The Present
It was a mistake to go to a bar after I had found Royce. Especially when I had found him like that. But I never honestly thought that they would show up.
I had gone to work this morning like any other day, getting off at five. A few girls from the book store asked me out for a drink and I had said yes. Royce would be working late anyways, so I figured it would be better for me to be with friends, rather than cooped up in the apartment waiting for my fiancé to get home.
Yes, you heard me right, fiancé.
I haven't heard from Dean or Sam since that night in the hotel. And that was over a year ago. Royce became more than a shoulder to cry on, I guess you could say.
But back to what happened.
Would you believe that I found him strung up in our bedroom? Hanging from the ceiling fan, like something out of a horror movie?
Because that's exactly what happened.
The cops told me to get out of the house, maybe stay at a hotel for the night. I am humbly obliging, after changing out of work attire into the clothes left in a laundry hamper on the couch and dashing out the door. I took a cab to the bar, not wanting to risk having to drive home. I needed to get my mind off the fact that the man who loved me who was dead.
So, I'm sitting in a bar, nursing a bottle of vodka, my vision growing hazier by the minute. I keep glancing down at the diamond on my left hand, and wondering why in the hell I ever said yes?
I'm still in love with Dean. There, I said it. Um, thought it. But not the point. I miss him. I can't keep denying my past or eventually it's going to come back and bite me in the ass. Literally, or figuratively.
But don't think that I haven't been looking out for him. Maybe that's not the right way to put it, but I've seen everything he's been through since we split up. Probably an add-on to our whole blood exchange thing we've got going. I watched Sam jump into the pit, come back soulless, and then get his soul back. I watched Dean try to live a normal life with Lisa, and fail.
That's probably what made me give up on ever seeing him again. Ever being with him again. He looked genuinely happy with Lisa, and I couldn't watch on the sidelines, so I gave up. Not entirely, but mostly.
I sigh and pour myself another shot. The bells on the door ring and I turn to look at the newcomers.
No freaking way.
Sam is somehow taller. His hair is longer and pushed back over his forehead. His blue green ice eyes scan the bar and he sees me, clearly what he's looking for. Dean follows behind him, still shorter than his younger brother. He looks older, almost wiser. They both do. But facing what they have, I can't say I blame them. As they approach, Dean gets a look on his face similar to Royce's when I walked out of the bathroom the first night we met, my appearance different.
They reach my spot at the bar and I down another shot, blinking back sudden tears and a year's worth of guilt that'd been building up in my chest ever since I left them.
But they don't recognize me.
At least, Sam doesn't. Dean has a strange look on his face. Almost like I look like someone he once knew, but there's no way I am who he thinks. I gulp and Sam smiles kindly. I nod to the stools on either side of me and they sit, ordering two beers for themselves. The corner of the bar digs into my stomach and my scars sting for a moment.
"Charlie St. Ives?" Sam asks, taking a pad of paper from his jacket pocket. They're both wearing suits. Dean sips his beer and shoots me a glance. I nod furiously, my alcohol buzz dimming from the fear. "I'm Detective Whalen, this is Detective Rogers. We're from the FBI." I nod again, eating up their lie like there's nothing abnormal about it.
And then it makes sense; there's something supernatural about Royce's death. It wasn't just an accident. My eyes go wide and Sam starts talking.
"We heard about your fiancé. I'm so sorry for your loss."
"Thank you. Royce was...he was a good guy... I'm just so confused I guess."
"You and me both, Charlie... I was just wondering, would it be alright if I asked you some questions about Royce? I know this must be a troubling time for you, but I just want to smooth over any details the FBI may have missed..."
"Clear the air," Dean adds, a small smile on his face as he puts his hand over mine. I find myself staring at him, his mossy green eyes staring right back my sea green ones. I start to say something, but catch myself and pour another shot.
"What do you want to know?" I ask Sam, not daring to look back at Dean. Knowing that I'll give myself away if I don't at least pretend to fall for their cop facade, I smile the smile of a grief-stricken girlfriend. Sam smiles back and glances down at his notepad, even though I know he doesn't need to, and he knows it too.
"Was Royce acting strange before he died? Acting strange? Saying things out of the ordinary?"
"Uhm, I... I'm not entirely sure. He seemed just like Royce to me... I'm not sure. He was always a little paranoid ever since the incident six months ago."
"The incident?" Dean prompts, and I stare straight ahead, refusing to so much as glance in his direction.
"It was six months ago. I was at home, watching TV. Royce called and said he was going to be a little bit late coming home. It was already eleven o'clock, but that was nothing new. He worked on Broadway, a theatre manager, and so I was used to him coming home late. Things happen, you know? Anyways, so he called me, telling me not to wait up, but I did anyways. I had been watching some crime show and felt a little paranoid myself. But then midnight rolled around and Royce wasn't home. I tried calling his cell phone and got no answer. I figured he was on the subway, so he didn't have any service. One AM came and went and there was still nothing. Then, at one thirty, I got a call from the hospital, telling me Royce's partner Jack had been fatally stabbed and Royce had been beaten up, his nose broken. So I rushed down and by the time I got there, Jack was dead."
"And what about Royce? How did he react to the whole situation?" Sam asks scribbling madly on his paper.
"He was almost catatonic. He didn't speak for a few days, refused to go to work. Jack was his best friend, they grew up together. But he got over it eventually. Jack's wife was over here a few days ago, but Royce didn't so much as speak to her. Now that I think about it, after she left, he kept pacing around the apartment, muttering under his breath. Something about how someone wasn't going to be happy that he'd let her live."
"Let who live?" Dean asks, his eyebrows knitting together. I'm looking at him again, and I have to force my eyes away, staring at the still full shot glass in my hands.
"I don't know. But he'd been drinking... It was probably nothing."
Dean and Sam share a hard look and stand up in perfect synch. I down my shot and stand up, wobbling slightly in my shoes. Dean grabs my elbow to keep me from toppling and I'm sucked into a flashback of that night. When we walked through the forest after the episode with Crowley and I kept falling over, but he caught me every time. I run my tongue over my lower lip.
"Thanks."
"Don't mention it."
Sam clears his throat and downs his beer. Dean does the same and they start walking towards the door.
"Thank you for your time, Charlie," Sam says with a sympathetic smile. I pour myself yet another shot and gulp it back, enjoying the burn as it slides down my throat.
"Thank you, Sam," I reply. But then my hand slaps over my mouth and I swallow back giggles. Whoops.
"What did you just call him?" Dean asks, staring at me intently.
"Nothing, Dean," I say, and clamp my hand over my mouth. A single giggle escapes and Sam gives me a weird smile.
"How do you know that?" he asks, grabbing my elbow and leading me roughly over to a table in the far corner. Dean follows, making sure that no one's watching the whole episode.
"Oh, I know more than that, Sammy Winchester. Trust me on that," I slur, the alcohol finally taking its toll.
"What else do you know?" Dean demands, forcing me into a chair and sitting across from me, Sam sitting next to him.
"I know a lot. Mind you, I should." I reach across the table and grab Dean's right hand. He flinches, but then watches as I run my finger over the silver band on his ring finger. "I see Cas was good on his word. He's taken good care of you boys, hasn't he?" I wink and lean back in my chair, releasing Dean's hand.
"You know Cas?"
"Yep."
"How?"
"Mutual friends," I say with a smirk. I haven't seen or heard from Cas since that night either. "You haven't had any trouble with Crowley, have you?"
"Crowley? The crossroads demon?" Sam asks, raising an eyebrow. "Crowley's dead. Has been for a while now. Wait. No. You're not...?" He trails off and Dean stares at his brother. Sam mouths my name and Dean's eyes widen.
"Gemma?" Dean asks, his voice breaking and tears filling his eyes. I swallow and sigh.
"I go by a different name nowadays. Charlie St. Ives." I smile, adjusting my glasses on my nose. "It's been a while, hasn't it, boys?"
"We thought you were dead, Gem," Dean says harshly, leaning forward on the table. I stare at him intently.
"One; its Charlie. And two; if you were so concerned, it certainly didn't show."
"What do you mean?" Dean asks, sinking back into the chair.
"I've seen everything, Dean Winchester. Everything since the day I left. Sam saying yes to Lucifer and jumping into the pit, which I did not approve of, Sammy," I say, shooting him a glare. "I saw you try to be normal with Lisa. I saw you trying your damndest to get Sam's soul back."
"You saw me with Lisa?" Dean asks, his face dropping.
"Yep. No wonder I'd given up on ever being with you again, eh, Dean?"
He chews his lip and a stunned silence settles over us. Sam is staring off into space, clearly not believing what he's seeing. Or what he's just discovered.
I get up and walk out of the bar, crossing my arms over my chest in the chilly April air. My high-tops smack against the sidewalk and I keep walking towards home. The cops should have cleared out the apartment by now. At least, I hope they have.
When I finally get to our building, the Impala is parked at the curb. I bite my lip and walk inside, taking the elevator up to our floor. Thankfully, I'm right; the cops have cleared out Royce's body and cleaned everything up. There's a slip of paper on the kitchen table; something about the coroner's office and a funeral parlour, but I don't give it a second glance, faxing it to Jack's wife. He was Royce's sister. She'll take care of it.
Something tells me I should be feeling worse than I am. I was supposed to be in love with Royce, after all. But I can't bring myself to really cry over him. Dean's the only one I'll ever cry over, I guess.
I curl up with a cup of coffee on the couch and flick on the TV. Saving Private Ryan is playing on the History Channel, so I turn up the volume and tuck a blanket around my feet. The clock says ten fifty.
At around midnight, there's a knock at the door. I get up and Dean's on the other side of the peep hole.
"Let me in, Gemma," he says when I don't open the door.
"For the third time, it's Charlie." I reply, refusing to give in so easily. I start to walk back to the couch, and as I do, the door breaks open, the chain near the top breaking and links tinkling to the floor.
"Hi," Dean says quietly, standing in the doorway, rubbing his shoulder.
"You broke my door!" I yell, pointing at the splintered wood.
"It still works, calm down," he says, closing the door behind him as he walks inside. I raise an eyebrow as he tries to get the door to stay shut and fails, finally getting it to work by leaning against it and closing the lock.
"You're a jerk," I say, crossing my arms over my chest.
"I love you," he replies, brushing sawdust off his jacket sleeve. He's not dressed as a cop anymore, but rather his normal getup.
"Oh, really? That's news to me," I say scornfully, still not meeting his eyes.
"It shouldn't be. Why'd you leave me, Gem?" he asks, pained.
"It's Charlie," I mutter, staring at the floor. "I had to keep you two safe. That was all that mattered."
"Us being together didn't matter?" he asks, taking a cautious step towards me.
"I couldn't risk you getting killed or worse, Dean. And now look, someone else is dead and I know you're going to tell me that it was some crazy demon thing that forced him to kill himself. I just screw everything up, Dean."
"That's not true," he says, taking another step and wrapping his arms around me. I let him, his scent filling my nose.
"I never wanted to go," I sob into his jacket sleeve, sliding my arm around his waist.
"I know. I never wanted you to leave either, baby."
I soak up his smell, letting myself cry. He strokes my hair and I sniff, pulling my head off his chest. He rubs strands of my hair between his fingers and stares incredulously. My eyebrows knit together and I break out of his arms, running towards the bathroom. I stare into the mirror and Dean appears next to me.
"I'm me again," I whisper, sliding my glasses off my nose. They fall out of my hands and into the sink. My hair's that strange black cherry shade again, my eyes grey again. I look like me, like Gemma.
"I think I like this you better, Gem," Dean says, dropping his jacket onto the floor outside the bathroom and closing the door. I brace my hands against the sink and he stands behind me, his hands on my hips.
"It's Charlie," I say. "It's my real name anyways. My adopted parents named me Gemma. When I was born, Crowley and Maria named me Charlie."
"Then Charlie it is," he whispers, gathering my hair away from one side of my neck and pressing his lips into my collar bone. I tilt my head backwards, leaning against his shoulder.
"Don't ever let me leave again," I say, wrapping my hand around the back of his neck as he plants more kisses down my neck.
"Your wish is my command," he replies, twirling me around in his arms and catching me when my ankles twist. His hands slide into my back pockets and I lock my arms around my neck. I reach up on tiptoe to kiss him when I sudden bang echoes through the apartment. We both jump and Dean shoves me protectively behind him. He opens the door slowly and I pull his gun out of his waistband. Dean takes it from me and pushes the door all the way open.
Sam stands in the doorway, brushing dust off his coat.
"Sam, you broke the door!" Dean cries, winking at me. "And still with the timing, baby brother!"
"Dean, we need to get her out of here," Sam says, stepping inside. An angel in a trench coat follows him and my jaw drops.
"Cas?" I say, disbelieving.
"Now is not the time for formalities, Charlie. We need to get you somewhere safe," Cas says, walking down the hallway with my old leather jacket in his hand. I take it from him and put it on, then throw my arms around him.
"Thank you... For keeping them safe," I whisper, planting a kiss on his cheek. He blushes and backs down the hallway. Dean pinches my butt and whispers in my ear.
"I want some angel lovin'..." I giggle and Sam rolls his eyes, making a motion for us to hurry it the hell up.
"Where's the fire, Sammy?" Dean asks, picking his jacket up off the floor.
"Maria's come back. And she wants Charlie dead."
What?