AN: Hey y'all. Chapter two and thanks to my first reviewer. I'll try to stay on top of updates and such, but I make no promises. School starts on Oct. 5 but I'll probably be going to the library a lot.

Anyway, thanks again.

Disclaimer: Dudes, if I owned Supernatural, Destiel and Sabriel would be legit pairings. Sad that they aren't, huh?

Standing at about 5'5", a long, red haired Charlie Bradbury stood in the door of the motel room, staring up at him.

"Can I help you?" she asked a little confusedly. He blinked at her.

What was she doing there? Not that he wasn't happy to see her, he was thrilled. But he expected his brother or the Bitch. Or just somebody, anybody but her really.

He still began tearing up a bit at the sight of the familiar perky redhead that he'd had to put to rest.

Charlie's eyes had widened in panic as his eyes had filled with (manly) tears. She began searching for someone to help with the crying person, obviously having no idea what to do.

"Um, uh, um, are you, uh, all right, sir?" She asked tentatively, no doubt finding no one else around.

If anything, this made his eyes tear up more (he wasn't the one tearing up, Dammit! His eyes had a mind of their own). He sniffled involuntarily and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

Charlie sidled up next to him, a slight hesitant look on her face, and reached her hand to his shoulder, like she wanted to pat him there, but she paused mid way through and awkwardly looked at her hand like she didn't quite know what to do with it.

"Sorry." Dean told her. He wasn't just apologizing for the tears (because he wasn't crying, dammit!), but for everything he'd ever put her through. "Wrong room." He quickly turned his back and began to flee.

"Hey!" Charlie's voice rang through the hallway. Dean paused in his escape and turned back around.

The girl in question strode up to his frozen form and gazed up into his eyes. She looked like she was trying to remember him from somewhere.

"It's...it's okay." Charlie tried out. She'd obviously never done something like this before. "Um, do you need, like, a hug or something?"

She opened her arms and rushed forward, not waiting for an answer. She wrapped her arms tightly around his waist and buried her head in his shoulder.

This hug was so familiar that Dean's arms were moving before he told them to. One hand clutched her back as his head burrowed into her red locks, messing it up slightly. The other hand came up to the back of her head, almost in slow motion. It was as if the universe was telling him not to touch her head. However, the universe was a bit late to the program, seeing as he couldn't change course.

As soon as his hand came in contact with her head, he understood why the universe was yelling at him.

Charlie stiffened, as if being electrocuted. Her skin, or at least the veins underneath it, began glowing with a pale white light. Her head was tilted back slightly, eyes and mouth open, both glowing white.

Dean released her and stepped back in horror, noticing as he did so that the same white light running through her was flowing from his arm. His desperation had killed Charlie again, only this time it was directly by his hand as opposed to her trying to cure him and getting killed for her efforts.

After a minute or so of glowing, Charlie's skin suddenly went back to normal, if a little pale. Charlie herself collapsed bonelessly, almost hitting the floor. Dean caught her before she could face-plant and clutched her slumped, limp body close.

He nearly sobbed in relief when he could feel her steady breathing against his shirt.

He glanced around to make sure no one would freak out as he picked her up in his arms and cradled her to his chest. He strode quickly through the open door of Charlie's room and gently laid her down on the bed.

As she laid there, he couldn't help but think that she looked like she did after Blackbird motel. She was pale, almost too pale. She looked lifeless, almost like one of those porcelain dolls he'd seen before.

Her hair was as long as it had been the first time they'd met, and just as red, but she didn't have the bangs yet. Her face was just as young as his, with fewer stress lines and fewer scars, however light they were. She looked good, healthy, happy. Her face held no signs of ever having met him or being dragged into the crazy life he led.

Dean gently brushed a few hairs away from her face.

With a slightly twitch of the eye and a bat of the hand, Charlie pushed Dean's hand away from her face.

"Charlie?" Dean called softly, hopefully. Her eyes squinted open slightly. She groaned.

"Dean? What..." She paused to sit up and grab her head. Dean had frozen in shock when she'd said his name. "Ugh. Why does my head feel like I got hit by a bludger?"

"Charlie, you know me?" He asked hopefully. He knew it couldn't be possible, yet she'd said his name. However, she hadn't acknowledged her relationship to him before, why would she suddenly start now? Did it have something to do with that light? Was that some kind of transfer-y thing (what kind of word is that, 'transfer-y thing?' That's a crap name for it) or something? Maybe it had something to with the new mark on his arm.

"What do you mean? Of course I know you." Charlie said, sounding slightly insulted. "You're like the annoying brother I never had."

"Charlie!" Dean exclaimed with the first smile he'd had all day, even with the slight insult. He surged forward and clutched her gently to him (super strength was a Bitch. He didn't want to accidentally overdo it and crush her or something) in an awkwardly positioned hug. Charlie's arms came up and threaded around his back tightly.

"Not that I don't like the hug," she started (of course she loved the hug, he was Dean freaking Winchester. His hugs were awesome), pulling back, "But what's this all about?" Dean lightly cradled the red head's face in his hands and looked deeply into her eyes.

"Charlie, what's the last thing you remember?"

"Um..." She thought for a moment. Her eyes lit up when she remembered and then dimmed, just as quickly. "I was at the Blackbird motel. A man was trying to get into my hotel room. Um, I ran into the bathroom and sent you guys my notes and then I smashed my tablet into the sink. He heard me and came in, I had a knife and he only had one arm. I couldn't fight him off, though. He took the knife from and he...stabbed me. I should've died," She realized. "Why am I not dead? Did you and Sam save me? Or was it Castiel?"

Dean shook his head slowly and shut his eyes tight.

"No, Charlie. We - when we got there you were - it was too late. I'm so sorry, Charlie. I'm so sorry." He pulled her into another hug, this time kissing her head. His only way of apologizing to her.

"Wait, if I'm dead, then how can we talk?" She asked in confusion, completely ignoring the fact that Dean had just told her she'd died.

"I don't really know." Dean replied, rubbing the back of his head. "But I think it has to do with time travel, or something like that." Her eyes had gone wide in excitement.

"Is the Doctor real?! Did you meet him?!" Charlie's eyes widened even further. "Is that how I'm alive? Did you change the past? Do we have to worry about the reapers now?! Oh no, Dean! But the Doctor's here! Yeah!"

"Uh," Dean wasn't quite sure how to answer that. "I don't think so..."

Charlie slumped in disappointment.

"Well, obviously a time turner is out. You can't change the past with one of those. Plus, all of them were smashed at the Ministry in book 5." She began muttering theories to herself as Dean rolled his eyes fondly at her (trust Charlie to think about which one of her fandom universes are real when time travel's involved.).

"Do you notice anything about where we are? About me?" He prompted with a slight smile. She looked closer at his face, wonder and bafflement clear upon her own.

"What? But, you look so much younger! Well, not much younger, I guess." She added at Dean's offended look. She looked herself over as well, quickly noticing the length of her hair. "I'm younger, too!" The motel room that she laid her eyes on, however, was so typical of it's kind that it was a lot harder to place when she'd been there. "Where are we, exactly?"

"Pontiac, Illinois."

"Pontiac?" She thought for a moment. "I think I passed through here about seven years ago for comic-con."

Dean nodded slowly. "Yeah that lines up with my theory. Hell." He prompted at her slightly lost look.

"Oh?" She suddenly remembered the books she'd read on the two brothers. "Oh! I guess you did have to get out of Hell at some point. Not that I thought you'd take a long time to do it! It's just the books kind of cut off after you get sent there and a lot of people jump to the conclusion that you don't get out."

"Why did Chuck have to write those stupid books?" Dean cursed in his head (seriously Chuck? Seriously?).

"They aren't on the internet yet, you could still burn them like you wanted to." Charlie placated with a sympathetic half-smile. "Wait, I still don't understand how I got here."

"I sort of came here looking for Sam." He told her, rubbing the back of his head. "Last time around he was here with Ruby, a demon." He clarified at Charlie's confused look.

"That demon?" She asked, shocked. "Sam's working with a demon?"

"I know. Really insane," Dean agreed, "but to him the reasons were right."

"Talk about a big change." She muttered. She cleared her throat and sat up straight. "So, it's seven years ago. What were you doing at this time?"

"Uh, I was headed to Bobby's." Her eyes lit up.

"I finally get to meet the famous Bobby Singer!" She jumped up from the bed excitedly and hopped around happily.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!" Dean protested. "Who said we going to Bobby's?"

"Well, obviously you have to keep some semblance of continuity," she explained as if he was an idiot, "otherwise knowing the future would be pointless. You'd change things too much."

"Okay." Dean conceded her point. "I suppose you have a point. But who said you were coming with me?" She gave him a deadpanned look.

"You think you have a choice. That's cute." She grabbed her travel bag and laptop from where they sat on the desk in the corner. "Are you coming?" She called from the doorway.

Dean stared after her for a moment before rolling his eyes and, with a fond smile, followed after her.

line-break line-break line-break line-break line-break line-break line-break

Dean climbed out of Charlie's beat up yellow Hugo, grimacing at the vehicle with distaste. Said car's owner saw his grimace and scowled at him.

"Not all of us can have the SSV Normandy of cars." She complained. He grinned at her inadvertent compliment (hell yeah! his baby deserved the complements. she was a classy chick).

As he led her through the rusty car-filled lot, Charlie's face screwed up in clear confusion (understandable).

"I didn't expect him to live in a junk yard." She admitted, sheepishly.

"That's Bobby," Dean told her. "Always has something to do if he's ever bored. Always planning ahead." (Not to mention it gives him the least likely position in the world for a badass researcher/hunter.)

When they were within view of the house but out of hearing range, he slowed himself and his newly acquired ( read: reluctantly brought along) partner to a stop.

"I need you to stay outside until I call you in, okay?" Charlie gave him a confused look.

"What? Why? We're in this together, Dean!" She looked so mad and betrayed, he almost caved. He was doing this for her safety, though.

"I know, but Bobby doesn't know I'm not a demon or a monster, yet. He's gonna attack me on sight." He rested his hands gently on her shoulders. "I don't want Bobby to hurt you by accident." She pouted but nodded in acquiescence.

"Are you gonna, you know..." She pointed to the back of her head.

"I don't know how it works exactly." He admitted, rubbing the back of his own head. He had explained what happened before she'd woken up. She'd accepted it with remarkable aplomb that only Charlie was capable of and had begun spouting theories similar to theory C. Would the Metaforá (her name for the light show, not his. Though he had to admit it was a lot better than 'transfer-y thing') only work on Charlie, though? If so, why would it only work on her?

What even caused it? If he touched the back of anybody's head would they suddenly remember the future? Or was it just a select few people? How were people chosen, then?

And why was he still thinking in 'maybe's? He sighed at his subconscious way of procrastinating.

With a deep breath, Dean trekked through the final portion of the rusty car maze and made it onto the porch. He turned around to make sure that Charlie was still where he told her to be. The pouting red head was easy to spot next to a beat up blue ford (good, she stayed where I told her).

Dean turned back to the door with resignation, and pounded on the wood of the door as if it had offended him. He winced as some of the doorframe became detached (maybe cut back a bit on the strength there, Hulk?).

The door opened.

Bet you didn't expect Charlie!

Well, even I didn't expect Charlie until I wrote it. I liked the suggestion of Lisa, but honestly, what would Lisa being doing in a crappy, sleazy motel? She lives in the 'burbs for Pete's sake! She's more likely to check into a Hampton Inn or something. Not to mention Ben.

Well, anyway. Until next time. Please review.

Kai