Disclaimer: If I did own Supernatural, I guess there'd be much less dialogue and more hugging. Dialogues are hard. Hugs aren't... - except for ones on Supernatural: But as I don't own the characters or the show that's not my fault.

Characters: Dean, Charlie

A/N:I swear I planned this to be fluff... mission failed. Again, not apologizing.

Poetic Licence

Dean shuts the bathroom door and walks back to his room, groggily raking his fingers through his hair but stops as he notices light shining out under the door to the guest room.

He wonders whether Charlie forgot to switch off the lights before going to bed.

Dean enters the room quietly, first checking the bed, which is empty, before noticing Charlie is sitting at the desk, a sleek notebook in front of her. Her fingers are moving over the keys in a mesmerizing, steady rhythm. She's so immersed in her task she doesn't notice him come closer.

Dean stoops and tries to get a look at what she's writing, but before he can, she notices him and utters a stifled squeak. She jumps and turns around fast, her fists raised in defence before she recognizes her unbidden intruder: "Dean! Jeez! You almost startled me to death. Can't you knock?"

"It's three in the morning", he grumbles and yawns, "You should be fast asleep. What' you doing?"

Charlie glances back at her notebook and closes its lid hurriedly: "Nothing... - I'm finished now, anyway. You're absolutely right, let's both go to bed."

She stands, but the way she's suddenly blushing crimson red only serves to pique Dean's interest:

"Sit", he orders her, gently pushing her back down on the chair, "What were you doing before I interrupted you?"

"Just writing something."

"Writing a code writing or writing a letter writing?"

"More like writing a story", she says and blushes even more. Redheads, Dean thinks and grins, so easy to crack.

"What kind of story?"

"Oh, it's nothing really. I'm just playing around with a few ideas."

"Great – you won't mind me taking a look, then?"

"Do I have a choice?"

Dean grins and shakes his head.

Having Charlie staying here while her leg is healing up is quite nice – granted, she's not the best at baking pie, but she is definitely making an effort, and she's good at research as well; never mind the fact she is always in a good mood and really nice to have around.

Charlie sighs and opens her notebook, typing in her password before she moves her chair to the side a bit so Dean, who's sat down on the bed, can have a look at what she's written.

At the very first sentence, his eyebrows rise up, and as he continues to read, his brow begins to furrow. He scrolls down and continues reading till the end before he looks back at her, shaking his head.

"Why would you write stuff like this?"

"People like it", she defends herself, "and it helps me to unwind."

The hint of a tired smile twitches at the corners of her mouth: "I don't sleep very well ever since..." She gestures towards her leg, which is set in a cast and Dean swallows – if he and Sam had arrived earlier when Charlie had called them, the shifter wouldn't have had the time to hurt her.

Noticing his discomfort, Charlie suddenly grins at him, laying her hand on his arm and squeezing gently: "It's okay, I'll heal."

Dean gives her half a smile before quickly looking away again so she can't see his eyes which, as he knows, far too easily give away his feelings. Taking a deep, calming breath he asks: "People really like this... this..."

Charlie beams and offers: "Fan Fiction, you mean? Well, even before the unpublished works went live, the Fandom was still going strong, and now that they have, there are lots of new fans... Yes, people enjoy reading these."

Dean, eyeing again what she's written so far, shakes his head in disbelief: "But that is so not what our usual routine looks like."

Charlie laughs: "I know."

"Then why do you write it down like this? We hunted down the werewolf almost a month ago, the haunted house was even before that; and I have no idea anymore when we went after that Rugaru. No hunter could gank these monsters within 24 hours, even when not counting the hours spent in a car to get to two different states!"

Charlie only shrugs: "That's poetic license."

"What about research?"

"That's what people – or rather characters – like me are for. You write in a quick call and all research is done without interrupting the flow of the story."

Dean snorts and continues to rant: "Regroup? Refuel? The long, boring hours you spent following vamps to their nests, stalking the habits of monsters? The crappy motel rooms? Getting something to eat on the road? And honestly, how could anyone ever believe that Sam could go hunting a werewolf with half his arm severed away? Apart from the fact that even I can't stitch up a wound like that. That's what hospitals are for."

Now it's Charlies turn to frown: "Why are you getting so angry about this?"

"We're not immortal, Charlie! You know Sam and I aren't just some characters in a story... If you have to write this stuff, why can't you at least make it real?"

"No one", Charlie answers, stressing each word, "wants to read about real life. Especially not that of a hunter – far too short and depressing."

"That's exactly the point. You make it sound like it's a Sunday stroll along a beach when really it's all about staying alive for another day and saving people's lives!"

Charlie stares at Dean, fighting down her own fury since she feels he has a point.

Dean closes his eyes and buries his face in his hands, taking a calming breath.

"I'm sorry", he says after a while, "really."

She squeezes his arm again and tries to make him understand: "I know by now how dangerous a hunter's life can really be, and I'm okay with it – but that doesn't mean I can deal with all things like you and Sam do by drinking and not talking to each other, or exercising. Especially that last one right now." She non too gently prods the plaster.

"I have to do this my own way, and writing helps clearing my head, and writing about two characters very much like but not really you gives me at least the feeling of some distance."

He watches her wringing her hands as she gropes for words. When she just shakes her head in defiance, he mumbles: "Sam's arm wasn't 'nearly severed' when we came back from hunting the Rugaru."

"When you helped him down the stairs I thought it was." Charlie's voice is tight with tears. "It's not that easy, you know, watching the two of you go out like that."

"Charlie –"

"I know", she interrupts him, "why you do it, and you saved many people by doing so, but... Just... Promise me you'll be careful."

Dean suddenly finds it difficult to swallow as he nods.

Charlie snivels and smiles again: "Come on now, give me a hug. No one's here to see it."

Dean pulls her close, giving her a kiss on the forehead, silently renewing the promise he's just made even more fiercely.

A little while later, he helps her onto the bed, leaving the crutches by the nightstand so she can easily reach them.

Before he switches off the lights, he says in a stern voice: "This conversation is not for all the Internet to read, understood?"

Charlie only giggles and disappears underneath her covers, and Dean can't help but smile as he gently closes the door.

Having Charlie staying at the bunker just feels right.