It takes a little while but eventually you persuade Sam that maybe he could do with putting his head down for a bit. He gripes, like you knew he would, tells you he's not a baby needing an afternoon nap, tells you he's okay and he doesn't want you fussing over him. You just smile and ride over his protestations. The look in his eyes gives up the lie. He's making all the right Winchester noises but you know really he appreciates the concern.
Once you're happy he's asleep, and that didn't take long, you get yourself comfortable. There's no way you're leaving him alone just yet. Charlie wants to have some fun and games? Fine. Let him come to you. Don't even think about bothering Sammy again.
Watching over your little brother comes as second nature to you. You've been doing it since you were four years old, since your father thrust a screaming bundle of warmth at you and told you to get the hell out of the house. Looking at him now, sleeping peacefully, you wonder what you were thinking, bringing him back to this life. Deep down you think, if you'd left him alone, Jessica would still be around, he would be happily living the American dream. You can't help but feel guilty every so often. And selfish, because you know you wouldn't do it any differently if you had the chance.
Dropping your head in your hands you wrack your brain to think of a way to get Charlie to come and talk to you again. Because you and him? You have issues that need to be cleared up. And then you need to send him on his way. Permanently. Oh yes, then there's Callum. What the hell is he doing here still? That was a bit of curved ball, you think wryly. Still, he didn't seem the troublesome type. You think you and Sam can deal with him later. Let him mope at the jeweller's store. He seemed happy enough there. Although, on reflection, now he knows for sure he's dead he may be a little pissed off. Perhaps you should warn Christine. You wouldn't mind a return trip to her.
You must have dropped off for a while because when you open your eyes again Sam is moving quietly round the room and the sun has fallen below the horizon. Your neck is stiff and your back needs a good stretch to work out all the kinks in your spine. Falling asleep anywhere is a skill your dad taught you many, many years ago and you've always been able to catch a few hours regardless of the circumstances.
You watch Sam carrying out whatever task he's set himself. He hasn't realised you're awake yet and it gives you the perfect opportunity to assess what damage Charlie's little trick has done to him. He's moving freely, no sign of any injury although every so often he rubs his forehead as though he's trying to coax a memory to the surface. He turns and spots you studying him.
"Hey," he says, eloquent as ever. "You're up."
"Yeah. How you doing? Any little… flashbacks?" It wouldn't be the worst nightmare Sam could have but you always check. It's become a habit and habits are hard to break.
"No, nothing." Sam sounds less downhearted than you were expecting and when he turns to face you he has a bright look on his face. "I have been thinking, though. I think Charlie sees himself as some sort of saviour. He thinks he's saving these men from a lifetime of being cuckolded. He thinks he's doing them a favour."
"Cuckolded?" You can't help raising your eyebrows and smirking at Sam's old fashioned term. Sam glares at you.
"It means being cheated on."
"I know what it means, Sam." Sam just smiles at you. He knew damn well that you understood the term. Sometimes he just does it to piss you off. Means he must be feeling okay, or at least better than he was. Then his face sobers.
"Doesn't explain why he's so determined to hang around though. His mother had him cremated and as far as I can tell there's nothing to keep him here." He runs his hand through his hair, tugging on it slightly. "It's not as if Alice has done something to bring him back."
Sam sighs in frustration and you have to admit he's got a point. He doesn't appear to have been brought back by anyone. If he had, he'd more likely be a zombie than a ghost. And anyway, who would have wanted him back? Alice seems quite happy he's gone. Gives her the freedom to screw around in the open. No, definitely nothing to do with her. Mom? You don't think so. She's buried a husband and if she wanted to hang on to little Charlie she wouldn't have had him cremated. So what the hell is keeping him here?
You throw your head back in frustration.
"What do we do now, Sam?" You hate having to ask for help, even from Sam, but sometimes you just draw a blank everywhere you look. Sam pulls a face and grabs his jacket.
"Well, I'm going for food. You can come or stay here. What d'you want?"
If he thinks you're letting him out of sight after Charlie's little stunt, he can think again. You just throw him a withering look and stand up, casting your eyes round for all your various accoutrements. Your jacket is slung over the back of a chair, wallet and phone on the nightstand, knife under your pillow and your gun, well, that's never far from you. It takes less than a minute for you to be fully equipped and ready to go. Sam just smiles at you and you suspect he's humouring you.
Dinner is a short lived affair with little to no conversation. You're both tired but neither of you will admit as much to the other. By the time you're back at the motel you're ready to hit the sack. Sam, it would appear, has other ideas though. He's got his laptop out and is settled at the small table before you've even got as far as the bathroom. You wonder what he's up to briefly and then decide he'll let you know as and when.
After a hot shower you feel more refreshed. Emerging in a cloud of steam you find Sam fast asleep on top of his bed, laptop open in front of him. Taking it gently so as not to wake him, you glance at the screen. You're not checking up on him. Not really. You'd like to find him looking at porn but you know that's never going to happen.
The website he's on isn't what you were expecting. He's checking out some bizarrely amateurish occult site. You've never heard of it before but then that's hardly a surprise. Your experience of the net is limited to say the least. You notice he's left his email account open on another page of his browser and as far as you're concerned, if it's open it's as good as saying 'come look at me'.
There's a bunch of unread emails from people at Stanford. That surprises you. You didn't know he kept up with those people. You always assumed it was too painful for him but obviously Sam needs to cling on to something. For a brief moment you wonder if you're not enough for him, if secretly he wants to go back to his college life.
The first email from someone you recognise is titled Re: Need Help. You glance over at Sam, just to make sure he's still asleep, before clicking on it. See, you're not computer illiterate. You can do emails. The message is brief and non informative. A simple 'sorry, can't help you'. The next message down is pretty much the same.
The third one though offers a smidgeon of hope. It's from a hunter, Alvin. You met him once, briefly, a couple of years ago, before Sammy went to college. The guy's name always made you laugh and you used to wonder at the cruelty of a parent's sense of humour. He told you once it means 'friend to all' which made his line of work kind of ironic, seeing as how he kills things for a living. You wonder how Sam's got his email. You thought he cut all his ties when he left but maybe there's more to your brother than you realised.
You quickly scan down to Sam's original message. It's succinct and to the point. Sam never likes to waste words except when he's explaining something to you. Then he's like motor mouth, never knows when to stop. You're sure he does it deliberately to wind you up. He's explained the situation without giving away too much, which is just as well because if he'd let on that you've been up close and personal with a ghost you would have had to demand restitution from him. Which would have been painful. He asks if anyone has come across anything similar or knows anything that might help.
Alvin, it would appear, had a similar encounter many years ago. He doesn't hold back on the details and half way through his second paragraph you know more than you wanted to. Why doesn't the guy paraphrase? Does he really think you need, or want, to know that his ghost was more intimate than an octopus on ecstasy? Still, you reflect, it seems he had more fun than you've had with Charlie.
Turns out the root of his problem was a treasured lock of hair in a grieving husband's wallet. Human remains, he explains, and damn but you should have thought of that earlier. It's not like you haven't come across it before. You wonder what the hell Charlie left behind. You're pretty sure that Alice doesn't have anything. She didn't seem the sentimental type. Probably would've clashed with her pristine, white home. And who keeps stuff like that anyway? It's times like this you wish your upbringing had been a little more 'normal'.
Sam is snoring gently and your eyes are getting heavy. You decide that this can wait till morning, although you'd like to know why Sam hadn't mentioned Alvin's message yet. Maybe he's only just picked it up himself, you think. Giving him the benefit of the doubt you close down the computer and slide into bed yourself. You're asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow.
When you wake the room is still and softly lit by the rising sun. You can hear Sam moving quietly round the bathroom and you let out that breath you didn't realise you were holding. You take advantage of the peace and bury yourself deeper under the covers. You know when Sam reappears you're going to have to talk about those emails he's been getting, and that's going to open a whole new can of worms. He's bound to have a hissy fit that you've been going through his mail, he's inordinately protective of his laptop. You think it has something to do with that Trojan Horse you managed to find a couple of months ago. You'd have thought you'd be forgiven by now but apparently Sam can harbour a grudge with the best of them.
You didn't realise you'd closed your eyes again but next thing you know Sam is tapping your foot none too gently to wake you up again. He looks a little pissed and you're guessing he's worked out what you were up on last night. You don't know how he does it, you thought you'd shut it all down properly. You pull yourself up on the headboard and steel yourself for the onslaught.
"Have you been on my computer?" Sam demands. Now, you could take this conversation in one of two directions. You could deny everything and hope that Sam brings up his emails by himself. Or you could go on the offensive and demand an explanation. The former carries the risk that Sam will see fit to keep his correspondence to himself and then you're stuck for a way forward. The latter, however, could result in a full blown fight, something that you've managed to avoid for several weeks now. You scan Sam's face to see if there are any clues in it to help you make your decision. It doesn't help.
"I had to close it down last night. You fell asleep with it still on." You go for a halfway point, neither admitting nor denying anything. "I know how you get about your stuff."
It doesn't seem to pacify him though. "Did you go through my emails?"
"They were open, Sam. It's not like I was spying on you or anything." You really wanted to avoid a fight this morning but Sam has you at a disadvantage here. He's towering above you and you ought to get out of bed at least, if you're going to continue in this direction. Sam surprises you though. He shrugs and turns away from you.
"So you saw the note from Alvin?" and you can't help but smile a little at the name again. It's immature and pathetic but in this business you seek humour in the simplest of things. It always makes you think of chipmunks.
"Yeah."
"So, you think we missed some remains?" Sam's putting his jacket on as he talks to you. You can almost see the cogs whirring in his head as you wonder where he thinks he's going. "Get dressed," he orders as he opens the door.
"Sam?"
"Coffee," he answers and you let your tense muscles relax, just a little bit. Won't be happy till he's back though.
By the time he's done the coffee run you're up and showered, feeling refreshed and raring to face whatever the new day throws at you. It seems Sam has been doing some thinking while he was out because he's got a triumphant look on his face as he comes through the door.
"I think we need to go back to Charlie's mom," he tells you. You weren't quite prepared for him to come in spouting action plans but you've got nowhere to be today and it sounds as good a plan as any. Taking a long draught of scalding coffee, you look at him over the rim of the mug.
"I assume there's a reason for that?" you ask. Sam nods and gets settled by the table with his coffee. You think you might be in for lecture but it turns out Sam is just thinking aloud. You listen with half an ear. You know when Sam gets to the important part he'll get your attention.
"We're obviously looking for some sort of human remains," he theorises. "Mom had him cremated so there must be a keepsake somewhere, and who would keep something like that? His fiancée doesn't seem that bothered he's dead and her house looked liked she'd already cleared out all of his stuff. The only other person is his mother. Thing is, what would she have kept and where is it?"
He turns to look you in the eye and you snap back to full attention. This looks like it could be the clincher.
"What do parents keep?" he asks you. You think it's a rhetorical question, or at least you hope it is because you have no idea. Dad isn't exactly a model father so you just shake your head and raise your eyebrows at Sam.
"They keep their children's milestones. Like their first pair of shoes, first haircut, school reports, drawings." He stops and looks significantly at you. "And their first teeth."
"That's just wrong!" You can't help yourself. The idea of keeping bodily parts is just repulsive to you. You'll never understand it but that's okay, because Sam is about to explain it to you.
"It's tradition, Dean. Goes back centuries. Parents used to keep milk teeth because they believed they were prime targets for witches.. Once a witch has her hands on a body part she can use that to perform black magic. So they would keep the teeth somewhere safe. Over the years people lost that belief but kept up the tradition of the tooth fairy."
You can see the logic in that but it still doesn't make it any less creepy.
"So, you think there may be some little Charlie teeth kicking around somewhere?"
"Depends how sentimental Mrs Harrison is. It's possible and right now it's our best bet."
"You think Charlie's just gonna let us walk in and destroy his teeth?"
"Well, we'll just have to be prepared." And that, it seems, is the end of the conversation.
You're back at the trailer park before noon. The sun is beating down and you're uncomfortably warm in the car. It's a relief to open the doors and step out into the open air. The door to Mrs Harrison's trailer is open which alerts you instantly to possible danger. Glancing over at Sam you see that he's noticed it too and has subtly drawn his weapon. There's nobody else around but that doesn't mean there aren't curtain twitchers watching your every move. With your shotgun hidden beneath your jacket but firmly in your grip, you make your way up the path.
The trailer is silent. Staying positive your consider the possibility that she's just out back, planting some flowers or hanging out washing. Although why she would leave the front door wide open is a conundrum. It's not the most salubrious of areas. You can't see the neighbours looking out for each other round here. You've lived in too many similar places to believe there's any sense of camaraderie here.
Sam reaches the door first and taps it with the butt of his gun. There's no response from inside so he steps over the threshold cautiously, gun aimed at nothing. You follow him, vigilant for any threats from within. The trailer is undisturbed and you don't feel anything untoward. Sam turns back and looks at you. You just shrug.
"Mrs Harrison?" Sam calls, warily. There's no response so you venture further into the trailer. Sam calls out again, but there's still no response. You check the kitchen and the living area but both are uninhabited. It looks likes she had breakfast but didn't clean up yet. You can relate to that. Sam has gone further in and is checking the bedroom.
He finds her in the bathroom. She's lying on the cold tiles, face down. By the time you respond to Sam's shout, he's checked her pulse and as you hover in the doorway he turns and shakes his head at you.
"She's dead, man. Has been for sometime, I think."
"How?" you ask, although that's not your biggest problem now.
"I don't know," Sam answers, turning back to the woman on the floor. "I can't see anything. I think she just… died." He sits back on his heels and sighs. "It does happen, you know. She's what? 80?"
"Great!" you huff. Part of you is pissed that she's just ruined your plans but another part of you, part of you which you know you should be ashamed of, is silently cheering at the easy access this gives you to the property. You can do a search and rummage and be out of here before anyone even knows what's happened. You hope Sam doesn't put up a fight, hope he doesn't get all sanctimonious on you about respecting the dead. You don't think he will, bearing in mind the stakes, and it's not like you're after her money or jewellery.
"Okay, Sam. We need to find this tooth, or teeth," and you can't repress the shudder and the hope that Sam is the one to find it, "and get the hell out of here."
Sam agrees without a fight, which is always a bonus. You split up and take a room each. You reckon it'll most likely be in the bedroom, just seems to you that's where people would keep that sort of stuff, so you send Sam off to check while you busy yourself with the kitchen and living area. You wonder how long you've got till Charlie works out what you're doing.
Apparently, not very long. Within five minutes of turning out kitchen drawers and cupboards you feel the temperature take a downward turn. You just have time to call a warning to Sam when Charlie appears in front of you, and he doesn't look happy.
"What are you doing, Dean?" he asks even though you both know damn well he already knows.
"Gotta stop you, Charlie. Can't let this carry on." You shake your head at him. Somewhere in the back of your mind you think if you can keep him talking, maybe he won't hurt you too much. You can hear Sam making his way to you. Unfortunately, so can Charlie. You need to keep his attention on you.
"You know what you're doing is wrong. Hey! Look at me when I'm talking to you!" You're losing him, he's drifting over to the door, where Sam is about to make an appearance. You're going to have to shoot him. You know that's going to attract attention from the neighbours but at this point, Sam is more important and needs must. But before you can aim and pull the trigger, your gun is flying out of your hand and lands harmlessly out of reach. Charlie has turned back to you and is looking sad.
"Why did you do that?" he sounds almost childish in his query. "You know I can't let you do that," and he shakes his head at you. One flick of his wrist and you're airborne, flying towards the opposite wall and you just know it's not going to end well.
Your back impacts against the wall and you feel the whole trailer shudder with the shock. You can vaguely hear Sam yelling through the ringing in your ears as you slide inelegantly down the wall. You try to catch your breath, the wind knocked out of you as you hit, and as loudly as you can you shout out to Sam.
"Keep looking, Sam. We gotta finish this now!"
Charlie turns away from you and you're scared he's going after Sam. You struggle to get your feet back under you, using the wall to push yourself upright. You're pretty sure you're going to have some new bruises tomorrow.
"Hey, Charlie! We're not finished here." Problem is, Charlie thinks you are. You reckon you can get to your gun before he notices what you're up to. You don't want to put Sam in any danger but you can't really see another option at the moment.
Watching the ghost out of the corner of your eye, you slowly inch towards where your gun is lying on the floor. You freeze as Charlie stops moving, scared he's worked out what you're trying to do. Your gun is so close but not close enough if Charlie decides to turn back to you. You know from bitter experience that these things can move fast, too fast for you.
You're in luck, for once. Although it doesn't bode well for Sam, your not so friendly spook decides to address what he sees as the bigger threat. He shimmers and flickers and then he's gone. You simultaneously lunge for your weapon and yell out to Sam.
"He's headed your way! Keep looking, I'm coming!" And with that you're up and out of the kitchen as fast as you can, ignoring the sharp stabbing pains at the base of your spine.
For once things seem to be going your way. Mrs Harrison couldn't afford a big trailer so it only takes you a matter of seconds to reach Sam. He's holding his own with Charlie but he looks like he could do with some help. You level your gun with Charlie's head and wonder if you can make the shot without hitting Sam at the same time. You were trained well and your aim is up there with the best. But Sam and Charlie won't stand still. They're doing a bizarre dance around each other. Sam is at the door to the bedroom and Charlie is just inside, blocking the way. It's obvious he doesn't want either of you in there, a sure sign there's part of him kept locked away in there. There's only one thing for it.
"Sam! Drop!" Years of training pay off in an instant. Without question or hesitation Sam drops to the floor just as you fire off a shot. The salt round in your gun dissipates Charlie immediately and Sam is in the bedroom before you can reload. You know the salt won't keep him at bay for long but hopefully you'll only need a few minutes. Quick as you can, you join Sam in the hunt.
You were right. Charlie takes only a minute to regroup and here he is again, meaning business this time. He's clearly decided that he can deal with you later and he's advancing frighteningly fast on your brother. Who has his back turned. Who is trusting you to watch his six. Who has no idea what's coming.
You watch in horror as Sam's feet leave the floor and for a moment it seems like he's levitating above the dresser. Then, with unerring accuracy, Charlie flings him towards you. He could be playing darts for all the concern he's showing. Then you're on the floor and Sam is crushing you from above. Your back is screaming in protest but all you're bothered about is Sam. He groans and rolls off you and then stops, lying still on the floor next to you, breathing heavily.
Keeping one eye on Charlie, who is standing there, waiting for your next move, you nudge Sam with your elbow. He responds with a corresponding dig in your ribs and a muffled 'gerroff' which, whilst not the most eloquent he's ever been, is music to your ears. You push yourself up onto your knees and glare at Charlie.
"You're really becoming a pain in my ass, you know." He just watches you. It's becoming a tad unnerving. You wish you'd managed to hold on to your shotgun but Sam's not a little boy anymore and when something that size collides with you, you know about it. You spy it lying out of your reach but Sam could easily get to it. If only he would start to pay attention. You hope Sam has realised this as well. It would make the next few minutes a lot more worthwhile. You turn your head briefly to Sam and a little jolt of shock spirals through you when you see him watching you as though his life depended on it. It's all there in his eyes. He can read you like a book and all it takes is one eyebrow raised for a fraction of a second, too quick for Charlie to have seen it. He's on board now and you relax, just a little.
"Hey, Charlie," you taunt him as you climb painfully to your feet, "what is it with you?" You're groping around in your pocket in a vain effort to locate something that might help you. It's surprising what you find in there sometimes. You have Charlie's full attention now and that's what you were aiming for. Hopefully Sam is busy edging his way to the shotgun, ready to blast Charlie out of existence, if only for a little while.
Charlie tilts his head and smiles at you. And doesn't that just send chills down your spine. You can't help a backward glance at Sam. He's raised himself on to his elbows and is eyeing the gun cautiously. You know he's biding his time, doesn't want to tip Charlie off to what he's up to.
You advance slowly on the spectre in front of you, hands raised in surrender. "Charlie, help me understand you here, man? We just want to help you." It's another damned lie and you all know it. The only help you're offering is to send him back to hell, or wherever. But as long as it stops him from flinging you around like a ragdoll long enough for Sam to get to the gun you'll go with it.
Charlie doesn't move, doesn't say anything. If he sees what your brother is up to, he doesn't let on. You think you might just get away with this when he raises one hand and your forward motion is halted. Your skin tingles mildly and it's an odd sensation. You want to turn your head to check on Sam but Charlie won't let you. He won't let you move at all. And now you're thinking you may have pissed him off a little too much because your chest is starting to constrict and it's getting hard to breathe properly. He's taken your voice too. No matter how much you want to call out to Sam you can't get more than a gentle huff out past your lips. You hope Sam is alert to your situation. It can't take him this long to get the gun, surely?
Then there's a loud blast and the whistle of rock salt flying past your ears. Sam's aim is as true as ever and you drop to the floor as Charlie vanishes, sent on his way temporarily at least. Heaving in great gulps of air you roll on to your back and wave your arm towards the bedroom. Sam shakes his head at you.
"Go find it, Dean. I'll hold him off." He waves the gun at you and you can see the logic in his reasoning. Thing is, you meant to hold him off and look how well that turned out for you. Sam's determined though so you pull yourself up and head into the bedroom.
Sam seemed to think you're looking for baby teeth but you're not leaving anything to chance. Anything that even vaguely resembles a human part whether it be hair, teeth or even finger nail clippings, you're taking them and torching them. Mrs Harrison is dead so neatness isn't a concern of yours. By the time anyone finds her you'll be long gone. You rip the drawers out of her dressing table and empty them on the floor. Make up, jewellery, hairbrushes and hair rollers. Everything a woman could possibly need is on display but you can't see anything to keep Charlie here.
Behind you, you hear Sam let loose with another round of rock salt and you assume Charlie's back. You thank god that Sam's doing a better job than you did. And then you spot it. Mixed up in all the jewellery is a simple gold chain with a pendant hanging from it. You pick it up for closer inspection and, jeez, doesn't that just turn your stomach. She had a tooth set in glass teardrop. You fumble in your pocket for your lighter as Charlie shows up again.
Sam must be reloading because there's no immediate gunshot. You're not going to risk losing the tooth now you've found it so you slip it into your pocket as you whirl around to confront Charlie. He looks a little pissed with you and it would appear he was a good pitcher in his younger years. The first vase he hurls at you catches you by surprise. You don't quite make it out of the way and it glances off the side of your head. It hurts like a bitch and you have to shake your head to clear your vision. The second vase, you're ready for it. You wish Sam would hurry the hell up and get that gun sorted as you cower behind the bed. The vase smashes into the wall behind you, showering you with fragments of china. You absently find yourself wondering if it was a favourite of Mrs Harrison's.
You pay for your inattention as Charlie finds a large hardback book that his mother obviously considered light bedtime reading. The corner catches you hard on your shoulder and your arm is instantly numb from there down. You're cursing Sam under your breath when the shotgun finally rings out again and Charlie dissipates once more.
Sam appears in the doorway, eyes shooting all round the room until he spies you curled up between the bed and the wall. You guess you must look a little the worse for wear because Sam's face instantly transforms into a picture of concern and worry.
"Hey, dude. You okay?" he asks. It's clear to both of you that you've had better days but, on balance, you've had a lot worse too. You nod your head and hold out the necklace to him.
"I got it. We need to burn this thing, now."
Sam takes it from you and grimaces. "She really wore this?" he asks you. All you can do is raise your eyebrows and wave Sam out of the room
"Go burn it before Charlie gets back," you order him. Sam's always been good at following orders, you muse, even though he sometimes has trouble accepting them from certain people. He's out of the door almost before you've got up from the floor to follow.
In the back yard Sam hands over the shotgun as he crushes the glass teardrop beneath his heel. You stand watch, vigilantly, as he salts the remains and douses it in lighter fuel. As he lights the match in his hand, Charlie shimmers into life behind him. He's too late though and, as the tooth disintegrates into ash, Charlie follows suit. Sam looks at you and you meet his eye steadily, grinning. You're beginning to feel the effects of Charlie's efforts to stop you and you could really do with a cold beer. You don't even care what time it is.