Author's Note: I really miss Charlie a lot on the show. I have hopes, slim though they may be, that she will come back. Until then, fan fiction will have to suffice! Please enjoy this chapter!


"I'm suffering, I'm bleeding, on my knees

Who's going to save me?"

Skillet, "Fingernails"


Now

Even through the haze of blood loss and the fog of drowsiness, Charlie knows she's lost too much blood to go to sleep now. Who knows how much time she's wasted just lying here. She has to get up, get out and get help. If she could form a coherent thought, she'd pray to Castiel to come and rescue her, like some damsel in distress, a role she didn't relish playing, but hey, dying kind of sucks too, so she's willing to make some concessions.

She forces her eyes open first and the dark warehouse seems to spin around in her field of vision, disorienting her more. Her brain, for some reason, isn't sending the right signals to her arms so all Charlie can really do is roll herself over from her stomach onto her back.

Blinding pain consumes her stomach—her bleeding stomach, she realizes now—as it accidently comes into contact with her elbow that she stupidly jabbed it into. Tears form in her eyes and she just wants to curl up in the fetal position and wait for help, but she can't take the risk that she won't bleed out. She knows some first aid—basic, of course, very basic—and she's sure that if she does stay here—in Crowley's evil lair—she will die for sure. Better to lose some more blood getting out than risk the King of Hell returning.

Slowly, ever so slowly, she manages to get herself in a seated position. Sweat rolls down her face as the pain starts to steal her breath away. She's exhausted and she hasn't even started walking yet. It's going to get worse before it gets better and so, gritting her teeth, she launches herself upright, swaying, but still standing.

If she can just get outside, hide behind a bush or a tree, she can wait for help. She'll actually have a fighting chance of—

"Going somewhere, sweetheart?"

Charlie's stomach drops as she recognizes that voice all too well. She cranes her head to see Crowley, bleeding and bruised, but in much better shape than her, with a sword in his hand.

He smirks, "I thought we could start round two."

So much for an easy escape.


Five days ago

Sam and Dean are having yet another one of their silent Winchester arguments. It took Charlie a few hours to catch on, of course, but the way the two of them could communicate with a glance—or in this case, disagree—always astounded her. The two of them are more in tune with each other than twins and they probably care about each other even more.

It makes her feel lucky to be a part of their inner circle, part of their makeshift family. Sure, dealing with supernatural creatures that wanted to kill people isn't exactly a perk, but for a loner like her, always searching for that desperate connection to keep herself from losing her sanity, she is more than willing to accept the two boys fully.

"So," She doesn't even look up from the magazine she's pursuing, "What are you two arguing about?"

The two brothers blink at her, wide eyed and somewhat astonished.

And yeah, maybe learning how to read the two of them is a bit of a perk.

She smirks, "Guys, you're not as subtle as you two think." She places the magazine down with a flourish and then stares at the two of them for a few seconds, waiting for them to explain the situation.

They do not.

Sighing, she tries yet again, "C'mon, what's going on?" She doesn't want to force them to reveal anything they don't want to willingly talk to her about, but she'll admit, she's worried about them.

Sam's sick, that's an understatement, suffering from some supernatural illness that has no cure. He has to go through the eye of the storm to get better and that's if he doesn't die first, a thought that terrifies her. Life without Sam . . . she couldn't even process it. She refuses to process it. Sam will find a way through this and he'll live and she'll be there, to discuss fandoms with him and tease him about the Supernatural books.

Dean's got bags under his eyes, he's been staying up late, worrying about everything that could possibly go wrong with the Trials and while Charlie can't blame him—she's worried too—she knows he's this close to burning himself out. He needs to get to bed and sleep and now that she thinks about it, eat. He's been so busy fussing over Sam and getting the youngest Winchester to eat that she hasn't seen him really take a bite.

The two of them, they're falling apart at the seams, but they're her boys and she will do her best to try and fix things.

"There's a hunt—" Sam begins softly, gaze downcast.

"It's nothing." Dean interjects sharply, voice rising a bit in frustration.

"It's something," Sam insists sharply, "Something that's killing people and it's only twenty miles from here—"

"Out of the question, Sam! You can't fire your gun straight—"

"I'm not saying I have to go! You can take Castiel or Garth and go—"

"I'm not leaving you, Sam, end of discussion!"

"So, what?" Sam retorts, words dripping with bitterness. "You'll just let people continue to die just to sit here and watch me cough all day?"

"Okay," Charlie interrupts, trying to soothe the riled brothers. She holds her hands out, placating, trying to calm them somewhat. "Let's just take a breath here."

But it's clear that now the argument is in full swing, that there's no backing down for either of the brothers.

"I'm sick, Dean," Sam tells his brother, glaring somewhat at him. "And I'm not going to get better, not until we find the third trial and who knows when that will be—"

"I know that, Sam!"

"—and if you just stay here, people are going to die."

"I can watch Sam." Charlie feels compelled to say, but the moment it's out of her mouth, she knows it's true. Smiling, she meets Dean's perplexed expression. "I mean I may act like a teenager, but I'm actually a fully functioning adult. Surprising, I know, but hey, I think I can keep an eye on him." She winks. Then, glancing at Sam she adds, "What do you say? We can actually discuss the book version of Game of Thrones in peace."

Sam chuckles, though it soon dissolves into a wet, hacking cough that seems to rattle the younger brother's entire brother. Then, when it passes, a small eternity later, Charlie can see the red dots on his lips.

Blood.

Sam is coughing up blood.

She knows, of course, that coughing up blood is serious. Like go directly to the hospital serious. Yet, she also is aware that that isn't an option for Sam so she does her best not to appear rattled and plasters a shaky grin on her lips.

"So?" She tries again. "What do you say?"

Dean considers this for a moment and she's sure a million worst case scenarios are running around in his mind right now. She knows how he feels about leaving Sam when he's sick like this, but she also understands how other people—innocent civilians—might need Dean more.

"Okay," Dean sighs, though he seems grieved by his choice. "Fine. Charlie will be in charge. I'll have Cas go with me but if anything happens—"

"We'll call." The redhead assures him quickly. "I promise.

Dean just glowers at her, "You better."


If Charlie were straight, she'd definitely fall head over heels for Castiel.

The angel possesses the most beautiful cerulean eyes that the redhead has ever seen and when he laughs with Sam, his smile seems to light up the whole room. She hasn't met him yet—officially; she knows about him from the books—but from what she's heard from the boys, he seems like a dependable, loyal friend.

It's funny how much her life has changed in just a year. A year ago, she was working for Dick Roman, blissfully unaware of the creatures that went bump in the night or that angels and demons were real. Now, here she is, too scared to go talk to an angel as her friend prepares to go out on a hunt to kill a witch.

"Charlie," Sam waves her over, raising his eyebrow a bit as she sees her creepily staring at Castiel from around the corner of the room. "Come here and meet Cas."

Shakily, she mechanically walks over to him and tries not to be too awkward as she greets him.

"You're the Queen." Castiel's voice is deeper than she imagined, but Charlie kind of thinks it suits him. She can picture him smiting a demon with that deep voice.

"Uh, yeah," Charlie shrugs, then quickly adding, "I mean, not a real Queen, but um, a pretend Queen, but it's not really pretend, like in a childish way, it's more like—"

She's really screwing this up.

"But you are the Queen of Kansas, are you not?" The angel presses. "Sam mentioned you ruled a realm in Kansas."

Over the angel's shoulder, Sam mouths for Charlie just to go with it so she smiles and answers, "Yeah, I guess I am the Queen of Kansas, in a way."

Dean appears with a duffel bag. He actually slept last night, retiring to his room after a long, behind closed doors talk with Sam and though it killed Charlie not to know what they said to each other, she respected their privacy more.

"Okay," Dean faces Charlie who straightens up in attention. "So, we'll be done two, three days max. If anything happens, call. If you can't get through, pray to Cas. He'll be able to get us here if you need us—"

"We'll be fine, Dean." Charlie feels compelled to say. "Just be safe."

"Yeah," Sam echoes. "Keep your eye on the hunt. Don't worry about us."

It's probably as mushy as the two of them will get with her and Castiel around.

"Got it."

"Ready then?" Castiel offers his hand to Dean, who grimaces somewhat. He hates travelling via angelic messenger, but it's the fastest way and it's not like he can just take the car and leave it should Castiel need to transport him back.

Dean meets Charlie's gaze and places a warm hand on her shoulder and asks quietly, "Are you sure about this?"

Charlie beams, "Don't worry, I've got this."

Dean nods and then, in a flutter of wings, he and Cas are gone.


In hindsight, Charlie should've known something would've gone wrong.

Because it's the Winchesters.

Because, as they both have told her over and over again, Winchesters have shit luck and if anything can go wrong, it will go wrong.

So, a day later, when Castiel shows up, with a dejected expression and a bloody trench coat all Charlie can manage to ask is, "Where's Dean?"

Tears spring to her eyes of their own accord and her voice is thick with grief and she knows, of course she knows that Dean is either captured or killed and neither situation is ideal.

"He's been taken by Crowley."

Charlie doesn't believe in showing weakness. Ever since she lost her parents, she guarded her heart and stayed away from other people. She didn't believe in trusting others, in opening up and having faith that the other person would reciprocate. Dean helped change that. She trusted in him, just like he did in her.

And she has to tell Sam.

Oh God, she has to tell Sam and it will break him.

"Charlie," Castiel meets her gaze, fire blazing in those blue orbs, "We'll get him back."

But Charlie can calculate the odds in her head, the percent of him coming back alive, let alone unhurt, and it's bad, really bad, and this is why she didn't trust other people, why she avoided people, because they could hurt her, they could break her, shatter her completely—

"Charlie?" Sam stands in the doorway, bewildered by her teary expression. "What is it? What's wrong?"

All she can do is cry.

And that is enough for Sam to realize what's happened.


Author's Note: We're picking up speed! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please review if you have a moment. Thanks!