AUTHOR'S NOTE: 80 chapters...80 chapters, y'all! I had no idea that Charlie's story would go on for this long! Well, I know a lot of you are saying, "What the fudge, Wayward?" My muse took a hard left, and I had to follow...get on board the 'Last Train to WTF-ville' with me! Bear with me...see if you can figure out what's going on...remember that there are supernaturals that are aware of Charlie now, demons and possibly other types...hmm...
CONTENT WARNING: Physical abuse of child.
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Dean forked the last bite of pie into his mouth and answered his cell phone, which had started to ring.
"Yeah, Bobby, what's up? How are things?" He felt relaxed and happy, he and Sam had just finished a successful hunt, and had kicked back at a motel for some R & R. They'd even managed to find a bed with "Magic Fingers". He'd had beer and pie, all he needed now was some 'Busty Asian Beauties' and his life would be complete.
"Hey, Dean, so listen...there's been some action online over the past couple of days, with regards to your name-"
"Whaat? My name's getting action, and I'm not? What the heck, man?" Dean quipped. Across the room, Sam shook his head and made a little scoffing sound.
"No, listen, ya idjit. Someone's checkin' up on you."
Dean got serious immediately and sat up. "What do you mean, Bobby?" his voice got lower.
"As far as I can tell it's from one account- all the inquiries come from the same IP address-"
"Whoa, English, Bobby!" Dean protested.
Bobby sighed. "Is Sam there?"
"Yeah, of course."
"Put me on speakerphone so that he can translate what I'm saying into idjit-speak."
Dean pressed the button on his phone and walked over to Sam.
"Bobby wants you to hear this," Dean told him.
Sam typed in the letters and numbers that Bobby read off. "Okay, I see it...yeah, it looks like a personal account that's linked to a local government site," Sam clicked on the keys and another window popped up.
" _ Department of Child and Family Services," Sam read off, "What the heck? Why would they be looking for Dean?"
"I don't know, but I wanted to give y'all a heads up. They've been trying to get into a bunch of different databases, looks like they're trying to find him."
"Okay, thanks Bobby. We'll look more into this," Sam said. He looked up at Dean, "I'm not going to be able to get into any government site, whether it's local or federal. You know who we need to call."
"Ash," Dean and Sam said at the same time.
Dean found Ash's number and dialed it, setting the phone next to Sam's laptop.
After it rang about 20 times, the phone picked up. There was music blaring in the background.
"Heyyyy, Dean-o!" Ash exclaimed, "How they hangin', man?"
"Hey, Ash, it's fine, I've got-"
"And your brother? How's he doin'?"
"I'm fine, Ash, listen-"Sam started.
Ash interrupted him. "Sam-I-am! How are you doin', dude?"
"I told you, I'm fine. We need your help-"
"Well I am at your service-"
"Ash, would you shut up for a second and let us talk!" Dean snapped.
"All right, all right, take a chill pill," Ash sounded a little hurt.
"Someone's been looking Dean up, trying to dig into online accounts about him. I've got the IP address but it's linked to a local government site. Can you get in there and find out who it is?"
Ash laughed. "Well of course, my man! Gimme the address, and I'll figure it out!"
An hour later, Dean's phone rang. "Okay, bros, hold on to your hats," Ash said excitedly, "Does the name...Susan Fredericks mean anything to you?"
Sam glanced at Dean. "Uhh...no," Dean took a swig of his beer.
"Oh," Ash sounded disappointed, "Well, she's a social worker. She's looking up info on you, because your name is linked to a case with a woman by the name of...Elizabeth Angela Stansfield. Know anyone by that name?"
"Elizabeth Angela Stansfield..." Dean stood up and paced, "Elizabeth—got any info on her?"
"Well it says that she lives in _ and she's been an accountant at The Stanhope Company for about the past 10 years...she just died of cancer."
"Oh man," Sam said, "Wait, _. Weren't we there for about 10 days, hunting a rugaru? And you got cozy with that woman who always ate at the diner, what was her name..." Sam snapped his fingers, "It was—oh my God, Dean, her name was Liz. Could that be-"
"Ohhh, Liz, right..." Dean nodded, "It was about...8 years ago?" he took another swig of beer, "Why in the hell would someone be looking for me, in relation to her, when she just died?"
"Maybe...she's rich and she left you some money in her will?" Ash questioned, "If so, do I get a payment for all my help?"
"Keep wishing, buddy," Dean retorted.
"Well wait a minute, you said this woman who's looking, she's... a social worker? Does it say anything about her cases?" Sam glanced at Dean.
They could hear Ash's keyboard clicking. "Umm...well, let's see here...okay, this Susan Fredericks, licensed social blahblah...says she is the court liason for children who have had parents or care-givers die and who've been left wards of the court, and she tries to find other relatives," Ash read off, "So that's who she is, she deals with kids whose parents died."
"And if this Elizabeth Stansfield just died..." Sam looked up at Dean, his eyes wide, "Oh my god, Dean, do you think she had a kid?"
Dean felt a shock. "No, she didn't, I would have known about it-" he said easily,"We were together almost every night and there wasn't a kid."
"No, Dean, I mean, you—we were there about 8 years ago, and I know you and she were intima-"
"Dude, TMI!" Ash hollered.
"Shut up, Ash," Sam and Dean said at the same time.
"Do you think that she could have, you know, gotten pregnant and had a kid? Your kid?" Sam looked up at Dean.
"Nah...nawww, she would have- uh, I mean-" Dean felt a little overwhelmed.
Sam turned to him. "Look, man, do the math, it's all right there in front of you. Eight years ago you had a dalliance with Elizabeth Stansfield, now a social worker is looking for you, one who deals with cases where kids have lost a parent and they're looking for family? Come on, Dean!"
"I, uh...no, that can't be...I mean...y'know-" Dean felt a little light-headed.
"Okay, Ash, we've got to go so that Dean can get ahold of himself. Can you do some more poking around and see if you can find out anything else?" Sam asked.
"Yep, will do."
Sam disconnected, and stood up, pushing Dean to sit down.
"Dude...you think I...I could have a kid?" Dean's chest was heaving.
"It's a very strong possibility," Sam said, "What are you going to do?"
"Well, I guess we look 'em up. See if they want to come with us. Could be kinda cool, me and a little man, ridin' around in Baby together-"
"You're making the assumption that it's a boy and that he'll like classic cars," Sam said flatly, "Let's just take one thing at a time, okay?"
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I laid on my stomach, trying to sleep. It hurt too much, my butt and backs of my thighs were throbbing. I'd gotten the strap for the first time tonight, and it wasn't fair. A couple of the other girls were sabotaging me, messing things up after I'd done my chores. I'd mop the kitchen floor and they'd spill soup all over it. I'd vacuum the living room rug and mud would get tracked in. Jean had gotten tired of my "complaining" and had taken away the mop and the vacuum cleaner, so now I had to clean everything with a rag and a bucket. My hands were chapped and dry from being in hot water all the time. A couple spots on my knuckles had cracked and bled. When I had asked for some lotion or ointment, I'd been told that they weren't made of money, and that it was part of my punishment for 'being so messy'.
I was determined to find a relative. I knew that all of the records for the foster kids were stored in the metal desk in the basement, the one that we had to lay across during Friday punishments. Every single kid hated that desk and wouldn't go near it. But I'd seen Doug looking through files and then shoving them in a lower drawer.
The house was quiet now, and I got up out of bed and crept downstairs. I shivered in the cold of the basement- the floor was just bare cement. The desk sat in the middle of the room, and it made me nervous to look at it. I didn't even want to go near it, let alone touch it, but I knew I had to.
I walked around to the side with the drawers and started to open them. One of the lower ones had files, with names of kids on them. I found mine, Charlotte Anne Stansfield, and pulled it out. I laid it on the desk and opened it, my hands shaking.
All of a sudden, Doug was there. "What the fuck is this?" he yelled, grabbing me and yanking me back. He slapped me across the face and then slammed me down on the desk, face down. I heard a drawer open, and then a second later heard a swish sound and a loud snap then felt a hot, thin line of pain on my butt. I screamed and tried to get away, but he grabbed my arm and twisted it painfully behind me.
"You aren't supposed to be out of bed, you aren't supposed to be down here, you aren't supposed to be looking through the desk! You're nothing more than a troublemaker!"
As he spoke, I heard the swish and crack again and again and felt the lines of hot pain springing up across my rear end. I struggled and tried to push up, but he yanked on my arm and I whimpered from the strain on my muscles.
"You're going to see what troublemakers get-" he hissed, and I felt a couple more lines of pain on my upper thighs. Tears were pouring down my face and my throat felt raw from screaming. I kicked my feet up, backwards, and my left heel connected with something soft. I heard him grunt, and he let me go, the cane clattering to the floor. I pushed up on the desk and turned, his face was red and he was hunched over. I was breathing hard, sobbing, and I wiped my eyes and then stood up.
"Oh no you don't," he grunted. He slapped me again, grabbed the back of my neck, and started to drag me down a hallway that was off to the side. There was a small door that he opened, and I could see it was a tiny room with a flat mattress on the floor and a metal bucket in the corner. He shoved me into the room and I tripped over the mattress and fell, hitting my head on the wall. As I heard the door lock, I sat up, and then rolled over. My bottom was throbbing and I could feel something trickling from some of the stinging skin on my thighs. My face was burning from where he'd slapped me and the muscles in my arm and shoulder were screaming from being twisted up my back. My chest was heaving with sobs, but I held on to what I had seen on one of the papers right before Doug had slammed me down on the desk. I had seen a name. Dean Winchester. Could that be my father? I held on to the hope that it was, and that I'd be able to find him. Dean Winchester. Please, please let that be the name of the man who is my father. Please, please let me find him. Dean Winchester.
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Dean adjusted his tie as he walked up the steps of the large yellow house. He glanced at Sam, feeling a nervous pang in his stomach. He didn't know why he felt nervous...he told himself he'd made peace with the fact that he had a kid, an 8 year-old daughter, and he was about to come face-to-face with her-
Sam reached out and rang the doorbell. After a moment, the heavy wooden storm door opened. A young girl stood there, holding a broom. Her brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail and she had a smear of dirt across her cheek.
She opened the door. "Yes?" She glanced at them and then stared at the ground.
Sam took the lead. "Uhh, we're agents Plant and Page, from the FBI. We'd like to talk to your parents?"
"Foster," the girls' eyes were hooded. She didn't even look up at their badges that they were holding out.
"Excuse me?" Sam asked.
"Foster parents. Jean!" the girl turned away from the door, "Some guys're here to talk to you!"
An older woman came into the room, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. She came out onto the porch as the sound of a vaccum cleaner started up behind her.
"Yes, gentlemen, what can I help you with?"
"Hi, yes, we're Agents Plant and Page, from the FBI, are you Jean White? We're looking for a...Charlotte Stansfield?" Sam looked at her.
"Yes, I am," Jean nodded, "Uhhh, why are you looking for her? I mean, what is this in connection with?" the woman looked back and forth at them.
"That's government business, ma'am," Dean said, "We were told by Ms. Susan Fredericks that...she... Charlotte... is residing here, and we need to speak with her."
"Well, she's not here," Jean's face was closed and un-emotional.
"When will she be back?" Sam asked after a long pause.
"She won't...she's actually...she got adopted last week, the family got the paperwork all signed and they took her, moved out of state."
Sam pulled out a small notebook and flipped it open. "Do you happen to know where?"
"No, families who adopt the kids from here don't usually leave a forwarding address. Once they're gone, they're gone. Better to just cut the cord and let them go."
"What was the name of the family?" Sam asked her.
"I really can't recall, you'd have to speak with Ms. Fredericks. Now I really have to go, I've got dinner on the stove and those kids can't be trusted to keep an eye on things," she said, glancing over her shoulder.
"All right, thank you. We'll be in touch if we have any more questions," Sam said.
As they walked over to the car, a garbage truck turned the corner and rumbled past. There was a man in a dirty coverall uniform hanging off the back of the truck. It slowed as it passed them.
"Hey, nice ride!" the man called. He pulled a candy bar out of his pocket and began to eat it.
"Excuse me?" Dean asked suspiciously.
"Your car...that's yours? She's a beaut!" the man grinned at Dean.
"Yeah, thanks," Dean said dismissively, getting into the car.
Once in the car, Sam turned to Dean. "This whole situation stinks on ice, man. That woman was a piece of work! She has no idea of the name of the family that adopted Charlotte, or where they went? She's got to be lying."
"And how come the social worker didn't mention that? Surely she wouldn've known about that, right? I mean come on," Dean sighed and rubbed his eyes, "Now what? What do we do now?"
"Let's go get some breakfast, there was the Broward Diner in town," Sam said.
"Oh, hey, they had a sign for a Pig-in-a-Poke, too! I love that!" Dean started the car.
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Dean could hear the loud sound of the television as he walked down the hall towards the apartment. He unlocked the door and pushed it open, feeling a resistance. There were toys scattered all over the living room floor, as well as pots and pans and plastic utensils.
Charlotte ran up to him and threw her arms around his legs. "Dada!" she exclaimed happily. He leaned down and picked her up, holding her against his chest, and kissed her cheek.
"Hey, sweetheart," he said. Her face had dried food and grime on it, and she was clad only in a diaper that he could tell was full, from how puffy it was. The television was on, some children's cartoon with singing and dancing letters, but the volume was loud. It made his headache worse. It was the last friday of the month, and they did inventory at the garage, reading over computer print-outs with tiny lettering in the dim back room of the warehouse, and it always made his head hurt.
Dean walked over to the couch and picked up the remote, turning the sound down. He could hear Liz's voice in the kitchen, talking. That meant she was probably on the phone.
He walked over to the doorway- which was blocked off by a baby gate- and leaned in. Liz was standing at the stove, stirring a pot that had steam rising from it. Her head was tilted and she had a phone tucked between her cheek and shoulder.
"Hey," he called to her.
She glanced at him, and then turned back to the stove. She did this thing where when she talked on the phone she was completely focused on it and didn't—or couldn't- pay attention to anything else that was going on.
"Let's get you a dry diaper, huh?" Dean looked down at his daughter. He carried her back over to the sofa and laid her down, grabbing a diaper and the box of wipes from the little basket next to the couch.
Charlotte immediately tried to sit up.
"I need you to lay back, baby girl," he told her.
"Nooooo," she whined, trying to slide off of the couch.
"We need to change your diaper, come on," he said reasonably. He turned, looking around for something to distract her with, and reached down to pick a board book up from the floor. In the time it took for him to pick it up and turn back, she was already across the room.
"Charlotte, come back here!" he pointed at the couch. "Diaper change!"
"No!" she giggled, and reached down to pick up a plastic spatula and a metal pot. She began to bang the pot with the utensil. Dean's head throbbed.
"Hey, come over here, now," Dean called to her.
She frowned at him, and then stomped her foot. "No!" she said stubbornly.
Dean sighed and stood up, then walked over to her. He pulled the pot and spatula out of her hands, and dropped them, then picked her up under her arms and carried her over to the couch.
She looked up at him in surprise and then began to cry.
He laid her on her back and handed her the book. "Here, look at this while I change you," he said.
"NO!" she shouted, and threw the book at his face. It struck him in the nose, just at the right angle to really hurt and make tears of pain come to his eyes for a second. He turned his head and put his hand up to his nose, biting back the swear words that had risen automatically in his throat.
He pulled his hand away from his face and looked- no blood, thank God- and turned back. Charlotte was again off the couch and across the room.
Dean's temper flared, and he stood up. "Charlotte Anne. Get over here, NOW," he said sternly.
She turned her back on him, and that made him even angrier. He walked over to her and swung her up on his hip, turning her to face him. "You threw a book at me and hurt me, little girl. No throwing things at people," he scolded angrily.
She looked surprised again at his tone of voice, and then her lower lip began to tremble. Her eyes filled with tears, and he sighed angrily as he walked back to the couch. He laid her down on her back and sat down. She tried to sit up, and he pushed her back, and said, "NO, you stay right there," in a firm voice.
Big tears began to roll down the sides of her face and her mouth opened, and a second later she wailed.
He immediately felt terrible for making her cry.
"Come on, kiddo, let's get a clean diaper on you and we can put this all behind us, okay?" he asked.
"No diapey!" she wailed, trying to sit up again.
He pushed her back again as she resisted, and she began to howl. "Stay," he said emphatically.
"Dean, she's not a dog, for God's sake."
Dean looked up at Liz, who was standing at the door.
"Well I've been fighting with her about getting this diaper changed for about 10 minutes now and she keeps running off. She threw a book and hit me in the face!" Dean told her.
"She's two, what do you expect?" Liz stepped over the baby gate and walked over, holding something out to Charlotte.
"Here, honey, eat this," Liz said indulgently.
Charlotte stopped crying and her eyes lit up. "Cookie!" she grabbed at it, and started to eat.
"Isn't that going to spoil her appetite for dinner?" Dean asked.
Liz shrugged. "It's one cookie, and look, it's keeping her quiet."
"I thought we weren't going to keep distracting her with food," Dean said.
Liz rolled her eyes and sighed with annoyance. "No, you decided that. I don't see a problem with it."
Dean had finished putting a dry diaper on the baby by now, and he picked her up and set her on the floor.
He sighed, feeling his head throb. "Fine, whatever," he said, not wanting to argue at this particualr time. "Do I have time to take a shower before dinner?"
"Sure, go ahead," Liz said, turnng away and going back into the kitchen.
Dean lifted Charlotte out of the tub and put the hooded towel on her head, wrapping it around her body. He leaned over to pull the plug in the tub, and then stood up with a slight groan as his knees popped, and stripped off his wet shirt.
When he turned, he saw Charlotte push the towel off her shoulders as she ran out the door, giggling. He scooped the towel up and walked into the hallway, calling, "Naked toddler alert!"
Liz appeared at the other end, blocking the little girl, and made shooing motions at her. Charlotte let out a screech and turned to run back towards Dean. He leaned down and caught her easily as she tried to run by him. The baby loved to run around naked after her bath.
"Ah ah ah, no you don't," he teased, tickling her stomach. She wriggled in his arms and shrieked with laughter as he carried her into her room.
"No tick-uh! No tick-uh, Dada!" She reached up and tried to dig her fingers into his armpit, and as he shifted her in his arms he said, "Oh no, that's not fair, if you tickle me, I get to tickle you!"
He walked over to the dresser and grabbed a clean diaper and pajamas, then took them to her bed. He tickled her as he dressed her for bed, talking to her and teasing her.
"Okay, let's do hair," he said, picking up the little comb. She turned around obediently and plunked on her bottom in front of him. He combed through her wet hair and gently worked the knots out. "There we go, all done," he said, putting the comb on the bed.
Charlotte stood up and turned around, and put her hands on his cheeks.
"Tiss, Dada," she said, and she gave him a peck on the lips, complete with a loud, "MWAH!" sound. Then she threw her arms around his neck and snuggled into him.
He hugged her tightly."Thank you for the kiss," he said quietly, "I love you, Charlotte." He was glad that that was part of their nightly routine after bath time.
He let her go, and she climbed down off of the bed and scurried away to find some mischief. Dean stood up and took the damp towel and comb back to the bathroom, then went into the bedroom to put a clean t-shirt on. His shirt always got wet wrangling a naked toddler during bath-time. It was just another part of the routine.
He walked into Charlotte's bedroom, where Liz was tucking her into her little toddler bed. Charlotte was drinking a bottle of milk.
"Good night, sweetie," Liz leaned down and kissed Charlotte.
"Shouldn't we be brushing her teeth after she has a bottle?" Dean asked.
"She's already in bed, I don't want to get her out again," Liz stood up.
Dean sat down next to Charlotte, and she sat up slightly. He put his arms around her and smelled her clean-baby smell and stroked her still-damp hair back from her face.
"Good night, baby girl," he kissed her forehead. He let go and laid her back down, and she rolled onto her side and kept drinking.
He followed Liz out to the living room and she sat down. Liz had a glass of wine and a bag of potato chips, and she grabbed the remote.
"Want to watch a movie?" she asked.
"Sure," Dean replied, going into the kitchen for a beer.
By the time he was halfway through the beer, Charlotte had appeared at the end of the hallway.
"What are you doing up, kiddo?" he asked, although this was a nightly occurance with her.
Her eyes lit up as she looked over at her mother, and she hurried over and climbed up onto the couch between them. "Tips, Mama! Tips!" she pointed at the bag of potato chips, and Liz handed her one.
"Liz..." Dean said with disbelief, as Charlotte crunched the chip with obvious relish.
"What? It's just one chip," Liz said defensively.
"Little girl, you need to go to bed," Dean said, and Charlotte ignored him, turning to her mother.
"Muh! Muh tip, Mama!"
"Come on, back to bed," Dean set his beer on the side table and took Charlotte's arm. She tried to pull away from him, and threw herself backwards. "No! No bed! Mamaaaaa!" she called, as Dean picked her up and carried her down the hallway.
"It's time for you to be in bed," he said sternly.
He had memories of he and his brother getting out of bed, or of staying up and goofing around, and their father putting a stop to that with swats to their butts. Sure, they'd been older, but his father had always been firm and strict when it came to the rules. He was shocked at how lax Liz was turning out to be. Yes, the baby was only two, but she was old enough to start learning how to behave, to listen and do what she was told. She wan't really a baby anymore although they both called her that. Liz seemed to use "She's only two," and "But she's a baby" as an excuse whenever she didn't want to be bothered with having to enforce anything. Then Dean had to be the heavy, and get stern, and then Charlotte would cry. It made him feel bad, but there were times when he could tell that his scolding had gotten through to her, and it made him feel good to know that she could recognize limits. There were times that Charlotte did obey Dean. She's wasn't "just a baby" like Liz said.
Tonight, however, he was headachy, and his patience was wearing thin. He laid Charlotte in bed, and then walked back out to the living room. Liz had started some comedy-romance that he watched half-heartedly.
Charlotte had come out of her room twice more, and Dean had carried her back, and each time her fussing had gotten worse. She was getting tired, and she was fighting sleep, which in turn made her grumpy. She knew that Liz would more often than not let her stay up. There were plenty of nights that Dean had come home late, to find Liz and the baby asleep on the couch with the t.v. going. Liz didn't like it when Charlotte cried, and Charlotte didn't listen to anything Liz told her to do.
Instead of relaxing him, the beer had made Dean's headache get worse. He carried his fussing toddler back to her room yet again, feeling irritation welling up.
"Charlotte. Stay. In. Bed," he said sternly, pulling the covers up.
She sat up and threw the covers off of her. "NO!" she shouted, glaring up at him.
He sat down on the bed and started to pull the blankets up again. "Lay down, kiddo-" he started to say, and she began to kick her feet. Her little foot connected with his cheekbone, so hard that he saw stars for a moment.
"OUCH!" he yelled, "Son of a bi-" he managed to stop himself just in time, and shook his head. When his vision had cleared, he saw she was almost out the door. Anger surged up in him, and he stood up and stormed across the room to her, grabbing her and lifting her up to hold her against his chest.
"I told you to stay in bed!" he snapped in a harsh voice, and he smacked her butt lightly.
She stared at him, a shocked look on her face, but he didn't know if it was from his tone of voice or the fact that he'd swatted her. He knew it hadn't hurt her, she had a diaper on, so there was a layer of padding covering her butt, and it was just a pat.
She wailed and then burst into tears, burying her face in his neck. He sighed again, angry at himself that he'd lost his temper with her, and resolved to be more patient. He put his arms around her and began to pace the floor, talking to her in a quiet, soothing voice, and then humming a little after she'd calmed down. He hummed the tune that his father had hummed to him when he was small, it ws some old song from the 1940s, his father had told him.
Charlotte's sobs quieted until her chest just hitched every so often. He looked down at her, listening to her even, heavy breathing, and then gently laid her in bed and pulled the covers up. Her hand had been fisted in his flannel and he had to pry it open and remove his shirt from her little hand.
He was exhausted now. He walked to the bathroom, swallowed some ibuprofen, then went out to the living room.
Liz was slumped on the end of the couch, asleep, with the empty wine bottle and chip bag on the floor next to her feet. Dean sighed and picked them up, taking them out to the kitchen. He was too tired to clean up the rest of the living room tonight, so he'd have to get it in the morning. Or course, it wouldn't really matter, since the baby would have everything back out in a matter of minutes.
Dean flicked the t.v. off and walked to the bedroom, laying down and falling asleep quickly.