Strange Angels
This is set sometime after the end of Season 1. While it doesn't break canon to my knowledge, it is definitely AU. The boys find themselves dealing with the aftermath of Dean being poisoned by a succubus – along with Charlotte Webb, the girl they rescued from the Circle of Enoch. Charlotte has a couple more surprises stashed up the sleeve of her granny sweater for Dean Winchester.
Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Charlotte Webb
Disclaimer: The Winchester boys aren't mine. The Colt isn't mine. Wish the car was mine. But I can only blame myself for the Circle of Enoch.
Rating: T (Strong language. Dean's still shirtless. What's not to love?)
Summary: The dude who said "Better the devil you know than the devil you don't" was lying.
Feedback: Absolutely!
Miscellaneous: This chapter has been significantly revised from the original posting. Special thanks to JMM0001 for much deserved thwackage, particularly when my muse was attempting to be a smartass for all the wrong reasons – and she beta'd this chapter before watching her Supernatural DVDs, making me a humbled and greatly appreciative padawan. Once again, the agile brain of Raven9 brought us the best joke in the entire chapter, complete with the howitzer reference. As always, the good parts are because of them. The bad parts are all me.
Chapter Four: Some Kind of Monster
The odds of Dean waking up in room with a woman wearing blue-striped pajamas were roughly equivalent to winning Powerball.
On most nights, Dean slipped away while the girl was sleeping – picking up his things and slinking back to the Impala to get a couple hours of shut-eye before hitting the road. And those girls greeted the morning the same way they came into the world. Even Cassie – the rare exception to that rule – hadn't worn pajamas to bed. Dean grinned, remembering Cassie in one of his old Metallica t-shirts, throat-catching beautiful when she was drowsy – before the sharp edges of the loss crashed into him.
Where the hell did that come from?
Another frigging memory courtesy of that goddamn red-head. Who knew what she had stumbled across when she was walking through his brain? Charlotte Webb had slipped through a crack, and now Dean was having flashbacks about Cassie Robinson. Life was all about doing the job. Finding the demon. Saving people. Protecting Sammy. Until some weird ass girl and her touchy feely psychic power started pushing buttons inside him, trying to find the right combination to unlock Dean Winchester.
Not that he remembered much of what happened when she used her mojo on him, slipping in and out of feverish nightmares as easily as he gained and lost consciousness. The dreams were the ones he remembered, burning inside, but with gossamer edges. And Sam's voice was always in the background. Cajoling Dean to drink something, while slipping a pill between his lips. Asking direct questions, giving Dean orders when he needed to move, or sit or lie down. Speaking some gibberish.
When Dean opened his eyes, feeling the snap of himself back into his body, he felt a little guilty when the first thing he looked at was her. It was hard not to see her. Charlotte Webb was right there – curled up around a pillow on top of the covers of her own bed. Wearing her blue-striped pajamas. Dean slowly moved himself into a sitting position.
Dean blinked, taking in the room. It stunk. It stunk worse than the time they had tracked down that sewer demon back in Ana Lucia, and that had required a trek through a waste management plant. There were bloody, soiled towels on the floor near the door to the room; Sammy probably planned on getting rid of them the old-fashioned way to cover their tracks. The first aid supplies had been cleaned, and put back into their case on the nightstand next to him – near Dad's journal and some of the research books that Sam was using to deal with the poison. Along with an old book that looked exactly like a witch's grimoire out of a movie.
And then he saw Sammy.
His little brother was stretched out over an armchair, his tall frame dwarfing just about everything in the room. Especially a dinky little armchair. Even from five feet away, Dean could see the dark smudges around Sam's eyes. He looked exhausted – like every breath was marked with the fear that things were never going to be the same again. And they weren't. Dean knew that as clearly as he knew anything. Sam was clutching a thick manila folder to his chest, filled with papers, and there was a notepad next to him on the table with a bunch of jotted down notes. Dean grinned, shaking his head wryly. Leave it to Sammy. That girl had given him a mystery, and Sam Winchester was tracking it down.
As mysteries go, it was pretty shoddy. Some half-baked story about ancient prophecies – filled with fallen angels, chosen warriors of God and superpowers. Gifts, Charlotte Webb had called them. She'd dumped this cockamamie story into their laps about people looking for Sam, how they were both descended from angels – complete with glowy blue swords and a shitload of reference books for Sammy to drool over while Dean recovered. Sure, Sam was special. Dean had always known that. But a savior?
The idea of a chubby twelve-year-old growing up to save the world was almost as much of a joke as the second little bombshell Charlotte Webb had dropped in as many days. Not only was Dean a Chosen Warrior of God – and the way the red-head said it, you knew her brain registered it with capital letters – but he was something more. He was a freaking empath. A goddamn walking chick flick. Even Sammy thought that was funny. My brother has the sensitivity of a stick. Which hurt a little, though he'd never tell Sam that. Sometimes, Sammy never even tried to understand what made Dean tick; College Boy thought he learned all the answers growing up.
Dean shivered. Someone had turned up the air conditioner too goddamn high. But his chest was still warm – so was the back of his neck. He realized that both spots were where Charlotte Webb had placed her hands when she did whatever she did, looked into the deepest parts of himself. That red-haired witch had figured out his secret. No one – not even Sammy – knew what burned inside of him every single night. Until now. And that made him vulnerable. What happened when that girl went back to the Circle of Enoch and told them that Dean Winchester felt his mother die?
She'd dropped right inside and found the little boy, like an arrow finding its target.
Dean tried to ignore the small voice inside of him. The one that told him that it was his own damn fault Charlotte Webb was in his head in the first place. And she'd actually put her arms around him, there in the little prison of his mind – holding him the way his mother used to, singing to a little boy who had lost everything in a fire. Some song about not being alone that was sad but still made him feel good. At the time. Now it pissed him off that a stranger knew how small Dean Winchester actually was inside. He was still four years old where it mattered most.
What if she told Sammy?
Fuck.
Dean let out a sharp sound, somewhere between a sigh and a chuckle. We are so fucked. Sam stirred in his chair, the folder against his chest slipping slightly – a couple of papers dropped slowly to the floor. There was a soft little sigh, and Charlotte Webb was blinking beside him – half-raised off her stomach, one hand padding out next to her on the nightstand between their beds. Looking for her glasses. She couldn't find them, and sat up. She realized that Dean was awake, staring at her.
"Hey." Dean said it lightly. To her credit, she didn't jump at the sound of his voice – although her gray eyes widened slightly. Dean felt bad about being angry with her once his eyes adjusted to what he was seeing. The red-head's face was pinched with exhaustion. Somewhere between meeting him at Alfie's and waking up next to a Winchester, Charlotte Webb had gotten a black eye. And a bruise on her forehead. She'll think twice before she head butts Dean Winchester again. She looked like she needed a bath. Smaller cuts and bruises covered her neck, the parts of her wrists and hands that he could see – and her eyes were bloodshot. "You look like hell, Charlie."
"Charlie?" she asked. Dean expected a sharp retort – not the quizzical expression that met his eyes. She looked like she didn't know whether to take him seriously, or smack him for an insult she couldn't comprehend. "That sounds suspiciously like a nickname." The red-head never raised her voice above a whisper.
Dean shrugged. "It's better than Granny Girl." The bruise around her eye looked bad. Goddamn mojo. He actually wanted to find some ice and put it on her face, but this was the crazy psycho chick who clotheslined him in a bar. The girl who told them about Sammy's great hoo-haw destiny in a car. He should be kicking her out the door, watching it swing into her ass on the way out. What the hell? He grinned. "Although, with those pajamas, I'm being nice."
She returned the grin wryly, a small twist of the mouth. "Thanks," she said. Charlie kept her voice low, doing some weird head bobble towards Sam.
"Sam's so far gone, you don't have to worry about waking him up." But Dean pitched his voice low.
Charlie looked unconvinced. "Are you sure?" she asked, whispering.
Dean rolled his eyes. "Sweetheart. A rocket launcher won't wake him up when he's out like that." Charlie didn't say anything to that, just looked at him. "So how long have I been out?" Dean asked. He felt like hell – sore all over, like a giant bruise. "A couple days? A week? Because you look like crap on toast."
She gave him a funny look. "About ten hours. We pulled out the sliver, and Sam did the purification ritual." Charlie was still trying to whisper. "You finally fell asleep around midnight." She smiled again. "It only seemed like the longest night of my life."
"My brain that bad, huh?"
"You have no idea," Charlie replied, her face flushed.
"Got some idea," Dean chuckled, but he sure as hell wasn't going to ask her what Charlie remembered. He started getting out of bed.
"What the hell are you doing?" Charlie snapped.
"We need food." He was hungry. Dean wasn't sending Charlie out for food – she looked like she'd been hit by a Mack truck. And she'd probably try to run away or something. Not that it was a bad idea, all things considered, but Sam probably wanted to say goodbye. "So I'm going to McDonalds," Dean explained. He wobbled on his feet, then sat back down immediately on the edge of the bed.
"Stay here," Charlie said, getting up off her bed. Her top actually flipped up as she landed on the floor. Dean did a double take – Charlotte Webb had a tattoo above her hips, right on the bottom of her spinal cord – the skin around it red and angry. With little white dots. Like she'd been burned, and the white spots were tiny blisters outlining the edges of the tattoo. And it was a Devil's Trap. He couldn't even bring himself to be surprised; his brain hurt, and he was hungry as hell.
She padded over to where someone – probably Sam – had thrown her yellow duffel bag against the wall. Charlie was still limping, favoring her left leg. She opened the duffel bag slowly, pulled out something in each hand and literally tip-toed back to the bed. "It's the best I can do," she whispered. Before Dean knew it, he was staring at two unopened bags of peppered beef jerky and a snack-sized package of Ding Dongs. Score! "Promise you'll let Sam sleep?"
Dean nodded. Charlie handed him the beef jerky first before shrugging her shoulders and reluctantly turning over the Ding Dongs. "Here you go," Charlie said. She sounded tired – just as tired as his snoring little brother looked in his chair.
Shit. Charlotte Webb looked fragile. Dean rolled his eyes. "You hungry?" he asked. She nodded, punctuated with a smaller growl from her own stomach. I'm going to regret this. "Well, don't expect me to feed you when you're in the other bed, Charlie."
"Oh, the Ding Dongs are my breakfast." And there was no arguing with that tone. Charlie snatched the Ding Dongs from his hand before he could even respond, sitting down across from him on her bed. Fuck me. Charlotte Webb had just played him for a Hostess snack cake.
With a shrug, Dean opened the first package of beef jerky while she opened up the Ding Dongs. She pulled one out and leaned forward, handed it to him – with a smile, like she was always planning on doing it. Dean took it, feeling like a jerk. Her mojo sucks. Charlie reached underneath her pillow and pulled out a book. She settled on her side, book held in the crook of her arm, and started reading. Nibbling occasionally on her Ding Dong – first eating the outside edge and then working her way in.
A girl after my little brother's heart. And she was – Dean remembered the look on Sam's face, reflecting off the Impala's front window, when they found out Charlie could speak languages Sammy always dreamed of learning. And that whole geek girl explanation about their gifts looping onto each other, and the little lecture on sympathetic magic. Whatever the hell this Circle of Enoch was – and whatever it really planned on doing with Sam – Dean was impressed that they knew exactly the right girl to send to spark his little brother's interest. Maybe someone had a gift about looking into someone's heart and finding the right person for him. Like Cassie. In the right place at the right time.
Except Charlotte Webb was a lunatic. And Cassie left him.
Everything about Charlie was deliberate – she told you just enough to be believable without giving too much away. And that mojo of hers gave off a vibe that made you want to protect her, like she was just as fragile as she looked. Dean twisted his mouth. Of course, anyone thinking that had never been on the receiving end of her clothesline. Dean knew better – the girl could knock down a man, even coming out of a half-awkward spin like a bullet train. And she was no innocent school girl, either. Succubus poison or not, the girl kissed like she knew what she was doing. Like she could look right into someone's memory and pick out the best way to keep a man interested.
Dean chewed on his jerky thoughtfully, looked down at her. Charlie seemed oblivious to the attention, her eyes flicking across the page as she read. "Hey, Charlie."
"Yes?" She put a finger in her book to mark her place, sitting up to look at him.
"You really think I'm a Chosen Warrior of God?" Of all the questions he could have asked, Dean didn't expect that one to come out of his mouth. Freaking moron! It must have been the way the light was reflecting in her eyes, like she was really listening to him for the first time since they met. Really seeing Dean Winchester. Guess that's what happened when a girl could drop inside you straight to your worst nightmare.
"Welcome to junior high," another voice muttered, cutting off Charlie's response. Fuck! Sam was sitting up, the folder still clutched to his chest, and his voice sounded as tired as Charlie's. "Don'texpect me to feed you when you're in the other bed!" His snort devolved into an outright laugh, and Sammy slammed the folder shut – setting it next to him on the table. "You guys up for a real breakfast, or are you going to stare at each other like two moony retards?"
"You've gotten an hour of sleep," Charlie said. She frowned at Sam, and Dean turned on the bed to look at his little brother. "There's enough beef jerky for both of you."
"I've had more sleep than you've gotten," Sam returned. The expression on his face was concerned – the same kind of concern Dean had seen whenever he woke up in a hospital, or when Dad left on his own lonely mission to track down the demon. Again. Charlotte Webb worked her mojo so well, Sammy looked at her like family. Just the way her mojo made Dean see a fragile red-head who shared Ding Dongs with you – instead of the psycho emo girl feeding them both a line. "Don't you want to go out for pancakes or something?" Sam asked.
"Good god, Sammy!" Dean threw the unopened pouch of beef jerky at his little brother. Sam didn't even look – just reached out his hand and caught it. "Do you want the cops to think you're beating up your girlfriend?" Two pairs of eyes looked at him. "I mean, look at her. She can't go outside like that!" Dean caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror across from the bed. "And neither should I."
"Doesn't matter how I look," Charlie returned. "I'm on the next bus to Washington, D.C." She glanced in the mirror and stared. "As soon as I get a shower." She bit her lip. "And find my sunglasses and a head scarf."
"You're not leaving." Sam said it matter-of-factly. His little brother didn't look too happy about the idea. Sammy fell for her damsel in distress routine back at the bar; it's why she ended up in the Impala in the first place. "I have a lot of questions to ask," his little brother added. Dean smiled – sounded like Sam came to his senses after all. "And there's some research I need your help with."
"I'll answer your questions if I can." Charlie gave a low laugh. "But the research? Not my job, Sam Winchester." She looked happy about that, almost relieved in the bow of her shoulders. "It won't mean anything to you if you don't figure it out for yourself."
"That's a really cheap excuse!" Sam looked incredulous. He began tapping the pencil on his notepad against the table for emphasis. "We talked about this."
Charlie rolled her eyes. "Which is why you shouldn't be surprised. I've been saying this all night." Her voice took on a patient tone. "I stayed last night to help Dean, but I was always planning on leaving this morning."
"Because you were Called." Sam said it deprecatingly, with a shake to his head. Dean could hear the capital letter – his brother was beginning to fit right in with these Circle of Enoch people. The only thing scarier than the glances shooting between them was the thought that this was quickly leading to little Geek Emo babies.
Charlie shrugged her shoulders – she did it almost as eloquently as Sammy had when he was in high school, the pissed off teenager who wanted nothing but to run from his father's way of life. She actually had that same look in her eyes, when she didn't think you were watching; like she was running away from something.
"Weren't you Called to help me?" Sam asked it like he already knew the answer was 'Yes.'
"No." A shadow flickered across her face. "I've helped you as much as I can, Sam. I wish I could help you more, but I can't." Charlie smiled softly but Sam never saw it; he was staring at the wall, the little boy Dean had sworn to protect staring out of his eyes. Which was just as well, because Sammy wouldn't like the look on Charlotte Webb's face. She was leaving.
"Stop pushing her, Sammy," Dean interjected. She spared him a glance – theirs was an uneasy truce. Charlotte Webb wanted to be gone as much as Dean wanted to see her go. She was trouble. He knew it the moment she knocked him to the ground, and she'd probably admit that. Part of Dean didn't trust the little combat boot wearing psycho any farther than he could throw her. Charlie talked a good game, but she hadn't told either of them why she was in the bar with that asshole. Or what she got out of the deal. Charlotte Webb had ulterior motive written all over her face.
Sammy tried another tactic. "What about money? Aren't you going to need some?" Sam coughed. "And we still haven't tried the last of the salves." His little brother frowned. "What could it hurt to stick around for just a couple more days? You can't dress your wounds without help."
"I'm staying with my friend Maggie for awhile. She's an EMT," the red-head replied. "I think she can dress a wound."
"See, Sammy? Problem solved. Charlie's got everything under control." Especially with her mojo. There was nothing a normal person could do to protect against it. Dean wasn't sure why Sam was being so stubborn, coming up with reasons to keep her here; it was for the best that she was leaving. Whatever idea he had gotten into his head about her, she was bad news. "Once we're done with breakfast, and we both get showers, I'll drop you off at the bus station," Dean added.
"Or I could take a cab," Charlie said. "You can barely walk."
"Your choice, Charlie." Dean could afford to feel magnanimous. Dean was looking forward to hitting a bar, slamming tequila and getting laid. Didn't even have to be in that order. Chicks dug scars – they'd be all over him. The look on Sam's face kicked in the guilt factor. What the hell. "But if you need money, it's not a problem."
"Money's not an issue. Not for awhile anyway," she said. Charlie was a lot more subdued than Dean remembered from the bar. "And when it is, I can get a job."
The red-head smiled at Sam, but he was watching the wall again. Her stare was dead serious – like she was trying to figure out the hidden mysteries of Geek Boy. The only good thing about Charlie staying would be the fact that Sam might actually get some – she was cute enough once you got past the long-sleeved sweaters and the skirts that fell past her knees. As long as you didn't mind banging a chick who was crazier than a fruit bat.
"So you're one of those girls who wants to work for an honest living?" Dean chuckled.
"I thought I might try something new," Charlie retorted, giving him a hard stare. Was this the same girl who sang about people leaving you halfway through the woods to the little boy in his head. "Besides, my heart couldn't take another week with the Winchesters," she added.
"We are heartbreakers," Dean agreed. "Remember the night you couldn't get enough of me?"
"As I recall, you're the one who jumped a chick in a granny sweater," Charlie said, her gray eyes hard.
Dean snorted. "I didn't hear you complaining."
Sam made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, cutting off Charlie's comeback. "Outside," Sammy said. His voice was rigid, and he sounded like Dad – had the Winchester look in his eye. "Now, Dean." He set his bag of beef jerky on top of the manila folder, stretching his tall frame into a stand. And he was glaring at Dean. Crap.
"Right." Dean dropped his own bag of beef jerky next to Charlie. She looked startled, staring at Sammy's face like a little kid who had just seen the boogie man – exactly like the expression on little Sari's face when she was talking about the thing in her closet.
Dean shuffled over to his own duffel bag, pulling out a pair of jeans and a shirt. He was so damn cold. "Don't look now," Dean said with a chuckle, glancing at Charlie over his shoulder. "We both know you'd rather be pulling my clothes off." She deliberately turned her head towards the wall as soon as their eyes met.
Sam waited by the door, opening it up and ushering him outside. Charlie was already moving off the bed when the door shut behind his little brother. Sam braced himself on the balcony railing. A mother walked past both of them on the way down the stairs, eyeing him up and down, before grabbing the little girl next to her by the hand and pulling her forcefully away from both of them.
"Check that," Dean grimaced. "If I'm scaring unsuspecting mothers, I think I'll go straight to tequila. We better still have some in the room, Sam." He sighed. "What's up, little brother?"
"We need to talk," Sam said. His eyes were still flashing, and his mouth was twisted into the same angry blemish from when he was a teenager. "Away from Charlotte."
"I get that," Dean said. He heard water running from inside their room. "But she's in the freaking shower. Couldn't we have stayed inside? Lot more private than having a heart-to-heart talk outside a motel room."
Sam shook his head. "I don't want her to feel this. It'll only upset her."
It was Dean's turn to shake his head. He was tired, still hungry and his head felt like someone was pounding him with a jackhammer – but the sun on his skin felt good, and he was finally getting warm. "The last thing we need to worry about is Charlotte Webb. She can take care of herself." He frowned. "Unless it's to check between our shoulder blades for the hatchet she buried."
"That's not fair." Sam leaned down on the top of the rail, elbows resting on the metal. "She helped you Dean."
Dean snorted. "Because she wanted to get secrets to take back to those Circle assholes."
Sam's head turned towards him, eyes wide. "Because she was Called."
"As if that means anything to me, dude." But Dean moved to stand next to his brother, elbows in the same position. He settled his eyes on the family in the parking lot, loading their car. The little girl laughed suddenly, and waved at him. He raised his hand in reply. "And stop talking with those frigging capital letters. It's freaking me out."
"The visions. Beata are called to their duty by visions, Dean." Sam sounded serious. "And dreams." Dean could hear the rest. Just like I've been getting. It was a big leap of faith, even for Sammy. Taking the word of a mojo-wielding red-head as an answer to the visions that'd been tagging them for months.
"Beata." Dean tried on the word for size. And then he wanted to kick himself, because the word could only be said with the goddamn capital letter. "So that's what you're supposed to be."
"That's what we're both supposed to be, Dean. I think we got the powers from Mom and that's why the demon killed her." Sam was suddenly excited about hunting again; he'd been despondent for months while they healed, got back onto their feet. They'd both felt restless, wandering the country following Sam's occasional vision. Guess that should be Calling. Trying to find people to help. With no real purpose. That had suited Dean just fine – the last time they'd had a purpose, they had almost died. "Maybe Jess had powers, too," his little brother added.
"The demon killed Jess just to mess you up, Sam. It likes playing with Winchesters." And Dean knew that for truth, remembered the look on his father's face when the demon stared at him. Burning. The demon was enjoying itself, enjoying the blood that was pouring from wounds on his chest. Dean felt dizzy. He steadied himself on the rail. "But what does this have to do with Charlie?" Dean asked.
"I think the demon wants to kill her, too. That the Circle of Enoch sends it to do its dirty work, like getting Mom out of the way when we were kids." Sam was just getting started.
"Wait a minute there, College Boy," Dean interjected, cutting Sam off at the pass. "Did she actually tell you this?"
Sam looked so much like a little boy, Dean felt his throat catch. "Well, no," Sam admitted. "It just made sense. The Circle of Enoch wants me. Mom died in a fire caused by a demon." For whatever reason, his little brother wanted to save that freaking psycho. "And she betrayed them to help you. Charlotte tried to save your life." Sam paused, and added, "Plus, she's got scars, Dean. She survived a fire. Just like us. Doesn't that seem a little suspicious to you?"
"Charlie seems suspicious to me." Dean made a small grimace, scratching underneath his left ear. "She was on a first-name basis with that jerk. You remember the guy who was controlling the succubitch?"
"The one we both heard threaten to kill her," Sam retorted, but his eyes were calm. "But that does make my hypothesis about the Circle controlling demons more plausible," Sam added. Smartass!
"Has she told you why she was with him?" Dean shrugged. It was a fair question.
"I never even thought to ask her," his little brother replied. Sammy looked chagrined. "Is this where you tell me to start thinking with my upstairs brain?"
Dean chuckled. "I don't know. Are you thinking with your downstairs brain?"
"Not as much as you are, man." Sam returned the chuckle with a guffaw of his own. His little brother's expression turned serious. "Why didn't you tell me what was happening, Dean. With the succubus. I would have tried to help."
"Right." Dean raised an eyebrow, returning Sam's speculative stare. "You ever been poisoned by a succubus, Sammy?" He didn't wait for his little brother's response. "It sucks rocks."
"Oh, yeah." Sam was a Winchester. No doubt about it. "You really looked like it sucked."
Dean closed his eyes, seeing her underneath him again at the bar. The way her voice sounded – swollen with the same desire that had been coursing through him – and how she smelled like strawberries or the sky after a storm. How Charlie shivered when he nipped at her neck. He grinned suddenly. "OK, parts of it definitely didn't suck. And I'll even give you that she stuck around to help me. But it's still a pretty big leap to say she's one of the good guys."
Sam shrugged his shoulders. "I guess." He returned Dean's grin. "Which makes what I'm about to ask you seem like a monumental task."
Fuck me. The look on his little brother's face meant that Sammy wanted one thing. For the girl to join the band. Didn't Sam realize that whenever a girl joined the band, things went to hell? Charlie would be a crack addition to the team. She could get the monsters to sit down for therapy sessions before they were killed, and then teach them Latin from the backseat. Jesus. "Don't even open your mouth, little brother."
"Dean, it's only for a couple of days. I do need the help on the research – some of those notes are in Enochian. I can't translate them." Sam looked like someone had handed him a puppy for Christmas. "True Enochian, Dean."
"Dad said Enochian was a fake language." When in doubt, bring in the voice of experience. Since Dad wasn't here, that was going to have to be Dean.
"But it's the Enochian that gives the best translation! You remember the proscription of punishment, right? Where God says 'Send them against the other that they may destroy each other in battle.' That's not how it translates in Enochian." Make that two puppies.
Dean could only shake his head at Sam's enthusiasm. "I remember that part."
"The Enochian translates that as 'Send the chosen against the others, so they will protect the world in battle.' The Nephilim are actually the ones who protect, called by visions to their sacred purpose." And a couple of kittens with a pony. "Like m –" Sam caught himself. "Like us."
"Come to think of it, Dad thought most of the Apochrypha was a bunch of crap," Dean said.
"Probably because he knew that Mom was Beata and he was trying to protect us," Sam replied. His blue-green eyes were looking back at the parking lot again. "I mean, would you marry someone knowing you had superpowers and not tell them?" He caught the look Dean flashed at him, nose wrinkle and all. "Hypothetically speaking. Only a masochist would marry you."
"Thanks," Dean said lightly. "But why wouldn't Dad want us to know about Mom? If she was super-Mom." He looked at Sam. "And that's a fricking big if, little brother."
"Wouldn't it be dangerous for us to know our real heritage? Especially with a group like the Circle of Enoch gunning for us. Sending demons after us. I bet they found me when I got into Stanford." Sammy looked thoughtful. "Although that doesn't explain why they waited for four years to find me."
"Maybe they wanted you to have a law degree. How else are you going to get off the hook when someone catches Psychic Car Thief Boy boosting cars?" Dean chuckled at his own joke. Sam tried to look annoyed. "Admit it, dude. That was classic."
"Yeah, it was classic." Sam grinned. "Classically lame."
"Seriously, man. Why do you really want her to stick around?"
Sam looked like he was hiding something – the last time Dean remembered that look, it was about Jess. Veiled secrets. He was no better; Sammy had no idea the way the little boy burned inside of him, or the hours Dean spent staring at his little brother's broken body in dreams that started the night Meg died. Laying before the white altar. Sammy. Shattered. "I'm worried about her," Sam said.
"She's not innocent, Sam. Like I said, she's in cahoots." Dean pulled away from the railing, putting both hands in his jeans pockets.
"But we're supposed to help people. It's our job." Sam was acting as stubborn as Dad. Hell, as stubborn as him.
"We help innocent people, little brother," Dean retorted. Sam's face flushed, and he squared his shoulders. All Sam saw was the frail red-head. "Besides, the chick wants to leave. What do you want me to do? Throw her over my knee and spank her until she asks to stay?" And damned if Dean didn't see her on his lap. Goddamn succubitch! Sammy was glaring at him. "It was a joke. Jesus Christ!" Dean shook his head. "It's not like I actually want to go there, dude."
"Whatever." Sam was pissed. "She gave us enough research material to keep me going for months – and that's with none of our side-jobs. It's not like Charlie's been hiding stuff from us. She's answered every question I've asked her."
"Still not convinced, Sammy." Dean folded his arms in front of himself.
Sam's shoulders dropped, and he looked down at his feet. All color had drained from his face. "I'm scared, Dean."
"No shit. Hoo-haw destiny? I only understand bits and pieces and I'm scared, man." Dean shifted on his feet.
"There's something inside of me. It's reaching out for you. For her. For people I see in my dreams and have never met. And it wants, Dean. It wants this world. Alex Masters was telling the truth about that – there's a big-ass storm coming. We're talking Armageddon." Sam shivered. Once. Before straightening to a stand. "And I'm the one thing standing between us and the world ending with a bang."
Dean couldn't argue with that – the hollows underneath Sam's eyes had gotten worse, like something was already trying to dig its way out. Twelve of the Grigori will rise in bodies bred for them to stand by Shemhezai – and he will bring Armageddon. Sammy's body, a broken shell, laying before the white altar. And you're the key.
"You don't get it, do you, Dean?" Sam gave a little hiccupping sigh, his shoulders scrunched down. "Shemhezai. Semiazaz. Shemyaza." He paused for emphasis. "Samyaza."
Dean's stomach dropped, and he fought the urge to pull his little brother into his arms. Just like he would have done when he was four. If Dean could pick him up and carry Sammy out of this nightmare, he'd do it. "Isn't that another name for?" Dean couldn't bring himself to say it. This is the face that stones you cold.
"Maybe." Sam was holding himself now, shaking. "I'm not sure. I need to translate more of the Enochian. Charlotte gave us more than just the standard Book of Enoch. And she's the only one who can do it, Dean." He couldn't tell if Sam was crying or not; Dean sure as hell wasn't going to look. His little brother's voice was broken, and Dean's heart ached. He wished he was more like Sam. But he wasn't. All Dean could do was stand there and stare at his bare feet, cold in spite of the sun, feeling like an idiot while his brother fell apart.
For about five seconds.
Dean turned on his heel, ripping open the door to the motel room. Sammy followed him back in, subdued, but Dean never registered it. His only objective was getting some goddamn answers about what the hell the Circle of Enoch had done to his little brother. There was music coming from the bathroom, some fucking hip-hop beat and two voices screaming what sounded like "Extra sugar, extra salt" at the top of their lungs. In Japanese accents. One of them might have been Charlie.
He barreled into the bathroom. Charlotte Webb was about to come face-to-face with a Pissed-Off Chosen Fucking Warrior of God. She was pulling on her shirt, mostly dressed, but gave an indignant shriek when Dean opened the door and stepped inside. Until she saw his face. "Shut the fuck up, Yoko. You and I are going to have a little talk," Dean growled, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her out of the bathroom. He pushed her backwards onto the bed, slamming down next to her. "What the fuck are you doing here? And what the fuck are you doing to my little brother?"
"Dean," Sam's voice cut in. His little brother wanted him to be reasonable.
"Were you planning on leaving before or after Sam figured out who Shemhezai really was?" Dean's eyes flared, and she shrank away from him. Charlie looked like he had kicked her, crawling into a little ball inside of herself. And she was guilty as hell, could feel it as clearly as he smelled it. Charlie knew what Sam was going to find – but all that was important to her was getting the hell out of Dodge. She had no goddamn right being terrified when Sammy was falling apart.
"Before," she said, her voice a murmur. Charlotte took a deep breath, watching him with her bruised face. Gulping like she was trying to hold onto herself. "The prophecy has two outcomes. The one who stands in the center, wielding the Light of Dawn, will either seal the Grigori forever or break the seal and become Shemhezai." The red-head looked away from him, but not before he could see something pull around her eyes. "The Council is betting that Sam isn't strong enough, that Shemhezai will consume him. He's not ready to Awaken."
"You bitch!" Dean clamped onto her arm. Hard."This is my little brother you're trying to fuck with."
"Dean." Sam's voice was a little stronger now.
"Shut up, Sammy!" Dean snapped. "And you still didn't answer my fucking questions. I beat up the last bitch who tried to fuck over the Winchesters." His anger slammed out of him. Dean felt it whittle right into her, could see the crack in the gossamer that suddenly surrounded her. The gossamer that protected him in his dreams. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Trying to help," Charlie said. And she was serious. Dean was inside her. She couldn't use her mojo without him feeling it rush through him. He knew what she felt like now, in her own head. "Sam needed to be warned about what the Council was planning on doing to him," she added, pausing for breath. "Alex Masters and I were just the welcoming party." Charlie looked at him like there was something else she wanted to tell him. "The succubus was a trap to lure both of you out – and you were the sacrifice the Circle was willing to make to awaken Sam's powers. You saw the symbols. It worked. Alex has confirmation. Sam is exactly who they think he is."
"And what is that exactly?" Dean made no attempt to temper his rage. It slammed into her again, and she rocked on the bed beside him.
"The one who stands between the worlds," she said. "Liberator or Slayer. Two sides of the same coin."
"You're going to have to come up with a better answer than that," Dean said. He was beyond angry now.
"I can't!" Charlie snapped. "Prophecies are imprecise, Dean. It can go either way. All I know is that I'm a liability." She stood up suddenly, pulling up her shirt. "You see this?" The red-head twisted to point at the tattoo, and her voice splintered in her throat. "It's been burned. What wants to possess me calls to the thing inside of him." She felt like an electric wire inside. "Now do you see why I need to go?"
"It's not that easy, bitch!" Dean snarled. "Why the hell should we trust a girl with a Devil's Trap tattoo?"
Charlie bit off each syllable. "If you do, you deserve everything you get."
"Will you two calm down and listen to what you're saying?" Sam was trying to interrupt again. They both ignored him. "You're on the same side!" his little brother added.
"Sammy, please!" Dean glared at his little brother before directing that stare towards Charlie. "What's the deal with the Council, Emo Girl?" Hazel eyes pinned her to the ground. "And I'll know if you're lying."
"They used to lead the Circle of Enoch. Men and women who fight like you and Sam. Helping them fulfill their sacred purpose, protecting humanity from curses and monsters that we were never meant to see." Charlie said, wincing at the fury Dean buffeted against her. "The Council is corrupt. Anyone who says they speak with the Council's voice has been corrupted, too. Like Alex Masters." Whatever she was telling him, Charlie was obviously not attempting to include Sammy in the conversation. "The Council uses the Circle as its own personal army. There are only a handful of whose who are Called and Chosen." Charlie's eyes softened. "You and Sam are probably the closest I know to what the Circle used to be."
Dean rolled his eyes. We've just entered Lala-land. Her stupid theories were unimportant compared to the real question. "And the demons?" Dean asked. "Do they raise demons to do their bidding?"
"The demons don't work for the Council." Charlie's eyes filled with tears, like her heart was breaking. No goddamn mojo flickered within her body, behind that gossamer ball that enveloped her. "The Council works for the Grigori. They've been masterminding a bloodline strong enough to host the Twelve. Alex Masters was one of them." Her voice became a whisper. "So am I." The red-head lowered her head. "And so are you." Her voice cracked, and she continued. "A different version of yourself, one raised by them." Charlie actually looked confused. "They never bothered with your family until Sam was born, because the Council believed you had no gift. You were a wild card. And when I met you, I knew they were right. That anger of yours is holy. It's kept you pure. Untainted. Maybe even incorruptible by one of the Grigori."
His life just kept getting worse. Now he wasn't just a Chosen Warrior of God. Dean was a vessel waiting to be inhabited by a fricking fallen angel after his little brother's soul was consumed by evil incarnate. And it was hard to stay angry with her, when Charlie looked at you like she knew exactly what scared you. Because it looked exactly like what scared her – the whole belief that she was right and the world was screwed because its fate rested in your hands. "We've never even heard of the Circle of Enoch until you showed up, Emo Girl." It was the only protest Dean could make.
"Maybe not, but they knew about you." Her eyes looked right into his. "And they helped Azazeal kill your mother."
The only sound in the room was the whir of the air conditioner.
He couldn't even bring himself to scream, his voice like ice. "So you're telling us that the demon who killed our mother is a fallen angel?" Dean asked. He had heard enough. The only thing keeping him from pushing the girl out the window was the look on Sam's face.
"Azazeal is one of the Twelve. The closer they get to the Rising, the stronger they become." Charlie wrapped her arms around her stomach, subconsciously imitating Sam. "It needed a host to burn twenty years ago," she added, "But it doesn't need one now." She looked haunted by something, and steeled herself against whatever memory was rising inside of her. Dean actually heard a chain rattle in his mind, and something guttered underneath her gossamer shields. "It's easy to fall, Dean. Redemption is a lot harder."
"And how do you know all of this, sweetheart?" Dean frowned, getting more numb with every siren she turned on inside of his head. He could barely hear himself think. How could this girl have answers to the questions that had been haunting them for years, dogging their tracks across-country ten dozen times?
"My teacher was one of the few members of the Circle who still believe in its purpose. Jacob tried to save me. So was…" Charlie's voice trailed off, and she said nothing else.
"So we stop the Circle, we stop Armageddon." Sammy interjected. Dean had never seen him so angry – his body was shaking, and he radiated resolve. All based on some cockamamie story that Dean couldn't bring himself to believe. Even for Sammy. Demons. Angels. Prophecies. It sounded like a bad horror movie. "We take out the Demon and avenge Mom and Jess. What's the problem?" his little brother asked.
Dean rolled his eyes. "Sammy, even if Emo Girl is telling the truth, we need to run this past Dad." Dean didn't trust her, but if it was true, Charlotte Webb had given them a name. Dad would know what to do with it."And what do you get out of this, Charlie?" Dean continued, staring her hard in the eyes. "Justice? Vengeance? A date with my cute little brother?"
"That's not any of your business!" She returned the glare, her entire body stiff. Charlotte Webb was definitely hiding something.
"It is my business, sweetheart. You're talking about my little brother." Dean rolled his eyes. "What is it about you and the girls who are all buckets of crazy, Sammy?"
"Dean. Listen to me." Sam's voice was tired and they both turned from each other to look at him; Dean could see a faint blue shimmer along his little brother's cheekbones. "I've already dreamt about the end, and you are both with me. Standing with the others before the white altar."
The white altar! His little brother's broken body laying before the white altar. It was the dream that started the night Meg died. It was another of Dean's secrets, something he'd never told Sam. But that was before he found out it was one of those dreams and that he was a fucking psychic. Just like the crazy emo bitch and his doomed little brother. The panic was rising – only one thing keeping him from freaking out entirely. This is the moment that needs to breathe. He felt pressure on his wrist; Charlie was holding his arm. Dean pushed her away.
"Dear God." Charlie's voice was a prayer, her gray eyes wild. She recognized it. The goddamn witch knew what Sammy was talking about. Hell, she probably saw it when she was walking through his head like it was a toy store.
"I knew the succubus was there." Sam continued, his voice taking on a sing-song tone that turned Dean's blood to ice. "I dreamt about you, Charlotte. You were going to die. I saw your body laying on the floor next to Dean's. He was dead, too." His little brother was looking at Charlie like he owned her, and the symbols began reappearing on his cheeks and arms. Only they were turning dark orange. "You thought you were there to save me, but I was rescuing you, my Armaros." His glowing eyes focused on Dean. "And you, Arakiel. My brother."
Charlie flinched as though Sam hit her, and then her back straightened. "Charlotte." Her voice was barely more than a whisper, and suddenly she was that defiant girl back in Alfie's. "Magnificat anima mea Dominum: Et exsultavit spiritus meus in Deo salutari meo."
The thing within Sam smiled at that, but the body recoiled. "Only until we cut that abomination from your flesh. Did you honestly think some ink underneath your skin would thwart me?"
"So far all I see is some yapping hellspawn making my little brother sound like an asshole," Dean interjected. Charlie looked just as startled as he felt for saying it.
"She's mine, Arakiel. So are you. I'll corrupt you both in the end." And Dean saw something, like it was pulled out of Sam's mind – a thing with a knife, slicing the tattoo off of Charlie's back. He felt sick. "Flesh is meant to be flayed." The thing smirked, and Dean felt the little girl in a burning nightgown, screaming. "Or burned." The voice was like a caress, and the symbols on Sammy's skin flickered with a fire's glow.
Charlie made a shrill sound in the back of her throat and ran past both of them. Right out the door. Fuck! It was either go after the girl before the crazy chick hurt someone or stay with Sammy. Which wasn't a choice at all – if his little brother was changing right before his eyes into some kind of monster, there was no way in hell Dean Winchester was going to let that happen. Sammy came first. Always.
"Go get her, Arakiel. She's not leaving today." His little brother didn't sound like Sammy and the symbols were getting brighter – blue flashes fighting with the orange. "And bring the first aid kit." Sam's voice had real authority in it; all those years traveling with Dad had taught Dean to follow any order given with that tone, and his body reacted automatically. He realized what had happened when he was staring at the outside of the motel room door with the first aid kit in his left hand. Fuck me!
Geek Boy was not going to become Creepy Glowstick Boy without a fight.
Dean squared his shoulders and twisted the knob to the room. It didn't budge. He checked in his pockets with his free hand, but there was no keycard stashed in his jeans. Adrenalin rushing through him, Dean took three steps back and threw his body at the door. Nothing. Except a voice in his head. Go get her, Arakiel. That didn't keep Dean from slamming himself into the door until he was bruised on the shoulder.
"She's hurt, Dean." Sam's voice was muffled. But it was definitely Sammy. "She needs your help."
"I'm not leaving you alone, Sammy! Unlock the goddamn door!" Dean bellowed. One of the maids passing by with the utility cart gave him a strange look. Dean shrugged – it would have been a lot stranger if Dean had thought to bring a gun out with him instead of the frigging first aid kit.
"I'm OK, Dean." There was a pause. "For now." More urgency in his voice. "Go help her. Please." The door opened a couple of inches, and Sam poked his head out. He wasn't glowing, but the hollows under his eyes had gotten worse. "See, no worse for wear," Sam said lightly. He tried to smile.
"Sammy!"
Sam smiled for real. "Go help her. I'm OK."
"No!" Dean stuck his foot between the door and the jam.
"I'm serious. Go help her." Sam looked so tired, and his eyes were bright. "She's hurt because of this thing – " His little brother choked, trying to get the words out. "She is an innocent, Dean."
"She is not…" Dean's voice trailed off – there was no arguing with Sam. Dean could scream himself hoarse and, in the end, his stubborn little brother wouldn't be reasonable until Dean came back with Charlotte Webb. Dean sighed. "You suck, Sam," he added as he removed his foot. His little brother didn't say anything else, just tilted his head funny and shut the door.
Dean found her at the foot of the stairs. Charlie had collapsed, her body twisted at an odd angle. She's hurt, Dean. Dean had a vision of her pin wheeling off the third step, her leg crashing into the iron rail with a sharp crack. She needs your help. He ran down the stairs as she brought herself up into a sitting position, her left leg dragging behind her. Charlie's glasses were on the ground next to her.
She jumped when Dean touched her arm, a gulp of terror until her eyes settled on his. His leg hurt. They stared at each other for several moments, and then Charlie gave a little laugh. "The joke is on you, Dean Winchester" she said softly. She lifted her skirt; Charlie was scraped from shin to thigh, and her leg was obviously broken below the knee. And there are more scars.
The universe could laugh it up – Sammy was still in there. A monster hell-bent on Armageddon wouldn't care about a girl's broken leg. Dean swallowed, and knelt beside her – opening the kit and pulling out what he needed for a splint. She looked at him mutely, her eyes round with pain, and grabbed his hand before he could get started. "Lucky for you," he said. "Winchester boys are prepared."
A ghost stared out from her face, and Dean realized he was too tired to stay angry at her. "Lucky for me," Charlie replied. She let go of his hand, wincing as he put the wire mesh in place – but she had enough control to hold it steady as Dean set the first piece of tape, her face going white. "Your brother is Awakening," she said.
"What do you think we should do about it?" Dean's tone was light, and he felt giddy – like they weren't actually stuck with each other.
"You're on your own, Dean. I had a plan. If I hadn't come up with it, maybe he'd still just be Sam Winchester." Charlie grimaced as he tied off the first piece of tape, sweating from the pain. "Instead of what he's becoming." She held her left arm with her right hand. There were scars on her arm, too. "You get me to the emergency room, and I'll disappear. Call me a cab or take me in your crap car. I don't care."
Dean ignored the dig about the Impala. He coughed. "And if you're telling us the truth, Charlie, maybe you gave him what he needs to stay Sam Winchester." She stared at him hard after Dean said it, like she was trying to figure out if he was making fun of her, before turning her eyes towards the parking lot; her whole body was stiff. "Can we even win?" he asked.
"Are you even listening to me?" Charlie retorted. "In the immortal words of John Lennon – this bird has flown."
"Right off the stairs and into the railing," Dean replied mildly, shaking his head. Charlotte Webb was clever – she was still adamant that she was leaving. He decided to try a different question. It was something he wanted to ask without Sammy overhearing. Or whatever is inside of him. "So this Circle is full of people who hunt?"
"Not everyone is chosen to fight. People like Alex Masters train for years before they are sent out to hunt." Her brow furrowed. "But he's a special operative – he only goes on Council approved missions. No one really gets Called anymore. They're too far removed from the source." Her right hand grabbed his arm, and she winced.
"Special operative?" Dean snorted. "You shitting me?" Charlie shook her head as he tied off the second piece of tape. Charlie had said that she was Circle-trained; that meant she must be able to take care of herself. She did give a mean head-butt before knocking him flat on his ass. The nagging guilt subsided a little – maybe she would have been all right on her own after all. "So how long have you been a special operative, Charlie?"
"I'm not," she said. "I help with research when I'm not at school." Dean couldn't tell if she was amused or angry.
"But you can do that touchy-feeling mojo."
"So can you, Dean, but I don't think you kill demons by making them cry to death." The ghost touched her face again. "Besides, I had physical therapy instead of combat training." Charlie smiled brightly. "But I can shoot a gun a little."
And that's when it hit him. For the first time since colliding into him on a dance floor, Charlotte Webb wasn't hiding anything. She looked completely unguarded. Dean knew how to handle girls with their guard down. He was Dean Winchester. His voice drawled, "Didn't any of those special operatives teach you that you fire a gun?" He backed it up with a grin. "You shoot the demons." Dean looked at her thoughtfully. "I guess if you loaded a .45 into a howitzer, you could shoot a gun."
"Duly noted." Charlie smiled weakly, and shivered as he set the third piece of tape – the one closest to the break. She squeezed his arm again, but she hadn't once cried out when the pain became strong, and somehow Charlie was able to steady herself so as not to go into complete shock.
"So what did you research?" Dean looked down at the splint – it didn't seem to be too tight, based on the swelling around the break. "Did you get to work in the super secret lab making special weapons?" He could see her in a white lab coat, wearing those glasses and carrying around a clipboard. It was probably the glasses. "You carrying around some bazooka-gun hairbrush in your duffel bag?"
"You've found me out." She raised an eyebrow. "But the hairbrush is mine."
Dean did a double-take. "Did you just make joke?"
"It was bound to happen sooner or later," Charlie said, as deadpan as could be, "But the answer to your question isn't so glamorous. I translated texts – usually Latin, but some Greek and Aramaic to stay sharp."
"That explains it," Dean returned, still grinning at her. "Maybe you'd actually strike fear in the hearts of demons, Dean Winchester, if your Latin didn't suck." He chuckled. "But, come on, who needs Latin when you've got a Glock?"
"Dead languages don't get any respect from you commando types," Charlie snorted. She tried to smile again, but ended up clutching his arm more tightly. "Do you like summoning hordes of tiny frogs with your exorcisms?"
"Goddamn, Charlie!" The girl was almost as good a sparring partner as Sammy. "You've got quite the little mouth on you!" Dean waggled his eyebrows at her.
She suddenly looked annoyed. "Are there any serious things you want to know about?" Charlie frowned. "The clock's ticking."
"Well, yeah," Dean shook his head. Last time I'm nice to you, bitch! "But it sounds pretty crazy. Sammy said something about you knowing Enochian."
"I do." She frowned, adding, "As much as anyone can, I guess. I was working on a translation program when I found out about the second ending – the one where Sam doesn't break the seal." Dean believed her. It wasn't her mojo – it was the realization that no one could keep spouting that kind of crap without believing it. Or delusional. "When the Council sent me on the mission," Charlie continued, "I figured I could get that information to Sam without Alex finding out."
"And why would they send a librarian on a mission?" Dean asked, trying to look innocent. "Instead of another special operative."
Bitterness passed over her face but Charlie surprised him. "My best guess is that they were testing me," she said. "I think they always knew I wasn't my mother's daughter, that I –" She looked stripped bare, but stopped herself. "But the Council never planned on you." Charlie wrinkled her nose. "Neither did I, when I came up with my incredibly stupid plan."
"Your plan to save the world from Armageddon by handing my little brother a book bag full of research notes and a glowing sword?" Dean tried to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, but he was a Winchester. Charlie was going to have to deal. He started on the last piece of tape. "I think you're really selling yourself short by calling it incredibly stupid."
"You forgot the part where I leave and disappear." Charlie noticed the way he was looking at her, disbelief intermingled with disgust. "Not everyone is brave." And there it was – the fragile look again. "But it's not going to let me leave. I'm Armaros." She chuckled, a self-deprecating laugh like the one he remembered her using before. "The accursed one."
Dean remembered the name that thing had called him. "Arakiel?"
"The mighty," Charlie replied automatically. She was shaking.
Dean closed his eyes, the roll of tape dropping out of his hand and onto the ground. He saw Charlie's body pin wheeling off the steps again, heard the crack of the bone breaking. The rush of air leaving her body as she connected with the pavement at the foot of the stairs. And that voice coming from Sammy's mouth. She's not leaving today. "Did that thing push you?"
"I think so." And she sounded just like a little girl when she said it. Lost and scared. "Even I'm not that clumsy."
Dean felt sick to his stomach at that. Charlie saw his nausea and raised it with some dry-heaving of her own, bent away from him so he couldn't see her. It was an oddly delicate gesture, the way her body twisted, but it couldn't downplay the panic he felt rising from her – twin to the horror binding his chest. This is the cloud that swallows trust. This is the black that uncolors us. This is the face that you hide from. This is the mask that comes undone. It was hard to breathe.
Sammy needed to be saved from whatever was growing inside of him – and Charlie was the only person who had a clue what the hell that could be. Dean gulped, trying to ignore the warning siren going off in his head. Ominous, I'm in us. Ominous, I'm in us. Ominous, I'm in us. Ominous, I'm in us. He had to make her understand. How hard could it be? Charlie actually believed in this Grigori crap. "Will you help me save my brother?"
Her gray eyes widened with the question, and she shook her head. "I can't. If I stay…" Charlie's voice trailed off, but Dean heard that thing's voice. Flesh is meant to be flayed. "You don't know the price of betrayal, Dean." She was still touching his arm, and a vision of a man, thrown up on the ceiling, exploded in his head. White light against the back of his eyelids. Or burned. He was small, and his body felt like it was kissed by fire – arms holding him in place while he watched the one thing he loved most in the world burn on the ceiling. This is the cloud that swallows trust.
"Please." It was one of the hardest things he could ask and Dean didn't try to say more – Charlotte Webb was Emo Girl; she'd be able to read between the lines. Dean tried to do what she did, pushing his feelings for Sam into her so that she would understand what he was losing, what he would dare to save his little brother. Even asking the girl whose answer to every question caused warning sirens to go off in his head. When we were young, I pretty much pulled him from a fire. And ever since then, I've felt responsible for him. Like it's my job to keep him safe.
Her face darkened. "How can you possibly trust me, Dean?"
"Here's the thing, Charlie. I want to trust you. Right now I'm thinking that you're the best shot I've got to keep my little brother from becoming Creepy Glowstick Boy." Dean thought he was a good judge of character on most days. This is the black that uncolors us. He lowered his voice, his eyes hardening. "But if I ever find out that you are actually here to fuck with my baby brother, I will put you down like a dog." Threats never hurt. This is the face that you hide from.
That got her attention. Most people would have looked away, but Charlie just raised her chin. "Promise me that."
"What?" It caught Dean off-guard.
"Promise me that." Her eyes were hard. "If I actually start fucking with Sam, I want you to keep that promise." The response didn't make him feel any better about the whole thing – and the momentary flash of the red-head writhing underneath his brother's lanky body made him feel like he was watching something unholy. This is the mask that comes undone. Especially when he realized her body didn't have scars. Her mouth twisted. "Promise me that you'll put me down like a dog, Dean. Or I'm walking."
Dean pushed the image aside. She was serious. Ominous, I'm in us. Ominous, I'm in us. Ominous, I'm in us. Ominous, I'm in us. He eyed Charlie critically. She wasn't letting go of his arm, and he couldn't see anything between them. Her fingers were like icicles – she was just as cold as he was. And part of him wasn't even sure he could go through with it. "I promise." He found his voice. "If I even think Sammy might get hurt because of you, I will put you down."
Her head jerked backwards, suddenly, and then she relaxed. Sighing, her hold on his arm loosening – but she never stopped touching him. "Then I guess I'm the cavalry." Charlotte Webb was terrified – of what they'd just promised or something else, Dean couldn't tell – but she believed him. She actually wanted him to kill her. If she turned into whatever the hell that thing called her. Armaros. That anger of yours is holy. It's kept you pure.
Dean took a breath, picking up the tape to finish securing the splint. What the hell have I done? He had just made a deal with a girl setting off every warning siren in his brain. For Sammy. His father would never have made a crap-ass deal like that. This monster lives. "You always this freaky?" he asked.
"I wasn't kidding when I said the joke was on you." She attempted to smile, to reassure him that he had made the right decision. Which might have worked if Charlie actually believed it.
"I guess not." Dean shook his head. "But at least we know the Winchester luck is intact." He grimaced. "Not to mention the fact that being a Chosen Warrior of God blows." Dean almost sounded like himself if he tried hard enough.
"Why do you say that?" Her smile brightened, just a little. Charlie was the girl in the bar, sparking off his jokes.
Dean's grimace turned into a grin. "God sent me a librarian who doesn't know you actually fire a gun as the freaking cavalry."