Disclaimer: Nothing what I own to do with Supernatural. I'm running low on disclaimer jokes, peeps!!
Chapter Eight
Six months later, Luke came home. His parents greeted him at the airport, commenting on how different – more relaxed – he looked. And Luke felt different too. Stronger. More capable. If he thought he felt grown up at seventeen and a half, he felt even more so at eighteen. They drove through town on their way home. Even the buildings looked different, the streets curved in a way he didn't remember. But it was ok. It wasn't sad. It was just different. And difference was ok.
He didn't see Charlie till the next day. She was glad to see him, and they talked and laughed as if nothing had ever come between them. Charlie smiled a lot, and Luke found himself remembering why he had liked her so much. But there was something in her eyes – some sadness – that made him feel like he had abandoned her and returned too late to be the saviour.
"Sam's not staying?" Charlie looked over at Dean questioningly, hand hovering over the third mug.
"No." Dean swallowed. No matter which way he put this; it was going to come out wrong. "Charlie…" She took a moment to turn and face him, and he knew then that she already knew the truth. "Come here."
Charlie didn't move, just gripped onto the bench with white knuckles and looked at him defiantly. "If you've got something to say, say it," she said, more strongly than she intended.
He sighed. "Something's come up."
She crossed her arms. "You mean your Dad."
Dean shifted uncomfortably. "Look, if it wasn't important…"
Charlie refused to acknowledge his excuses. "When are you leaving?"
"Well, he's in Iowa and he leaves in two days - "
"I'm not asking about him, I'm asking about you. When are you leaving?"
There was a long pause.
"As soon as possible."
Charlie considered him with narrowed eyes for a long moment. And then without saying a word she crossed the room and kissed him. The tug of gravity was too great to resist and slowly Dean fell back onto the bed. For a moment or two he kissed her back before finally pulling away.
"Don't," he said steadily, looking at her in the eye. "Please don't do this to me."
Charlie drew away as if she had been stung, and quickly got up. "Don't do this to you?" She repeated, a dangerous quaver in her voice. "What do you think you do to me?"
"Charlie…" Dean pulled himself up to a sitting position. "Please. I don't want to argue."
"No, Dean," she said in a raised voice, her eyes glassy. "Sooner or later we have to talk."
Dean shook his head, feeling frustration rise in his chest. He didn't have time to do this with her, not now. He stood, retrieving his shirt from the chair and pulling it over his head.
Charlie bit her lip hard, anger letting words escape from her mouth. "This is fucked up Dean," she said; but he didn't respond, continuing to gather his things. He wouldn't be drawn into this.
She shook her head in disbelief at his audacity. "Don't ignore me," she said, in a higher voice than usual. "Relationships aren't meant to be like this. Normal relationships." Even with his back to her, Charlie saw Dean stop.
He took a deep breath and telling his anger to go away, he turned to face her. "Stop being so dramatic," he said; and despite his best efforts, he couldn't keep the biting tone out of his voice.
Charlie looked hurt, but not altogether that surprised. "I'm not being dramatic." She said, standing her ground. "You can't write me off like that."
Dean sighed and rubbed his eyes tiredly, but before he could reply she was standing right in front of him, and had pulled his hands away from his face. "Listen to me." He felt his anger spike again, but there was something in her voice – in her eyes – that compelled him to do so.
"I'm not making his up," Charlie said, and he saw tears sparkling on her eyelashes. "Please. Please don't leave me again." Her voice was so low that Dean nearly missed it.
He looked away, staring out the window until the bright light made his eyes hurt. "This is my family, Charlie," he said at last. "And I will come back for you. But don't make me choose."
She let go of him, feeling injured. "That's what you always say," she said. "But when? A year? Two? Four?" Charlie crossed her arms, moving and sitting on the end of the bed. As he watched, a lean tear worked its way out of the corner of her eye, running dispiritedly along the creases. She brushed at it in irritation, and refused to meet his eyes.
Dean sighed again, cursing himself for feeling bad and then going to sit next to her, taking her hand.
"What am I meant to say?" she asked, still not looking at him. "What am I meant to tell Mum? Or Luke? I don't want to spend my life waiting and still be second best."
Dean held his breath a little, not wanting to react. "So what do you want me to do?"
Charlie held his hand tightly, finally meeting his eyes. "Stay."
He gave a small, sad sort of smile, reaching out and tucking a loose lock of hair behind her ear. "I can't."
She stared at the carpet again, a dull flush creeping onto her face as she let go of his hand. Dean took this as a sign of acceptance and he stood, kissing her on the top of her head and scooping his phone off the bedside table. When he turned back she was standing, looking at him with a mixture of fear, defiance and sadness.
"I won't wait for you anymore," Charlie said shakily, her hands clasped tightly together. She took a nervous breath. "If you leave now…this is it."
"You don't mean that," Dean said quietly, trying to convince himself as much as her.
For a moment there was silence. Then somewhere in the street below there was the sound of a car starting up, breaking the tension.
"I won't abandon you," he said. "I promise. We have to talk, but we can't do it now. I'll come back, really soon. I promise."
Charlie couldn't bear to look at him, not understanding how he thought this would all work out.
Dean misinterpreted her silence, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet and pulling out twenty dollars. "Take this. Put it towards the room. It's not much, but I'll fix you up later."
She looked up at him, eyes on fire. "Don't you dare," she said sharply.
He was confused. "Charlie - "
"I don't want your money," she said bitterly. "I'm not some kind of prostitute who you can keep stringing along."
Dean realised his mistake, and moved towards her. "Charlie, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that…"
"Just leave me alone, Dean," Charlie went to step away, but he grabbed her by the shoulders.
"Charlie, I don't want to leave like this, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that…"
She struggled against his grip. "Let me go," she said, pushing him away.
"Charlie," Dean said in desperation, relinquishing his hold but staying close to her. "Please."
She stopped, crossing her arms and looking at him. "Dean - "
"I love you."
Charlie sighed, her bitterness suddenly gone and tears springing to her eyes. "Words aren't good enough anymore, Dean," she said softly, turning away. "I need someone who doesn't just come around every couple of years and expect that to be enough till next time."
Dean felt a flash of hot anger. "I can't be someone I'm not, Charlie," he said acidly, speaking to her back. "And I'm not always here. And I'm not always around to be there when you need me. And I'm sorry. But you knew we could never have a normal relationship. You knew that the very first time we said goodbye."
Charlie's shoulders sagged. "Dean, I don't - "
"No." He cut her short, anger still burning. "Let me speak. I'm sorry, and I love you, but this is who I am. This is what I do."
She ran a hand through her hair in agitation. "I know. I never - "
Again, he continued. "And I'm sorry if you feel like you have wasted your time with me - "
"Dean, I don't feel like that," she said earnestly, turning to face him. "You aren't a waste of time - "
" – When you could have been with somebody better."
"Dean." She crossed the room quickly and took both of his hands, tears now flowing freely down her face. "I never wanted somebody better. I wanted you." Her breath caught. "But I guess that sometimes that isn't enough."
There was a long silence as Charlie cried, holding onto him like she never wanted to let him go; and as Dean felt an odd sort of surprise and then such a strong sense of despair he thought he might be sick. Then suddenly Charlie let go, picked up his jacket and the money and thrust them at him, pushing him out the door.
"Go," she said, tears still pouring down her face. "Just go."
Dean looked at her. Looked at the woman that he had loved for so long. Looked at the girl that he met when he was sixteen. Looked at the beautiful, sexy, crying woman in front of him. And then he turned and strode down the corridor. He didn't look back.