Chapter 3.

Things change

Charletta stared out at her brothers, disbelievingly. "Dean? Sam? What are you doing here?" she repeated in a faint voice.

"Charli!" Dean gushed, using her pet name, "long time no see!" He strode into her house despite her efforts to keep him out. Sam followed suit, leaving Charletta to hurry after them.

Charletta's house was very dark. Almost every curtain in the house had been drawn across the window, banishing the sunlight from invading her home. A musky smell hung in the stale air and the furniture was scattered all over the living room. "What happened here?" Dean demanded.

"Nothing," Charletta sighed. "I had a fight with someone and they knocked things 'round a bit but they didn't touch me. I'm fine." As she spoke she wore a strange, unreadable expression on her dainty, pixie-like face.

"Who was it? What's his name? Is he bothering you?" Dean snapped.

"No. It was a drunken guy from a pub. He followed me home, barged his way in, we fought, he had a tantrum and knocked thing around a bit so I threw him out the door on his ass. That's all."

Dean relaxed but he still wore a cautious look on his face. He was, and had always been, very protective of Charletta.

Sam wondered about, straightening up the furniture. He was surprised to see scratches on the wooden floor and he knelt down to investigate. "What are these scratches from?" he called out to Charletta.

"My dog," she answered, sidling up beside him. "He used to scratch up the floor and furniture. But he was run over two weeks ago."

"I'm sorry," Dean and Sam said in unison.

Charletta shrugged: obviously she didn't care. "What happened to your boy?" Dean asked smugly.

Charletta frowned, "He ran off."

"What?!" Dean bellowed, making his siblings leap about a foot into the air.

"Dean calm down!" Charletta exclaimed. "Its no big deal!"

"That son of a bitch ran off and left you alone!" Dean snarled, "and you're saying its no big deal?!"

"I told him to go!" Charletta snapped furiously, a bright fire raging in her eyes.

"Oh," Dean grunted, "that's alright then."

"Didn't it work out?" Sam asked.

Charletta shook her head miserably but then shrugged her shoulders and perked up, "So how's everything? How's dad?"

Dean and Sam exchanged a somber look, which Charletta instantly picked up on. "What's wrong?" she asked in a distressed voice.

Dean cleared his voice and looked away. Sam sighed sadly before breaking the tragic noise to Charletta. "Charletta... dad's dead."

A look of shock overcame Charletta's face. It was overtaken by a look of horror a moment later, and then within seconds, was replaced by a look of raw pain. She shook her head, still staring at Sam with her mouth agape.

"He died Charli. Dad's gone." Sam repeated, spelling out the whole dire story to her.

Charletta looked at Dean, her eyes wide and glistening with tears. "Dean, is it true?"

Dean was determinedly not looking at her, and then he nodded. A wail escaped Charletta's throat and the tears sprung forth from her brown eyes. She turned tail and fled, her light footsteps vanished up the staircase.

Sam turned to Dean who had resumed staring hard at the pictures on the mantelpiece. "She had to know Dean."

Dean nodded, "Yeah... I know. It would've been hard for her to hear that. Dad was like... her idol." He reached out and brushed a photo in a heart-shaped frame. Photographic images of himself, Charletta, Sam and their father smiled back at him. The photo had been taken many years ago when Dean, Sam and Charletta were just teenagers.

Sam appeared by his side and chuckled sadly as he picked up the picture frame. "God I still remember this! What was it, like six years ago?"

"Yeah we were hunting that shape-shifter in Nevada," Dean replied fondly.

Sam put the photo back down, "Do you reckon Charletta will help us kill this demon?"

Dean shrugged, "Depends how she'll deal with dad's death I suppose."

"What do you mean?"

"Bout three months after you left, Charletta started drinking. Not heavy mind you but drinking all the same. Either she'll go off the deep end, drinking to console herself about dad's death, or the news about dad's death will make her want to kill every demon out there.

I'm hoping she'll go with the latter 'cause I really don't want to be around Charli when she's drunk. She makes a mean one."

"How do-" Sam broke off and grinned. "Did Charli beat you up?"

"No!"

"She did! I can see it in your face. You face flushes every time Charli and drunk are used in the same sentence!"

"She didn't beat me up. We got into a fight one night about who was the better psychic: Jennifer Love Hewitt or Patricia Arquette. She'd had a bit to drink, got angry and started throwing punches. One of her punches connected and floored me."

Sam snorted with laughter even as Dean rolled his eyes and snapped, "Shut up! It was a lucky shot!"

"Oh yeah? I'm sure it was."

"Shut up!"

Sam stopped laughing and looked over Dean's shoulder. Dean frowned and turned to see what had suddenly drawn his brother's attention. He saw a red-eyed Charletta watching them. "Are you Ok?" Dean asked.

Charletta didn't respond for a moment, and then she nodded.

"It wasn't your fault dad died."

"I know."

Sam, clearly desperate to change topics, piped up, "We were just talking about what a mean drunk you are. Did you really floor Dean's ass?"

"Yes."

"No!" Dean growled.

"I did too," Charletta scoffed. "And then dad came home and saw Dean lying there with a black eye. I told you the best psychic was Patricia Arquette!"

Dean muttered furiously under his breath while Sam laughed. A small smile adorned Charletta's mouth before she said in a weary voice, "I'm not feeling that well. I'm gonna have a lie down. Its going to be dark in about half-an-hour so you guys can crash here for tonight. The couches fold out into single beds or there are a couple of spare beds upstairs. Which ever you prefer. There's plenty of food in the pantry if you want it. All right? I'll see you in the morning." She turned and slowly trudged up the staircase.

Dean leapt on the nearest couch and settled down. Sam sat down on the other couch but stared after Charletta. "Did she seem strange to you?"

"No. She's upset about dad."

"No. I meant does she seem... sick... to you?"

"Maybe a bit. She'll probably sit up there drinking all night. Wake us up at three in the morning singing,'Mandy'."

Sam shook his head, laughing, and settled down against the soft fabric of the couch.

X

A rare blue moon hung in the sky making shadows cast upon the ground. A young Native-American girl hurried along the street, a silver dagger clutched in her hand. A snapping twig made her jump and she looked around fearfully. She clutched the dagger tighter and raised it up a little. She couldn't see any sight of danger. Then, a small cloud a hot breath blew against her neck. She held the dagger in a death grip and whirled around with lightning speed, chanting something as she did so. She plunged the dagger towards its target but bristling claws slapped it from her hand. She realized she was done for and she opened her mouth to scream but massive wolf-fangs bit into her throat, before she could utter a sound. The wolf beast shook her body like a grotesque rag doll, and then dragged her body away towards the bushes.