A Little Dark, A Little Good
Charlie just held onto Sam, not really able to think about anything clearly, just wanting to cry and not move. So that's what she did until Sam gently went to help her up. Unfortunately, he'd brushed her broken arm. She saw him register her yelp and how her arm fell.
Sam took a breath and said tightly to his brother who hadn't moved, "Dean, go get the car started."
It was as if Dean was on robot mode as he nodded once and immediately moved to go to the car, glancing back once at her and Sam still on the ground. Sam started to help her up again, even more carefully. When she was to her feet, she really tried to help and walk on her own, but it was a weak enough attempt that Sam just picked her up again and she didn't argue.
"You're going to be okay, Charlie," Sam told her as he carried her to the Impala. He went to set her down to open the door, but Charlie just hung onto him. She just really needed someone with her right now. She didn't want to be on her own, even separated by a mere car seat. Sam didn't argue, just helped her into the car as carefully as possible before getting in right beside her. Charlie curled up to him, cradling her arm.
A small, rational part of her brain was trying to tell her to calm down and that Dean would never hurt her. Except that he had. Except, that other part argued, that hadn't been her. Except, she argued back, it was. Damn it, it was almost as if her two parts were still trying to reconcile inside her. She just started whimpering as that thought hit at the same time they hit a bump that jostled her broken arm. She felt Sam just hold her, awkwardly stroking her hair, but she appreciated it.
They had arrived at the hospital and Dean wasn't making any notion to move from the driver's seat. Sam gently sat her up so he could get out before helping her.
Charlie took a breath, trying to force herself to calm down a bit. She had at least managed to stop crying a few minutes ago. Now, she was just numb. She didn't even really register how badly she was hurt. "I'll walk," she told Sam shakily.
He nodded, helping her into the front door. "Help, please. My friend needs help."
The nurses were already on their way over asking what happened.
"A burglar tried to rob her. She tried to stop him. I think her arm's broken."
The nurses nodded, already helping her back into an exam room. Sam took one glance outside, then at her. She didn't want him to go just yet. Sam asked, "Can I come?"
The nurse looked between them, and saw the same look on her that Sam had; the nurse nodded.
"Honey, what's your name?" the nurse asked.
"Charlie."
"Okay, Charlie. You're safe. We're going to take care of you." The nurses immediately started cleaning up the blood around her face. One of them got her some water for until the doctor came in.
"Charlie…" Sam started to say when they were alone.
She cut him off, quietly saying, "I know. And, thank you."
Sam nodded, sitting in a chair across from her, just waiting until the doctor came in, which wasn't long; he immediately sent her for x-ray
When she came back, the doctor explained, "Well, you've got a simple, transverse fracture in your ulna. The good news is, it's a clean break, which will be better for healing. We can get it cast and give you prescriptions for the pain meds."
Charlie nodded, hearing and understanding him, but not really acknowledging it. Part of it was probably the pain meds they'd already give her, which mercifully also helped her calm down. But, she knew a larger part was something that no pain med could help her with. Indirectly, her best friend had beaten the crap out of her. She knew that Dean felt bad about it, was probably why he was currently nowhere to be seen. Or, maybe he understood she needed a little space right now, which was also true. But, Charlie knew Dean. She did. He'd be beating himself up enough without her help. And, besides, forgiveness was good. And murder was bad. Except that it wasn't. He had told her to, in order to save all of them. Sometimes—sometimes, she made herself understand—bad was for the sake of good. It didn't make it okay, but it made it somewhat justifiable. And sometimes that made all the difference. She'd remember that.
The doctor gave her a small smile and had pulled cast material out from an open drawer. "Do you have a favorite color, Charlie?"
In a voice that sounded like it belonged to a tired little girl, she requested, "Pink."
Once she was bandaged up, the doctor explained, "Okay, Charlie. I want you to take it easy the next couple of days. Try to keep the cast dry and avoid bumping it as much as possible. Don't drive anywhere when you're taking the pain meds because they may make you drowsy."
"Thank you," she nodded. Those instructions were fine with her. She didn't have any plans on doing much more than curling up with a blanket and Harry Potter for a few days.