Disclaimer: This story contains a lot of changes to Supernatural canon. This story is a re-write of a story I published on Quizilla back in the day, so the character of Charlie is not Charlie Bradbury.
This is my second re-write. When I first posted this story on here I was putting pressure on myself to keep pumping out chapters, which meant I wasn't happy with almost any of it. This time around I'm going to give myself more time. I will try to be consistent but please keep in mind that I have a full time job and other obligations as well.
Thank you so much to anyone willing to give this story a chance and if you are a returning reader I thank you for your patience while I get my sh*t together! As always, please feel free to leave a review. Constructive criticism and suggestions are always appreciated!


November 2, 1987

It was the sort of night that would send chills down the spine of the most hardened man. Ominous clouds hid the stars from sight, the world wrapped in a blanket of darkness.

On the side of a two lane road, somewhere between a row of idyllic small towns sat an abandoned warehouse. Despite having sat empty for year, the building seemed remarkably intact with all its walls still standing. It would have been easy to assume the building had never been disturbed, were it not for the disturbed layers of dust and the occasional shuffling of feet coming from one of the empty offices.

A soft yawn broke the deadly silence. Charlie Singer wondered how long she'd been there; a day, possibly two. Time seemed to move painfully slowly when locked in a room with no windows and nothing to pass the time but one's own thoughts. Her small hands trembled, as she hugged her knees to her chest, remembering how she'd gone to sleep, safe in her own bed, only to wake up here in this strange place. She had been petrified at first, crying and screaming to be let out of her prison, but all it had done was make her throat hurt. No one had come for her.

Still clad in her flowery nightgown, little goosebumps formed on her bare legs. The cold was slowly becoming unbearable. The only comfort Charlie had, was the knowledge that her dad would come for her, there was no way he wouldn't. All she had to do was wait patiently and hope that he arrived before her captors returned.

The sudden shattering of glass echoed through the halls. Charlie jumped to her feet, her heart beating rapidly. It was the first sound she'd heard since she'd woken up here. Charlie listened carefully, holding her breath in anticipation. Two, maybe three sets of footsteps, growing louder by the second. Someone was coming.

Nearby, the long, whiny creak of an old door caused her to press her back against the wall, as if hoping it would wrap around her and keep her hidden. She listened closely, but the footsteps had disappeared.

Seconds felt like hours, Charlie holding her breath and waiting for whatever was to come. Finally, the footsteps approached, stopping outside her door. The creak was slower this time, quieter. A circle of white light shone on the concrete wall in front of her. Charlie held her breath, her hands trembling worse than before.

"Charlie?"

Her shoulders relaxed, her chest deflating at the sound of the familiar whisper. She was saved.
"Daddy," her voice cracked, still hoarse from all the screaming and crying.

In less than a second, the light whipped around and blinded her. Raising her hand to shield from the glare, she could hear quick footsteps approaching, belonging to the outline of a familiar man.

"It's alright, darlin'," his voice was soft and comforting, a slight tremble hanging on to the edges of his words as his arms reached down to scoop her up ever so gently.

The scent of the familiar jacket filled her nostrils as she breathed a deep sigh of relief, the softness of it reminding her of home. Bobby squeezed her like he had no intention of ever letting go, her little cheek resting against his shoulder. Hot tears stung Charlie's eyes and staining his jacket.

"John!" Bobby hissed into the hallway, peeking out the door, his eyes ever alert for any sign of danger.

John wasn't a name she'd heard before, her mind trying to recall a face. Perhaps he was a police officer who'd come with to keep them safe. When no one answered, Bobby stepped out into the corridor and spoke louder: "John?"

"Did you really think this would be that easy?" a familiar voice reached Charlie's ears, her heart swelling with hope. Her head turned instinctively, but before her eyes found what they were looking for, Bobby's hand had stopped her, holding her protectively against his chest.

"Mommy?" she called desperately into the darkness.

"Let her go," Bobby growled, low and dangerous, causing the woman to laugh.

"You're not in a position to make demands, Bobby Singer. One wrong move and I slit her fucking throat."

Charlie whimpered, Bobby's big hand still resting against the back of her head protectively.

"I'm not leaving my kid. Karen would never forgive me if I did."

The woman didn't answer. Charlie couldn't understand why her dad was speaking to her mom like she wasn't there. Was it some impostor who just sounded like her, she wondered.

A sudden thump broke the silence. Whatever the sound, it distracted Bobby long enough to let go of Charlie's head, allowing her to turn towards the commotion. Her mother stood before her wearing her white nightgown, a knife held to her own throat. A dark haired man she had never met before stood seven feet away, the barrel of a gun glistening as he pointed it at her head.

"John Winchester," she spoke his name slowly, "did you seriously think you could ambush me?"

A grin spread across the man's face. "Doesn't hurt to try."

Suddenly, Charlie found her bare feet back on the cold concrete, as Bobby set her down, leaning closer.

"Close your eyes, darlin' and don't open them, no matter what you hear."

With a nod, Charlie curled up against the wall and hid her face in her arms. She could hear a sudden rush of footsteps moving away from her, and then a sickening sound. Before she could stop herself, Charlie had disobeyed her father and peeked, instantly wishing she hadn't. A horrifying cry escaped her throat. Crimson liquid spread rapidly, staining the front of her mother's nightgown, her father holding her in his arms, a bloody knife falling out of his hand and clattering to the floor. Karen's head snapped backwards and a pillar of black smoke rose out of her mouth towards the ceiling.

Still in shock, Charlie didn't notice the man named John rushing to her side. With quick movements, he scooped her up and held her against his chest. She was sure he was trying to comfort her but his words sounded distorted in her ears.

"Daddy," her voice trembled, "mommy needs to go to the hospital."

John's grip around her tightened ever so slightly but no one spoke, the only sound being Bobby's quiet sobs as he held the limp body of his wife in his arms.
After letting him grieve for a moment, John approached with Charlie still in his arms.

"I know what you feel, Bobby, but we gotta keep moving. I found another kid."

For a moment it seemed the words didn't even register. Then, Bobby lifted his gaze towards the man.

"Another kid? Here?"

That was when she saw him; a little boy about her own age peeking out of an open door down the hall. Even in the dim light she could make out a messy head of black, curly hair. The boy was thin, like he'd been starved for a long time, his bare feet barely making a sound against the concrete when he finally approached.

Bobby's eyes took in the scene before him, a worried crease between his brows. The two men shared a look Charlie couldn't decipher. Finally, Bobby stood, placing his hand gently against Charlie's cheek.

"You take the kids, I got things I need to do here."

John nodded, motioning for the boy to come over.

"I love you, kiddo," Bobby placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.

She knew it was meant to comfort but there was very little that could make her feel better tonight and now she would have to go with some stranger, not knowing when her dad would come to bring her home. Her small hands trembled as John carried her out of the building, the little boy trailing behind them with his eyes firmly fixed on the ground.

An old, black car sat outside the doors next to a familiar beat up truck. In the backseat of that car, Charlie reached over and placed her hand atop the boy's. He cringed but didn't move away.

"I'm Charlie," she whispered.

For the first time, his brown eyes looked up and met hers.

"Nate."