Part 11 - What I Did on My Summer Vacation
In hindsight, kidnapping Nicholas probably wasn't the smartest move.
But it wasn't like Charlie could've left him again, even if she'd wanted to. She'd promised the kid, and their parents were nice but never quite the hands-on type; they couldn't be trusted to protect him the way he needed to be. Besides, they still thought she was insane, and me and Nicholas are taking the summer to learn to hunt demons, ghosts, and other spooky things you don't believe in. See ya! wouldn't have gone over very well at all.
On the last day of school, Charlie packed her car with guns and ammo and amulets and enough snacks to get them to South Dakota. She loaded Bullet into the backseat (he wasn't happy about having to give up shotgun to Nicky, but he liked the boy and would have to deal; seniority and all) and took her Firebird out for the first time since early-March. The engine turned over with a throaty roar, and Charlie briefly let herself forget that the apocalypse was on its way, pulled down the driveway and let the summer wind rush through her long hair and over her pale skin.
It felt, tasted, smelled like freedom. Like everything she'd been missing and craving without even realizing.
She idled around the corner from Nicholas's school, waiting to hear the bell ring so that she could swoop in and collect her brother, beat a hasty retreat out of town.
But her recon was a little screwed because she just happened to be parked on the path of Teddy Memphis's afternoon jog. He nearly tripped over himself when he saw her, sprinting over and hammering on the window until Charlie grudgingly unlocked the door. Teddy threw himself down into the passenger seat, panting and dripping.
"Yo! Sweatasaurus!" Charlie crowed, "Watch the leather!" She dug around the backseat for a towel and chucked it into Teddy's startled face.
The young man frowned at her. "How was suckering me into helping your breakout supposed to prove that demons are real?" he demanded crossly.
Offering a vaguely guilty smile, Charlie countered, "Ted, it's not the kinda thing you just believe. You see it with your own eyes, and it changes everything."
He continued to frown, smoothing his slick black curls off his flush forehead. With a huff, he argued, "Could've told me that instead of having me aid and abet you."
"I wasn't in jail," Charlie snapped, "It was an involuntary commitment. Besides, even if I am caught, which I won't be, it's not like I'm gonna give you up. All you did was make a phone call. And thanks for that, by the way."
"Whatever," Teddy pouted. They glared at each other for a few long, uncomfortable moments before he added, "What're you doing here?"
Charlie grinned and announced, "Nicholas and I are going on a trip this summer."
"Uh huh," Teddy muttered, clearly skeptical, "And do your parents know about this trip?"
Shrugging, Charlie declared, "I left them a note." After a brief silence, she snapped, "Don't look at me like that. I'll have him back before school starts. Worst case scenario, I'll get nabbed and plead to custodial interference, hide behind diminished capacity, and tolerate another few months of antipsychotics."
(She had the kind of absurd thought that Sam would be proud of her legal plot.)
"Charlie," the slim young man sighed.
But before he could go on, she interrupted, "Wanna see my tattoo?" She pulled down the hem of her t-shirt, farther than necessary to flash the ink just below her left collarbone.
It was almost too easy, Teddy's eyes going wide as he unconsciously leaned in, mesmerized by the slice of pale flesh. Charlie knocked him out with one swift punch, wincing and regretting that the action was necessary.
She dragged her friend out of the car and into some nearby bushes, left a quick note stuck in his hand; it said Sorry, Teddy. Ice your jaw, and I'll make it up to you someday. Take care of yourself. Love, Charlie. In the course of checking his strong pulse, the young woman saw that Teddy had a tattoo of his own, that he'd inked over the protection sigil she'd drawn on his chest. She couldn't help smiling, a little sadly, as she piled back into the car and zipped off to get Nicholas from school.
Their actual escape from town was a lot less eventful. Nicholas hopped into the passenger seat, and then they were gone, speeding past the city limits before anyone was the wiser.
The Amber Alert for Nicholas took a ridiculously long time to be posted; if her brother had been kidnapped by someone other than herself, Charlie would've been extremely upset by the lack of response. She was already over the state border before the report came over the radio. There was a description of Nicholas, Charlie, and Charlie's car, as well as the fact of Charlie's supposed mental illness. Beautiful.
But the trip was relatively easy, considering. They were careful, stuck to back roads and took their time, pulled into South Dakota two days later and made Singer Salvage just before nightfall.
Charlie hadn't been entirely sure what to expect from Bobby Singer. Sam had briefed her on the overall situation but hadn't provided more than the basics: Bobby was a hunter; Bobby owned a salvage yard; Bobby was a recently minted paraplegic; Bobby knew demons. Bobby had agreed to teach her to hunt.
"Charlie and Nicholas?" he asked gruffly, already waiting on his rickety porch as they approached.
"Yes, sir," Charlie replied, taking in his scruffy beard and thin flannels and faded cap. The scuffs on his boots, wear and creases from all the walking he did back when he still could.
Probably the last pair of boots he'll ever need to buy, Charlie noted bitterly.
She didn't know Bobby yet, but she still hated seeing him in that wheelchair. Hated the cold fury in his guarded expression, the panic. Charlie was no mind-reader, but Bobby's thoughts practically vibrated out of him. No, no, no, no, no, Charlie imagined him chanting, This isn't happening. This can't be happening. Wake up. Please, God, let me wake up.
"Well," Bobby rumbled, "C'mon in." He struggled briefly with getting himself and his chair pointed in the proper direction, and then Charlie and her brother were following the hunter into his cluttered home.
Again, Charlie didn't know what she'd been expecting but wasn't at all surprised to walk into what looked like a rare bookstore run by a superstitious hoarder with a pathological aversion to cleaning supplies.
The kitchen was a bit better, mostly uncluttered and reasonably tidy. Bobby navigated to the fridge, produced two beers and an apple juice. He visibly relaxed as Charlie and Nicholas graciously drank.
The young woman realized that they'd probably been dosed with holy water and grinned into her bottle, deciding that she and Bobby were going to get along famously.
He said he wouldn't teach her about demons, at least not right away. Demons were the nuclear physics of evil shit, and Charlie was going to have to work her up from basic arithmetic if she wanted any hope of being a proper, competent, actually-live-through-the-hunts hunter.
That's not to say that Bobby wasn't extremely impressed with Nicholas and his one exorcism. Not even the Winchester boys were performing exorcisms at age nine. "But don't think you'll be doin it again anytime soon," the old man added gruffly. He watched closely as Nicholas's small hands mechanically disassembled a sleek Glock.
Standing at the stove, stirring a pot of spaghetti sauce, Charlie couldn't help glowing with pride and resolutely agreeing, "Damn right. No more underage exorcisms for you, kiddo."
Nicholas pouted, fumbling just a little with the firing pin as he argued, "Saved your butt."
"Ya, well," Charlie muttered absently, "The pressing need to save it again will be the only exception to the rule."
"But I still get to learn all the stuff, right?" the dark-haired boy demanded, glancing expectantly between his sister and the grizzled junk merchant, "Ghosts and werewolves and all the rest?"
Though Bobby obviously wasn't too pleased, he answered, "I reckon so."
It became clear within the first few days in South Dakota that Charlie's role at the salvage yard wasn't limited to nursemaid or student of the supernatural. She herself found doing all the cooking, the cleaning (which it seemed like no one had attempted since practically before she was born), and even taking over the more physical elements of the legitimate business side of Bobby's operation (tows and oil changes and alignments and part sales and such).
And, not that the redhead really minded, but heap all that on top of training, researching, entertaining Nicholas, and installing wheelchair ramps and other disabled-person goodies around the house and in the vehicles (as well as dealing with the snarling gimp himself, who was not as cuddly as Charlie had hoped), and the sheer quantity of responsibilities got exhausting. Besides, the Art of the Full Night's Sleep had been pretty elusive since Charlie's very first run-in with the Things That Go Bump; she considered herself lucky with three hours before nightmares or just plain hyper-vigilance had her bolting back into consciousness.
So when the Winchester brothers showed up about a month in, she was so happy for a reprieve of being the Able-Bodied Adult in Residence that she completely forgot to be pissed at them for ditching her in a mental hospital.
Of course, that may have also had something to do with the fact that Sam found her passed out underneath a car.
She hadn't meant to doze off, but it was shady under there, a cool, dark oasis in the midst of the blistering noon heat. And the dolly was as good a horizontal surface as any. One minute, she was wrestling with and cursing at a stripped bolt, and the next she was blinking up at Sam Winchester's artfully back-lit concerned-puppy expression.
"You alright?" he asked instantly, squatting at her side as his huge hands busied themselves with taking the girl's temperature and pulse.
Charlie yawned, still tired and more than a little fuzzy. "M'fine," she insisted, sitting up and rubbing at her eyes with a hopefully clean patch of wrist, "Guess I just dozed off."
Sam frowned, continuing his insistent pawing and fretting.
"Really," the young woman declared, shoving him off with a soft laugh, "Haven't you ever heard of a siesta?"
Shaking his head but at least finally sharing the chuckle, Sam swept his own floppy hair away from his eyes and murmured, "How you been, Charlie?"
She grinned. "Can't complain. Yourself?"
"Same old, same old," he reported with a dark smirk, "Unfortunately."
Another yawn and a spine-popping stretch, and Charlie inquired, "World still ending then?"
"Ya."
"Good to know."
Sam seemed hesitantly bemused and offered a hand up, which Charlie accepted happily. Upright, she stumbled against his chest, laughing, "Whooh. Head rush." She made no move to step out of the older man's steadying embrace, and he made no move to release her. If anything, his grip tightened as the almost-uncomfortable seconds ticked by.
"CHARLIE!" Nicholas screamed from somewhere out of sight.
With a sigh, Charlie answered, "WHAT, NICKY?"
"CAN I GO TO THE STORE WITH DEAN?"
"WEAR A HAT!"
"THANKS! WE'LL BE BACK IN A FEW HOURS!"
"OK! BE CAREFUL!"
She felt Sam's rumbling laugh, his hands flexing at her waist. "You know they're gonna be gone all day, right?" he pointed out.
"I'd be surprised if they weren't," Charlie replied with a sideways smile, "Nicky's been going stir-crazy, but I don't want him getting recognized."
Shaking his head, commented, "Ya, we heard the Amber Alert go out from four states over. Nicholas Matthew Browning, nine-years-old, believed to be travelling in the company of his mentally ill sister, Charlotte Miriam Browning, twenty."
"Ugh," Charlie complained, finally stepping out of the embrace, "Don't remind me! Having my full name broadcast over the radio was not what I had in mind when I hatched this brilliant plan."
They wandered inside, and Bobby promptly banished them again, claiming he wanted some damn peace and quiet while he worked.
"Like me and Nicky are a herd of elephants," Charlie grumbled, walking aimlessly, deep through the labyrinth of scrap metal, "We pretty much just stay quiet and outta the way until he calls us over for some kinda lesson or errand." She chucked a ball and giggled as Bullet tore off after it.
Kicking at the scorched earth, Sam commented, "He's not used to sitting anything out. I can tell he really hates not being more active, but it's not like he's useless. Bobby's the first call for every hunter worth his salt."
"I finally get that joke," Charlie proclaimed, laughing, "You know, worth his salt. Takes on a whole new meaning now that my pockets actually are filled with salt."
"I never thought of it that way," Sam chuckled. He kept stealing sly sideways glances her way, cheeks and forehead flushing in the sun. But he made no move to get within an arm's length of her (one of his arm's lengths, which was significantly longer than one of Charlie's).
They walked and walked, not really saying anything but keeping each other company. Gradually, the junkers thinned out and opened up on a barbed-wire-topped metal fence that marked the end of Bobby's property, separated it from the sparse woodland beyond.
Charlie sent Bullet back to the house, told him to keep Bobby company, and then wasted no time shimmying over the barrier.
Sam was right behind her. "I haven't been out this far since I was a little kid," he commented wistfully, dropping effortlessly, "Is that old pond still around? It was only a couple miles from here."
"Dunno," Charlie answered, seizing his hand and tugging hard, "But it's hot as fuck, so I say we check that out."
The old pond was still around, still shady and cool at the bottom of a shallow ravine, fed by a picturesque little waterfall.
Grinning brilliantly, Charlie moaned, "Yes." She stripped her shoes and shorts and shirt and was in the water before she even had time to realize that Sam wasn't following.
"What gives, slow poke?" the young woman teased, floating happily on her back, "Jump in."
Sam shuffled on the bank, didn't glance her way but declared, "I, uh, I don't think so."
"C'mon," Charlie goaded, splashing futilely in his general direction, "This was your idea... and I promise not to make fun of your Underoos."
"Um," he began sheepishly, "Well, that would be nice, if I were wearing... anything... we haven't done laundry in awhile, and I sorta forgot..."
Cackling brightly, Charlie teased, "Alright, Captain Commando, then I promise not to take advantage of you."
No answer.
"Live a little!" she taunted. After a second's thought, she ducked underwater and removed her bra and panties, whipping them at Sam's face as she surfaced. "There," Charlie declared, lazily treading water, "We're even. Now quit being a big baby and get in here, before you end up with heat stroke."
Sam seemed anxious but intrigued, rocking from foot to foot before finally peeling off his sweaty t-shirt.
"Slower," Charlie instructed, biting her bottom lip and thoroughly enjoying the show.
Still reluctant, sculpted chest glistening almost mythically, Sam let his hands linger on his zipper, easing down the teeth, toeing off his shoes before finally sliding his jeans over his hips and down his muscular thighs.
Charlie couldn't help letting out a saucy whistle as the hunter gave a hesitant smirk and finally strode into the water, naked as the day he was born.
They swam and talked, splashed a little, but nothing else. Hot Winchester ass aside, Charlie didn't have sex in random ponds. No way would that be sanitary.
But still, it was a really nice afternoon. Relaxing, for both her and Sam. He quickly got over his unnecessary shyness and even joined her for an hour or so of slothful sunbathing on a large, flat boulder at the water's edge. Once dry, they dressed in silence and set off back for the salvage yard.
That night, after Nicholas had gone to bed (crashed really, thanks to an afternoon of caffeine and sugar), Dean grinned into the mouth of his beer and declared, "So... I noticed that you two are looking all deliciously brown... but where're the tan lines?"
Charlie used her best, most girly, flirty giggle, drew her fingertips lightly along the back of Dean's neck as she went for another beer. "I've never been fond of those," she teased, sultry and sweet as she bent over and leaned into the fridge, let herself linger in the chill. Standing again and catching both hunters staring openly at her backside, Charlie added, "And your brother seems like a pleased convert." She smirked and winked and sauntered out onto the porch.
"Dude," she heard Dean groan as soon as he thought she was out of earshot, "That girl is ridiculously hot. If you don't go after her, I think I might have to."
"Hey," Sam said when he arrived very shortly on the porch.
Charlie gulped her beer and laughed, "Hey."
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Sorry for the long delay. My muses can be fickle, but hopefully you enjoyed this installment and won't have to wait too long for the next one. Reviews, as always, are highly encouraged and greatly appreciated :)