at Charlotte with a curious look.

"Thanks… for caring."

"Uh, yeah… sure." He gave an uneasy laugh, scratching at the nape of his neck.

"Oh, and Dean?"

"Yes…?"

"Good night."

"Night, Char." After that, he left with a resounding click.