The cold December wind blew across the Indiana farmlands, swirling the light snow cover on the fields into tiny snow funnels in the air, leaving ripples wherever there was a tussock or small clump of long-dead crops that had been skipped over by the harvesters. When it reached one particular property, though, it was not snow that whirled upward, but ashes. The ashes skittered across the frozen ground and sifted through the cracks in the twisted black hulk by the roadside that had once been a large truck.

A bitter smell came with the ashes, of burned dead foliage and soil charred by lightning.

A short, sturdy man dressed in a long black overcoat stood by the wreckage, hands in his pockets. His head was tilted slightly back as he looked out over the burned field, and he rocked thoughtfully back and forth on his feet as his gaze wandered from one end of the field to the other. The wind ruffled his black hair and beard, and tried to snake its way under his coat. Finally, a wide, satisfied smile crossed his face, he nodded to himself once, and then he vanished.

The wind kept blowing.

Boots on the ground.

It was such a simple saying, but what it really meant was hours of driving, stopping at every little collection of buildings that harbored a gas station or store, dashing quickly in with heads tucked down to avoid the knifing wind, chatting up bored cashiers, showing Sam's picture. Over and over again.

And nothing.

They had headed slowly south from Groves's charred field, starting their questioning shortly afterward at the first store they encountered.

Nothing.

Goshen had been big enough that they spent a day there, canvassing every convenience store. New Paris, on the other hand, had hardly been a bump in the road. The next day, they had branched west to Nappanee, and then doubled back east to check Syracuse, driving on a road magnificently named "Grand Army of the Republic Highway".

Nothing.

They had mostly stayed silent. Dean was busy alternating between feeling guilty about his fight with Sam and being terrified that the small disaster at that farmer's land was just a hint of Sam swaying toward darkness. He knew it was irrational. Psychic powers, by themselves, didn't mean diddly-squat, he told himself again and again. Missouri was a psychic. Pamela had been a psychic. Andy had been a psychic. They were good people. But then he would find himself following that thought with the memory of Azazel's yellow eyes glittering with triumph when he turned away from his kiss sealing his demon deal with their mother, and the knowledge that Sam's powers were born from demon blood.

Sam having spent the past six months being a muppet for Lucifer was just icing on the cake. He knew that Lucifer had been screwing with Sam's head all that time.

All in all, he was being a pretty lousy traveling companion.

So when his phone rang, and the ID showed as Charlie, he answered it immediately, punching the speaker button so Cas could join in.

"Hey, bitches, how's it hanging?"

He smiled involuntarily. Charlie's cheerful voice was refreshing to hear.

"Hey, there, kiddo!"

"Charlie. It's good to hear your voice," Cas chimed in, smiling widely.

"So where are you guys?"

"Indiana. God's most boring place in the wintertime," Dean groused.

"Dean is exaggerating. There are numerous birds of prey patrolling the countryside, very handsome ones, and I have seen foxes, skunks, raccoons, and many squirrels and ground squirrels, even with the cold."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Y'know I can't see those things. I'm driving. I have to keep my eyes on the road. You, on the other hand, get to admire the fucking scenery. What little of it there is."

"Syracuse had a lake. There were ducks. And some geese that haven't migrated yet."

Dean shuddered, remembering an encounter with geese he and Sam had had once. "Geese are evil, Cas. It's not a selling point for me."

Charlie laughed, a rippling sound that warmed Dean's heart. "You two sound like an old married couple, bickering like that!"

Dean clenched his teeth, staring at the highway in front of him, ignoring the way his heart leapt into his throat at the innocent comment. She had no way of knowing - he quashed the thought, and moved to change the subject.

"So what's up with you? How's New York? Your search for that damned book?"

"Oh! Well! You know. Leads and clues and stuff. Dani gave me an idea, and stomped really hard on a different one." He could tell the stomping still made her huffy, and he chuckled.

"Well, Charlie, if a demon thinks it's a bad idea..."

"You just don't understand, Dean," she said darkly. He could see her in his mind's eye, face frowning and eyes glowering, and he had to chuckle again.

"Anyway!" She went back to her normal cheeriness. "So! I'm wondering if you know where my katana is? I think it got left behind when Lucy's gang kidnapped me - did you guys happen to grab it before haring off to rescue me?"

Dean slid a questioning glance at Cas. Cas looked back and shrugged helplessly.

"Um. I honestly don't remember. I know it was there - it was stuck under the sofa - "

"I believe we left it behind, Charlie," Cas added. "We were very concerned about you, and we left the cabin very abruptly once Dani passed on the information that it was Lucifer's henchmen who had taken you."

She was quiet for a moment or two, then said brightly, "No matter, guys! I'll just have to find one here, which won't be hard since it's New York City and huge and there are shops everywhere - maybe Dani can help, if she's not too busy with Crowley's stuff - did you know he's decided to go back to being King of Hell again - ?" Cas's eyebrows rose in surprise.

Dean interrupted. "You make it sound like he's just moving into a new apartment..."

"Well, I know it takes a bit more than just deciding, that's why he's got Dani busy working on researching spells for him, but - " She stopped. He waited for her to continue, but she seemed to have been struck by a thought. Just as he was about to say something, she asked, "Any leads on Sam?"

"Nope. We had one, but so far it seems to have fizzled out."

She sighed. "Well, I'll keep on working on my end...say, Dean, just what was Purgatory like?"

He gaped at the abrupt change of subject, darting a quick look at Cas again. He seemed just as puzzled; his eyebrows had twitched into a small frown.

"Uh. Purgatory?"

Cas reached out a hand, laid on his wrist. His frown had gotten bigger. "Pull over." He nodded to the side of the road. Dean peered that way, trying to see whatever it was that had troubled Cas so much, but there was nothing he could see, just more snow-covered farmland. But, since Cas was rarely so commanding these days, he shrugged and pulled over.

"Wanna tell me what - "

"Charlie. You were asking earlier about your katana. Now you are asking what Purgatory was like." Put like that...Dean stiffened, eyes widening. His eyes locked with Cas's, and a flood of harsh memories swept over him. Cas nodded at him grimly. "Please tell me my suspicion is incorrect."

There was no answer. Dean frowned, clenching his hands on the steering wheel and a muscle jumping in his jaw.

"Charlie...?" he prompted her, his voice hard.

"Oh, it's nothing, I was just curious, that's all. Something a friend said..." She sounded nonchalant, but there was something there...

Dean's eyes narrowed. "You're lying. What are you lying about, kiddo?"

"Nothing!" she said indignantly.

"Katana, Purgatory...put them together and you have one damned bad idea." He was suddenly both afraid and furious. "Dammit! Charlie! Think back to your worst times in Oz. Then make that every damned day. Then multiply it by ten, a hundred. What the hell is wrong with you?! What could possibly make you want to - " He stopped, closed his eyes, and leaned his head on the steering wheel. "Son of a bitch!" he muttered darkly. "Where are you? Right now?"

"New York City," she muttered. Dean quickly muted the phone and glared at Cas.

"Is that specific enough for you to find her?"

Cas shook his head, and Dean unmuted the phone.

"Charlie." He drew in a deep breath. "Where, exactly, are you?"

She was stubbornly silent.

"You stay right where you are!" Dean snapped, and ended the call.

Cas rubbed his chin, eyes distant. "How are we going to find her, stop her?"

Dean already was scrolling through his contacts. He located the one he was looking for, dialed, and tapped his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. "C'mon, c'mon, pick up - "

"Hello? Dean?" The voice at the other end was drowsy, and he flicked up an intrigued eyebrow - it was just barely afternoon in the city.

"Dani. This is urgent: do you have any idea just where Charlie is?"

"What? Charlie? She's here in the city - " Dani sounded puzzled and a bit more alert.

"Yes, yes, I know; we need to know where in the city she is. Now." He was feeling the need to move more and more urgently. If Charlie was doing what he and Cas thought, and since she knew what they suspected, he was sure she was about to abandon her current location.

"Hmm. The last I knew, she had a room at the Shorebird Motel, it's at, um, hold on a second - " He could hear papers rustling. He could also hear a man muttering. She covered the phone, said something in reply, then uncovered the phone again. "It's at Shore Parkway near Bedford Avenue in Brooklyn. Does that help?"

Cas was already gone.

"Oh, damn it!"

Charlie stared at her phone in dismay, then abruptly stood up and started dashing through the room, collecting her tablets and Hermione, grabbing clothes and toothbrush and toothpaste, and stuffing them in her duffle bag.

Doli watched with mild interest. "What are you doing?"

"Oh, damn it, damn it, damn it!" Charlie chanted. She peered up at Doli from her position by the duffle, her red curls falling across her face. "That was stupid. I needed the information, but I should know better than to try to bluff with Dean - I'm a lousy liar and he knows me too well - " She bit her lip, and returned to stuffing things into the duffle. She checked one more time to be sure she had everything, zipped the duffle shut, and stood back up, slinging her jacket on and heaving the bag up with her. "C'mon. Let's go, before they get here."

Doli stood up slowly, puzzled. "Go. Go where? Before who gets here?"

Charlie frowned at her and snapped, "I don't know. Anywhere! Just have to move, now! C'mon!" She grabbed Doli's wrist and pulled her to the door, cautiously peeking out before opening it wide and running down the cement arcade, plunging down the stairs, and darting to the corner of the building. She craned her neck around the corner, looking back and forth. Doli looked over her shoulder.

"What are we looking for?"

The motel faced the Belt Parkway, which was crowded with cars, taxis, buses, moving swiftly as it was early afternoon, before the rush. Across Shore, between Shore and the Belt, was a strip of park filled with tall, naked trees, dead lawn, snow-dusted shrubbery. She scanned back and forth, then stopped: a tall, black-haired man in a tan trench coat was standing beneath one of the trees, looking at the motel.

She slumped back against the wall. "Cas. He's here already."

Doli stood placidly beside her. "You do not want to be found?"

"No! I need to get that book, and they're going to stop me! Purgatory can't be all that bad, darn it!" Charlie darted a look around the parking lot, searching for a path away that wasn't out in the open.

Doli blinked. "Purgatory is, indeed, 'that bad'," she said mildly. She touched Charlie's shoulder with a gentle hand. "Do you want to leave? Without being seen?"

Charlie jerked her head back around, looked at Doli closely. "Um...yeah...?"

"Then we go." Doli's hand settled more firmly on her shoulder, and, without warning, they were no longer huddled against the wall of the Shorebird Motel, but standing beside a large graffiti-covered granite boulder in a park. A paved pathway wound away through the snow-covered grass beside them, and the chill breeze swirled dead leaves and snow along it. Charlie's mouth dropped open, and she turned to take in their new surroundings, shivering and hunching down in her jacket.

"Where - "

"This is my entrance to Purgatory." Doli nodded at the boulder. "We are in Central Park."

"Your entrance - "

Doli looked at the boulder with a small smile. "There are many entrances. Monsters have souls, too; they need to be guided to their destination, just as human souls do." She glanced back at Charlie. "We cannot go like this. You will need a weapon, or weapons. And the bag will slow us down."

"'We' - ?!" Charlie realized that she was gaping, and that her series of questions was making her sound like an idiot. She dropped the duffle, and shook a finger at the Reaper. "Why are you helping me like this?"

In answer, Doli silently held out her wrist. She shook it so that a flat silvery bracelet, with bright fluorescent pink fingernail polish tracing the Reaper's trap sigil, danced on her arm. Charlie looked at it, bit her lip, and looked back into Doli's eyes.

"Oh." She had just wanted her to be more comfortable, not stuck in the summoning trap. And she had been so interested! It had been fun to quiz Doli on what being a Reaper was like, how hard she had to work, did she get time off, the kinds of people she had guided, did she like doing it. So she had improvised the bracelet, based loosely on the inscribed iron cuffs that had hung from the walls of the dungeon in the bunker.

And now, here they were, and it seemed that Doli was still trapped, and that meant she had to do what Charlie wanted.

It made Charlie very uncomfortable.

"Well. Look," she said briskly. "Let me get that thing off you, you can get back to work, and I'll just summon you again when I've got everything ready, and you can lead me to the book, when we're back I'll release you again, and everything will be - " She bit her lips again. "Darn it! I just - just forgot about that thing! I'm sorry!"

Doli gave her a slow smile. "There is no need to apologize. Your plan would work, but wastes time. If you open the trap now, I will still stay, and help you."

"But why?!" It was totally incomprehensible.

Doli looked out across the white and brown and gray park landscape, and answered slowly. "I have been...guarding...the book for centuries. Others have tried to force me to take them to it." She glanced back. "I found ways to stop them. But none of them have been...interested in me, as an individual. No-one has ever asked me the questions you have. Ever since I was bound to the book, I have been simply a means to an end." She fell silent, watching the leaves dance along the ground. Then she added, "And there are forces afoot. Lucifer is free from the Cage, and is now seeking another vessel. Perhaps...perhaps I just want to help."

Charlie leaned back against the boulder, crossed her arms, and smiled widely. "Well! Okay, then! We'll just get me some weapons, some other supplies, and then we'll go! But, since I don't want you to feel forced - " She leaned down, rummaged in her duffle, emerged with a bottle of nail polish remover and a ragged T-shirt. "Let's just erase that darned sigil."

Sam opened the door for her and Rowena swept in, eyes swiftly taking in the empty, dusty expanse, the angel and demon warding sigils on the walls and windows. She took a small sniff, and grimaced at the musty smell. She stopped and whirled on Sam.

"Ach, Samuel. Always with you boys, it's the old abandoned warehouses and tacky, smelly motel rooms. Would it be too much trouble to find a pleasant environment for us to practice in?!" Her accent slightly rolled the r's.

"It's cheap," Sam replied shortly, folding his lips. "It's big. You wanted big, I wanted cheap. Here it is." He waved a sarcastically welcoming hand. She didn't move, frowning. He took her by the elbow and pushed her further into the room, aiming her toward the dilapidated table he had rescued from beside a dumpster in a nearby alley.

She stopped by the table, looked down her fine nose at the surface, then dragged a fingertip across it, peered at the result. "And dirty!" She pursed disapproving lips. "You could at least have cleaned, giant!"

He pulled out one of the chairs, sat down, leaned back, stretched his long legs and gave her a sardonic smile. "I'll bring some Windex by next time. I know it's not one of the 5-star hotel rooms you're used to stealing, but it'll serve our purpose."

She didn't answer, but stood by the other chair, waiting. She folded her arms and began to tap her foot. He didn't move, and finally she snapped, "Manners!"

He drew a long, annoyed breath, rolled his eyes, then slowly unfolded from his chair, strolled over, and pulled the other one out for her. She glanced suspiciously at the seat before deigning to sit. He returned to his chair. She started to plant her elbows on the table, paused, gave it a disgusted look, and shuddered delicately. Instead, she leaned forward to tap one of her long fingernails on the top.

"We'll be needin' some supplies, mind you. Vervain, hemlock, heart's ease...tch, I will pull together a list. And a silver bowl. Candles. Paint or suchlike to draw sigils."

He frowned. "I haven't needed anything before - the power just...works." He tapped the side of his forehead.

Rowena snorted, tossing her long red curls. "And what, pray tell, was the result?" She arched her perfectly penciled eyebrows at him. "I seem to recall a certain large lad sayin' his problem was lack of control? We will be workin' on that, Samuel, and to provide you with a - a - power fence, let's call it - I will be needin' to use some of those items. But..." She leaned back in her chair, waved a nonchalant hand in the air. "If you're lookin' to tell me how to conduct my business..." She smiled smugly. "Well, then, it seems that maybe we have no business together after all, and I can leave this dirty cave behind that much sooner."

A muscle jumped in his jaw, but he bit back his automatic angry reply. She was right, after all. He had come to her, asking for training. And her explanation made a certain amount of sense. He finally nodded shortly.

She smiled widely at him. "Good! And, of course, we'll be needin'...oh...say, four bottles of scotch."

He threw her a confused look.

"Tch. Samuel. You say that your problems with the control happen when you are drunk, yes? So..." She waved one airy hand. "We need you to get drunk."

Of course. Dammit.

He had no idea how his power worked if he was drunk. But perhaps he could sneak the thermos in, distract Rowena somehow, take a swig or two of Crowley's blood with each glass of scotch, maybe that would work...