Author's Note: Okay, okay, here is the epilogue. I've been asked if there will be a sequel to this story. The truth is that I currently do not have plans for any sequels, but you never know. I definitely will be writing other hurt!Charlie stories so please stay tuned for that. Without further ado, here is the epilogue. Please enjoy!


"I am hopeful, though not full of hope, and the only reason I don't believe in happy endings is because I don't believe in endings."

Edward Abbey


Two weeks later and Charlie is out of the hospital and resting comfortably in the bunker with the boys. She'd offered to return to her apartment—after all, the boys rarely left her side during her hospital stay, surely they had to be sick of her by now—but Sam and Dean had quickly shot that idea down.

"You need to stay with someone," Sam pointed out sharply, "Even the doctor said so. You might as well just come home with us."

"But—" She protested vainly from the wheelchair the hospital was forcing her to use.

"It's settled, Charlie." Dean smirked, ruffling her hair as he pushed her just a bit faster to the Impala parked outside.

Which is how she finds herself here, lying on the couch in the living room, listening to Dean sing Metallica off-key as he chopped up celery for his chicken noodle soup. Sam, for his part, is reading some obscure Latin text about the Trials and even Castiel has come to visit, though the angel is a bit too preoccupied with the National Geographic documentary on lions to really comment upon anything.

Charlie Bradbury, this is your life.

She smirks somewhat to herself and begins to sit up, only for the angel to swiftly help her.

"I'm okay, Cas," She assures him with a thumbs up, but the angel's expression remains impassive. Placing her hand over his, she squeezes it to emphasize her point, "Really. I am."

Castiel hadn't visited her in the hospital, though she understood why. He blamed himself for what happened to her, which, in Charlie's view, was ridiculous. She had gone willingly to face Crowley and really, even if Castiel hadn't agreed to go through with her plan, she would've just gone alone.

"You are still recovering." Castiel informs her quietly. "You need your rest."

"I'm starting to turn to mush on this couch," She protests, standing up fully, swaying just a bit, an improvement from before, "Besides, the doctor said I needed to get used to moving around—"

Honestly, if she were anyone else, this sort of behavior might be smothering, but she knows it comes from a place of love. Besides, after taking care of herself for so long and being alone for so many years, it feels nice to be taken care of.

To be loved.

She loves them, really. She'd die to protect them, without so much a moment of hesitation. Let Crowley come and try to take them from her. Let the world try to crush her for being with them.

No matter the price, she's prepared to pay it if it means spending one more moment with them.

When did you get to be so sappy?

Her past self would be mortified with her behavior. The old Charlie drifted from place to place, never staying long enough to lay down roots or grow close to people. Back then, she'd been afraid of being hurt, of feeling that crippling pain that came when you lost someone.

But now . . . she's no longer afraid.

Whatever is in store for her down the road, whatever may befall her, let it come.

As long as she has them by her side, she can face it head on.

"Charlie?" Sam has put down his book now and is regarding her with a concerned expression. "What is it? Are you in pain?"

"No," She answers quickly, wiping away a tear she hadn't even realized she'd let fall, "No, I'm fine. I'm just . . ." She beams at them. "Grateful, you know?"

Grateful to be alive, to be spending one more moment with them.

Nodding to herself, she moves towards the kitchen counter and stands next to Dean. Gazing at the pile of carrots on the counter, she reaches for one and quickly pops it into her mouth before Dean can complain.

"Dinner will be ready soon." He tells her instead, chuckling at her amused expression.

"Anything I can do to help?"

"Besides not eating the rest of my ingredients?"

She scoffs, "Besides that."

"Here." He hands her a knife and points towards a stalk of celery. "Start cutting."

And with a smile on her face, she starts doing just that.

She is home at last.


Author's Note: The end. For real, this time! Thank you all so much for your support!