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. Dean doesn't believe the cockamamie story dropped into their laps about fallen angels until Sam's Awakening can no longer be denied. So Dean makes a deal with Charlie to save his little brother – and the promise she forces out of him makes Dean wonder exactly which Winchester needs to be saved.
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.
Characters: Sam Winchester, Aaron, Dean Winchester, Charlotte Webb
Rating: PG (Angst! Mild language. And more shirtless Dean. I figured out a way where throwing him into this chapter without his shirt on wasn't just gratuitous fan service. Mostly.)
Summary: There are some things that rock salt just can't fix.
Feedback: Please! I'm begging you, people. Give me feedback. I won't stop writing, but this won't get any better without your help. ;-P
Miscellaneous: Special thanks to JMM0001 for continuing to thwack me with a stick, and making certain that the angst isn't too overwhelming. (Given my week, it easily could have been.) The lesson we learned this week is: never write fanfic when you have the flu. As always, the good parts are because of her. The bad parts are all me. And this chapter is dedicated to starpixie16, who made a Sammy fangirl out of me.
Chapter Five: Blasphemous Rumors
The only thing more terrifying than that split-second look on Dean's face – the combination of horror and the automatic resolve to fix something so broken no one should touch it, the certain knowledge that Dean would die before he stopped trying to fix it anyway – was the fact that Sam had put it there.
Dean never knew when to quit, when to stop pushing. When to turn tail and run. Sam thought nearly dying after they faced the demon – Azazeal – the last time would have taught his older brother a valuable lesson about tactical retreats. Sam had no problem packing his family into the Impala and driving away as fast as the car could burn rubber down the highway. The night Jess died, it was Dean who barreled into the room like an avenging angel and pulled Sam outside. Minutes after the monster living inside Sam Winchester crawled out between the cracks, Dean nearly dislocated his shoulder bashing into the motel room door to rescue him. All because Dean wanted to fix the shattered thing that Sam had become.
And Sam knew that was a lost cause.
The thing inside of him was powerful – more powerful than any monster they had ever faced. It had given birth to the others, if its memories were true; Sam had no reason to believe otherwise. And Shemhezai was hungry. It had been denied the world once, abandoned by its own children when they took up a different banner – the very warriors that were supposed to march in its ranks protecting the creatures that contaminated the land, little more than a disease running rampant across the Earth. The ultimate betrayal. Shemhezai scattered those children across the world, a handful of broken bodies against the rocks of mountains, and cursed each one that survived. Their descendants would become vessels for the fulfillment of its thwarted ambition.
What was Sam Winchester compared to that? A small thing lost in the belly of the beast, trying to hold onto itself while the monster howled its millennia of loss. A broken thing so beloved – for no reason that Sam could actually fathom – that Dean would take his battle to Hell itself to save him.
Even a stranger was going to give up the only life she'd known for him.
Charlotte Webb owed him nothing. Sam saw what Azazeal had done to her, plucked from her mind as easily as fruit off a tree. The hands that burned. The loss that flickered across her face when Shemhezai flaunted that memory between all of them, taunting her as easy as breathing. And she knew what they fought, how the world was ending with a bang and Sam Winchester was all that stood between it and Armageddon. So she was going to give him what she could and go hide. Sam didn't blame her for that. Not one little bit – the beast inside was taking her the moment it burst out of its shell.
And she had helped Dean. The way she held the pain – cuts ripping open on her chest as Sam pulled out the splinter, momentarily infused with a blue glow – would have been proof enough for Sam. But after the splinter was removed, Charlotte pulled Dean into her arms and held him – head bowed and eyes closed, red hair blowing in its own breeze as the light shining from her skin permeated the room with a soft incandescence. A shadow passed from Dean's face to hers, an unspoken sorrow so deeply buried that Dean would never tell it to anyone. After that, there was nothing to doubt – Sam Winchester believed in angels.
Only an idiot would think he was one of them, though.
Shemhezai had recognized them both, the bodies that its children would wear when they Arose to stand behind him, Ascendant in his Glory. And it was pleased that the two had come so easily within its grasp – one as a brother whose love for a ruined husk was easily manipulated, and the second as a girl whose very flesh could be used against her. It tried to break both of them, dreamed of cracking those bodies against the white altar. But they had walls that the thing could not penetrate by force; hers was gossamer thick, his was iron-bound. The damnable specters would not leave their shells so easily.
Sam didn't know how long he was going to be able to hold onto himself.
He closed his eyes, blocking out the glow from the side lamp with his arm. Even with his eyes closed, he still saw the look of horror on Dean's face when the other voice inside of him spoke – followed almost immediately by the reckless courage that would defy every demon and battle every monster to save Sam. Undercut by the immediate obedience to a voice giving orders. And Shemhezai was cruel – it knew how to control his older brother with nothing but voice inflection, reaching past a crack in that wall to pull out one piece to use.
What it had done to Charlotte Webb was even worse, slamming into her with the image of Armaros. Sam saw her running down the stairs – running from her body underneath his, a body without scars. The part of him that was still Sam Winchester let her go, even though he wanted her to stay. She could be a friend. But the thing needed her to stay – so it pushed her. Right into the guard rail. The look on her face when her leg connected with the metal rail ripped another hole inside of him.
Sam Winchester was full of holes these days. Probably always had been – ripped open by the memory of his mother, the horror on Jess' face pushed deep inside. All the things he should have told his father – especially when he understood the loss that drove John Winchester. It was that same despair that drove Sam away from Stanford and onto the hunting trip from hell. Jess had belonged to him. And Sam had belonged to her. It was that simple. The demon stole that from Sam, and Sam was going to make it pay. Winchesters didn't love by halves – Dean was proof of that. I swear to God I will march into hell myself and I will slaughter each and every one of you evil sons of bitches, so help me God!
God help them all the day Dean decided to make good on that promise.
And it was because of Dean that Sam could still hold onto a shred of himself, lost within the belly of the beast. That look on Dean's face, the one that would scourge hell for his little brother, gave Sam just enough control to warn Dean about Charlotte. Listening to Dean pounding on the door reminded Sam that someone still cared, that he was more than a shell, a broken carcass waiting to be filled by an ancient hunger. Sam was able to hold onto himself just enough to push Shemhezai inside, and take back his body. For a little while. Or maybe it just got what it wanted.
The one thing Sam knew with all certainty was this: he was never letting the thing inside of him anywhere near his brother. Ever. Again.
He was going to take his shredded soul and he was going to leave. Dean. Sam Winchester was going to leave. He couldn't live with the shadows of what this thing would do to Dean, how it would use the love he had – the one constantly good thing in Sam's life – and break his older brother with it. Because that's exactly what Shemhezai was going to do. It was going to break Dean, sending his older brother's soul God knew where, so that Arakiel could Rise. Corrupt him into becoming what it needed, instead of what Dean was. And Sam wasn't letting that happen – the guilt was bad enough with a girl he knew for almost two days. Especially one he thought could be his friend. Sam didn't want to be the thing that made Dean look like that.
He had to leave before they got back from the hospital. Sam couldn't look into Dean's eyes, couldn't face the girl. And Sam needed a plan if this was going to work, because Dean would come looking for him as soon as he realized his little brother had gone. He couldn't just leave, despite how elegant the whole thing seemed – just grab as much stuff as he could carry in a duffel bag and go. Sam had a little money, didn't even need to use one of the credit cards; Dean would report the cards stolen quicker than Sam could get on a Greyhound bus, anyway. Missouri would only tell him to go right back to his family. Bobby might let him stay for awhile, if the lectures about family didn't kill Sam first. There had to be a way to leave Dean and until this whole thing was over. Until Sam had control, or until he was hollow.
As soon as he could bring himself to move.
"If you really wanted to leave, you'd be gone by now." It was a man's voice – a drawl that could only come from the Appalachian stretch of Kentucky.
Sam snapped to a sitting position, eyes blinking as they adjusted to the room. A man in his early thirties, with shoulder-length dirty blonde hair, was sitting on the rickety chair near the desk. He was dressed in jeans and a Sex Pistols t-shirt. He picked up Charlotte's mandolin, and began plucking out a tune Sam didn't recognize, accompanied by the backbeat of his thumb against the body of the instrument. Sam's eyes narrowed. The man's eyes glowed with a blue incandescence.
Fuck!
Sam reached for the crucifix in his pocket, holding it out towards the man. He swallowed – he was in no condition to fight a demon. By himself. There's no way in hell I'm letting you take me without a fight! "Christus!" Sam yelled.
The man chuckled. "I'm not a demon." And his eyes were normal – a friendly brown color, crinkles around the edges. "And a part of you knows that. You'd be chucking rock salt at me otherwise." Sam hadn't expected that – the thing knew how to deal with ghosts, and had just admitted that it's exactly what it was. But he looked nothing like any ghost the Winchesters had ever come across; he wasn't threatening, didn't stink of evil like other spirits. "And did you just listen to yourself?"
"What the fuck?"
"There's no way in hell I'm letting you take me without a fight." The older man returned. "Sounds to me like you're not ready to give up the ghost." And he grinned so hard that Sam wanted to return it.
Almost.
"What the fuck are you?" Sam's voice didn't waver – he was proud of that. Whatever this thing was, it had gotten past the salt lines. But it didn't react to the name of God like a demon would have – even a powerful one.
"The name's Aaron," the older man replied. "Last time I checked, I was a musician. Wanted to be in a band – had dreams of touring all over the world, with a wife I loved and a daughter to write songs about. Then I found out some assholes were going to start Armageddon. So I fought them. And I died. Lost the wife. No daughter to sing the songs I wrote about her." His eyes were screaming with something Sam couldn't even put into words, and then he sighed. "We need to talk, Sam."
Sam wasn't surprised the man knew his name, but the familiarity pissed him off. Like this thing felt it was his place to teach Sam a lesson. Not happening, dude. "You have no idea what's inside me," Sam snapped.
"I know exactly what you have inside of you," Aaron returned. "Shemhezai is rising, Sam. And you're not ready for him. You're not ready at all." He smiled. "But you're not ready to lose. Not yet. That's where I come in."
"You can't just waltz in here and think you're giving me some kind of spiritual pep talk." Sam felt the blaze, tight within his chest. It can't get any harder with a monster inside of you. "I don't need your help."
"Who said anything about a fucking pep talk, Sam?" Aaron frowned. "You want to lie here and wallow? Be my guest. Even that little red-head you boys picked up shows more gumption than you do, and she was raised in the Circle." The accent was stronger the angrier he got.
"Screw you," Sam snapped. "You think I don't know that I'm just feeling sorry for myself?" Maybe he was. But there was a monster inside of him, whittling out Sam Winchester's bones to make room for itself. And there was nothing Sam could do about it – couldn't control the powers that burst from his skin as blue-tinged sigils, or the voice that threatened with an orange fire. He had earned the right to feel a little sorry for himself, paid for it with blood and loss.
"You think hiding until that thing's gotten rid of all of you is going to save your brother?" Aaron looked Sam up and down, disgust clearly written on his features. "Help you make amends to that girl?" Brown eyes narrowed. "You think running is going to make that blonde girl you loved come back? Avenge your mother? Help your father make peace with himself?"
Instinct took over. Sam reached next to him, pulled out the shotgun that Dean always kept next to his bed. The ghost's eyes widened – startled. The expression seemed familiar, but Sam couldn't say from where. He pulled back the bolt and fired. "Fuck you!"
Rock salt sprayed the man right in the face – but Aaron turned his body to keep the mandolin out of the line of fire. Rock salt shredded the wall. Aaron's body shimmered. Intact. He set the mandolin back on the desk. "You're going to have to do a lot better than that to take me out, Sam Winchester. I'm everything you could be if you'd stop trying to fucking shoot me and let me help you."
Sam knew he should be afraid. The damn thing wasn't even stunned by the rock salt. Got past the salt lines. Didn't flinch at the name of God. He felt weak, fell back onto the bed. The stories Charlotte had given him. I'm everything you could be if you'd stop trying to fucking shoot me and let me help you. An entire file folder full of stories. Fucking moron. None of the remedies worked because the ghost staring him down was one of the Beata. The Blessed Children. Endowed with gifts by God himself to withstand the Grigori. And rock salt.
It made sense. Almost. Sam's eyes narrowed. "So why the hell didn't you give me a warning four days ago? Before this crap happened and I could have stopped it." Not facing the succubus would have kept whatever was happening – his Awakening, Charlotte had called it – in check. Out of sight, out of mind. "It would have been a hell of a lot easier to prepare me before the demon started eating me from the inside."
"You're going to get sick of people telling you this," Aaron replied, rolling his eyes. "But you're dealing with a prophecy. They don't exactly have time tables, but events need to progress a certain way. As they're foretold." He lowered his head. "Like that blonde girl."
Aaron was talking about Jessica.
Sam felt something else break inside, another hole rip through him. Sam lost another piece of himself, gone with his beautiful girl – the one whose hair was like the sun. The beautiful girl snuffed out on a ceiling, forever imprinted in his brain while her blood dripped on him, and he could never save her. All he could do was scream at that image, denial pouring through him while he knew she was dead. Dying. Consumed by fire. Tears swelled in his eyes, but there was no way in hell he would cry in front of this asshole.
"She wasn't just an unfortunate casualty." The demon killed Jess just to mess you up, Sam. It likes playing with Winchesters. And there was sorrow in Aaron's face; he cared about the death, was trying to explain to Sam why it happened. "Jessica's death served a purpose," Aaron added.
Sam didn't care. "And what was that?"
"To set you on your road. Confused and lost. Alone."
"So I could fulfill a freaking prophecy?"
Aaron nodded. "And so you would be easier to control. Killing the woman you loved was the best way to force that hand. The other side needs you to be weak, Sam." He lowered his eyes. "No one expected your brother would pick up where your father left off."
Sam folded his arms on his chest. "Let me guess. You're going to tell me you're one of the good guys." But he already knew the answer – the thing inside of him recoiled every time Aaron opened his mouth, secrets that were supposed to control Sam spilling out. Sam guessed he should thank the man for that, at least.
"You need a teacher, Sam."
"I need fucking answers. You just told me Jessica died because of me. Me! Tell me something new." Sam rolled his eyes. "I'm waiting, sensei."
"You're trying to bargain with me, boy?" And Aaron's voice rumbled, eyes sparking blue.
That was it.
"You want me to help you? Tell me who's fucking next. Who will I hurt next? Is it Dean going up on the ceiling the next time, just to throw me off?" That stabbed Sam sharp, right through the chest. "Or do I rape Charlotte Webb?" Armaros inflamed. "Or is it someone I don't even know who gets to die because I'm the fucking chosen one."
"Dean's body won't burn because Arakiel needs it," Aaron replied. The thing within Sam screamed at the admission, like it had lost one of the cards it held – and abruptly stopped moving when Aaron's sharp-eyed gaze snapped on Sam. "Azazeal never got Jessica's soul."
Sam choked. How did this thing know that had been his worst fear? That Jessica would have been dragged to wherever the demon had sprung. That did make the tears spill, for only a second – Sam lowered his head, hands clutching his jeans, to calm himself. Aaron made no move to console him, but didn't mock him, either. "How do you know?" Sam asked, almost an afterthought.
"Jessica Moore was an innocent. Azazeal can take many things, but not one such as her." And the look on Aaron's face, the authority in his voice when he said it, lifted a weight Sam hadn't known he'd been carrying. Jess' soul was safe from the monsters they fought, day in and night out. He'd never have to salt her bones and burn her remains. "Her soul rests, Sam Winchester."
But it still didn't help the loss, fill the hole. It was the anger that helped – the constant companion Sam could muster. Dean had told him to let the anger go. Sam was going to use it to take Azazeal out. And now that he had a name, Sam was going to be able to find it. "Then help me kill it. As soon as Azazeal is dead, I'll fulfill your prophecy."
Aaron sighed. "You're one stubborn son of a bitch."
"I'm a Winchester." And that explained everything. Why Sam was taking the demon down. Why Sam would stand up and fight – no matter the odds – to keep that look of off Dean's face. Sure, he'd spent some time wallowing. Winchesters did that, too. But then they picked themselves right up off their ass and got back to work.
"We're betting on that." There was a smile on the man's face. "But Azazeal is not your task, Sam," Aaron said, voice serious despite the smile. "You need to prepare yourself for the Awakening."
"I'm not preparing for the Awakening until that burning freak is dead!" Sam's eyes blazed. "You people owe me that for Jess. And my mother!"
"You're the last in a very long line, Sam." And the glow emanating off of Aaron became so bright, Sam had to shade his eyes. "Azazeal will fall. That is a promise." The man's voice was tinged with power, a spark that made the thing within Sam's chest start to howl. Pure. Holy.
The moment passed. Even Aaron seemed startled – and when he spoke again, his tone was subdued. "But that will only happen if you're ready for the end. And you're not, Sam. You're not ready at all." And suddenly he looked like he had when he first spoke. A normal man. Only one that was touched by the blood of angels. A glimmer of blue across the skin, a glint of light within his eyes.
Which brought them right back to where they started.
"No shit, Captain Obvious." The thing inside Sam was still gibbering, bashing against the walls of his rib cage in its attempt to get out and confront the man sitting across from him. "And you're the best that God can send me?"
Aaron chuckled. "There's something you need to learn about God, Sam. He doesn't sit around expecting us to do nothing, and then just swoops down to save us. He sets the stage, but we're the ones who act. He didn't send me. I came. And others will come, too."
"Why?"
"Apart from the fact that you're the only chance this world has?" The older man shook his head. "We all have our own Jessica Moores, Sam." Sam saw a fire reflected in Aaron's eyes. "And we were raised to believe that our children would change the world. All we had to do was hold onto it long enough." His voice grew hard. "But the Council betrayed us, our scared duty. So we died reminding them what it meant to be Nephilim." And the look he gave Sam reminded him of Dean. "I was Called and I was Chosen. I died fighting. I fight in death."
Holy shit. The ghost was serious.
But so was Sam. Dean's not dying that way.
"You want to tell me what I need to do to prepare for the Awakening, I'm in." He stared the older man in his glowing blue eyes. "But if I have a shot at Azazeal, I'm taking it for Jess, and my mom, and your prophecy can bite me."
Aaron sighed. "That's not – "
"My task? I know." Sam stood up, stretching. "But it's the best you're getting out of me. Take it or leave it, dude."
Aaron cocked his head to the side, blue eyes piercing through Sam's chest – like he was searching through his soul. Pulling up memories like so many pieces of stars. Dean feeding him Lucky Charms. Jess in a nurse's outfit. Even his mother on the ceiling. Like Aaron was testing him. Seeing if Sam was really worth his time. It might have been creepy, before the monster that was swarming out of the fissures of Sam Winchester's heart. The ghost nodded, once. "We'll help you." What the fuck?
"Right. So how do we do this thing?" Sam didn't care what he had to pledge – he'd give up the tattered remnants of himself if it would avenge his mother, avenge Jess. Save Dean. And Shemhezai had given birth to Azazeal, it was a fitting punishment – a parent for a parent. Let the demon know what it was like to lose the things you loved the most. He just needed to figure out a way to burn the bastard on a ceiling, so Azazeal would get the full effect of what it had done to Sam. And Dean. Max and Charlotte. And the others he had never even met. The others in my dreams.
"You need to start practicing with the sword." Aaron frowned. "You're aware that it's the Light of Dawn?" So that's what Charlotte meant – 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.
"I'm pretty good with a sword," Sam retorted. "Better than Dean." Thanks to the whole wanting to be Luke Skywalker thing. "I'm better than my dad." He had so many things to learn now.
"But you're not good enough to face Alex Masters again without a tranquilizer gun," the ghost said, a knowing smile on his face. "And you better believe he's coming back for the sword."
"Charlotte told me the sword was mine." Sam was shocked by the fierce possessive that twisted through him, in the hollowed out bones of his ribcage. If Shemhezai started whispering 'My preciouss' in the back of Sam's brain, he would not have been surprised.
Aaron nodded. "And she's right. But that doesn't mean the Circle of Enoch doesn't want it back." He smiled, a little sadly. "They'll give it back to you once Shemhezai ascends. Until that happens, you can use it to break the white altar. And if that altar's broken, the Circle of Enoch's Armageddon collapses like a house of cards." The smile on the ghost's face matched the one that flickered across Sam's – until Sam caught a flash of children's faces, unharmed and happy. "Now do you see why we want to help you?"
Sam was beginning to understand. "It's not just revenge."
"No. It's something else. But you're going to have to figure out for yourself what it is we get." And the look on Aaron's face meant one thing to Sam – he'd never get the answer out of the ghost, no matter how he tried. It was hope, and secrets. "And here we go, jumping the gun to your final task." It won't mean anything to you if you don't figure it out for yourself. Aaron sighed."The sword is only the beginning. I also need you to find a book and read it."
"What kind of book?" For a second, he felt just like the old Sam – getting excited about going to class. A bright future. Or at least it was something to look forward to that wasn't the evil coiled around his innards.
Aaron gave him a strange look. "It's a novel."
"You want me to read a fucking novel?"
"You're going to need to know a lot of things, Sam. We all teach our lessons in different ways." The older man looked at him expectantly.
"Fine." Sam shook his head. "What do you want me to read?"
"Illusions: The Adventures of a Reluctant Messiah." The damn thing was smiling. "By Richard Bach."
"You've got to be shitting me."
"What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the master calls a butterfly."
"Oh, man!" Sam rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me the whole book is full of crap like that." And what if Dean caught him reading it? His older brother would have a field day once he got his hand on a book full of half-assed fortune cookie quotes. "And I still don't see how this is going to help me defeat Shemhezai."
"It won't mean anything to you if you don't figure it out for yourself."Aaron raised an eyebrow, but then his mouth twisted. "I can't make you any promises, Sam. It's going to be hard. And people will die along the way."
"Dean?" Sam's throat swelled.
"There's no way of knowing," the ghost replied.
"No way in hell!"
Aaron's eyes were the stars themselves. "You believe in that, Sam. Always keep believing that."
"I –" Sam gulped. "I do." His voice found itself. "I will!"
"Good." The older man nodded and he looked normal again. "I don't have much time." He frowned. "You need to learn how to ground yourself, Sam."
"Okay…" Sam's voice trailed off. "The book and the sword I can do. Who the hell is going to teach me how to ground myself."
"The girl," the ghost replied.
"Charlotte?" Sam tried not to screech, but the idea of Charlotte Webb teaching him anything after he fell down the stairs bordered on the ludicrous. "She's leaving."
"Sometimes people surprise you, Sam. If you give them a chance." Aaron smiled. "And you're both smart kids. Between the two of you, you should be able to figure out a way to make it work." The ghost turned his head quickly towards the door of the room. A very loud voice approached the door. Dean.
"And she'll know what this is?" Sam asked dubiously. "And be able to teach me before we drop her off at the bus station?" he added. There was no way the girl was going to stick around after the thing inside of him pushed her down the stairs.
"One last thing." Aaron's voice was calm, but his eyes were almost blinding. "Tell Charlie she needs to get a new case for the mandolin. And that she might want to oil it more often than she does." The door rattled and Aaron jumped.
"Damn it," Dean said, his voice muffled by the door. "I forgot my cardkey." Sam blinked, getting to his feet, and Aaron disappeared. The only evidence that he had been there in the first place was the rock salt-pitted wall. And Sam didn't feel Shemhezai inside anywhere; when he looked into the mirror, he looked more like himself than he had in days.
Sam crossed the room quickly, opening the door just as Dean attempted to knock on it. He held his breath, hoping Dean would understand the thing inside was not his little brother, but the smile that spilt across his older brother's face when he saw Sam was the only answer he needed. Sam felt a little giddy himself, returning the smile as he opened the door wider. Until he saw Charlotte Webb standing next to Dean on her crutches. Sam's smile disappeared.
"Hey there, little brother!" Dean was remarkably calm – like the red-head standing next to him couldn't just reach out and touch his inner feelings. Sam narrowed his eyes. Dean didn't notice. "You hungry?" his older brother asked. Dean was carrying a couple of McDonald's bags in his left hand, and had a drink carrier tucked precariously under one arm.
"Jesus!" Sam grabbed the drink carrier. "How much food did you get?"
"We're eating for three now, Sammy." Dean walked into the room, followed by Charlotte walking into the room behind him on her crutches. Sam put the drinks on the desk, careful not to knock the mandolin. Dean's eyes flickered to the wall. "Sam, something you not telling me?"
"Bad dream." And he hoped Dean caught her look. I'll tell you later. Sam had to tell Dean about Aaron. Dean needed to know. But he wasn't going to do it in front of the girl.
Dean grimaced. "Bad enough to shoot rock salt at the wall?" He shrugged, eyes searching Sam's face. Sam let out his breath – Dean wouldn't push it in front of Charlotte Webb. Message received.
"I'm having vivid dreams these days," Sam replied lightly. He smiled tentatively at the red-head. "So, Charlotte, you're staying?" Sam hadn't expected that, but the thing inside of him didn't stir. That was a good sign. For now. Dean put his bags of food on the desk near the drinks.
"For a little while," Charlotte said, maneuvering easily through the room to her duffel bag. She's been on crutches before. She had the bag open, and was leaning on one crutch with the other against the wall while she pulled out what looked suspiciously like a daypack – something you'd carry on a plane. "Can't make any promises as to how long," she added, glancing at Dean.
What the hell did they talk about in the hospital, anyway?
Charlotte tossed the bag onto the bed she had slept in the night before, than walked around with the crutches to the nightstand between the beds. She leaned herself against the edge of the bed, setting the crutches on the bed itself. So she can get them without asking one of us. And then she tried to slide up onto the bed, ending up stumbling. Sam looked away – she was trying so hard to be self-reliant. But Dean had already jerked forward to steady her. "Thanks," she said softly.
She was already settling herself on the bed, pulling something out of the daypack, when Sam looked at her again. "So what's the verdict?" Sam asked, sitting opposite Charlotte on the chair the ghost had used.
"Broken leg," Dean replied. "Courtesy of the goddamn thing in your head."
"How bad?" Sam had to know.
Dean shrugged and looked at Charlotte. She had pulled out a set of headphones, and plugged them into an iPod. And she hadn't gotten the MP3 player out of the bathroom yet. How many iPods can one person own? She leaned against the pillows behind her back, closing her eyes. Wrapped her right hand around the biggest scar on her left arm. When she didn't say anything, Dean frowned. "It's just a simple fracture," he said. "She'll be in a cast for about eight weeks."
Sam whistled. "That sucks." He wanted to apologize, but saying something about your inner demons sucking face didn't open the door to the optimal conversational segue. And Sam wasn't even sure it was true – Armaros was coming at Charlotte Webb from the outside. Shemhezai couldn't get in. At least not now.
"She won't be bull rushing us anytime soon," Dean agreed, "But she can use that head-butt sitting down." Dean had his back to Charlotte, opening bags. She didn't rise to his challenge – just kept her eyes closed. "So be careful when you give her the hamburger, dude." Dean handed Sam a Big Mac, eyes flickering at Charlotte. Dean frowned. "She likes to go left."
Charlotte sighed, opening her eyes. She slipped the headphones around her neck, and Sam could hear music coming from them as he walked closer. Depeche Mode? Sounded a lot like it. Her hand jerked back like a shot when he accidentally brushed her wrist. "Thank you, Sam." And she wouldn't touch him again when Sam handed her the Big Mac for the second time. Is she that scared of the thing inside me?
"So how long is a little while?" Sam asked, sitting back down in his chair. He pulled a Big Mac out of the closest bag. "A couple of weeks? Hey, we could drop you off in DC, so you could avoid the bus." He smiled at her. "Lots of weirdoes on the bus. People you might want to avoid."
Dean flashed him a look. Are you fucking out of your mind, Sammy? Maybe he was. Sam still couldn't knock the feeling that Charlotte could be a friend – which was probably her mojo. He got that. Dean said it made you want to like her, made you want to help her when she was hurt. So maybe it really pulled a number on you when you were the one who broke her leg.
"I usually fit right in with the weirdoes," Charlotte returned off-handedly. She pulled the paper away from her hamburger, biting into it delicately. She still looked tired, and a little pale. And serious – Sam wasn't used to that. Dean ran from being serious like he ran from most things. Jess could be serious when she needed to be, but Charlotte Webb rarely cracked a smile. Except when she was poisoned by a succubus.
"I don't doubt that, Girl Genius," Dean said. Oh, shit. Dean was actually going there. And he thought Sam was crazy? Fucking moron. Leave it to Dean to provoke the only trained psychic in the room, like he needed her to fight back to justify his anger – the exact same defense he used on Missouri.
"May I have my shake, please?" Charlotte took another careful bite of her hamburger.
"Sure." Dean's shoulders tensed, his voice hard. "No problem." He set it next to her on the nightstand between the beds, and then pulled something out of his pocket – a bottle of pills – and handed it to her.
She took it from Dean with the same deliberate intention as she had the Big Mac, wary of touching his hand. "Thank you." Charlotte set the bottle next to her shake on the nightstand, hand trembling.
And that's when her mojo kicked in. Sam watched as Dean's shoulders slumped, and he lowered his eyes. At least Sam didn't feel like he was breaking every rule of the road by wanting to be nice to her. "Look, Charlie." Dean waited until they made eye contact. "The next couple weeks are going to suck if you're always thanking us for handing you stuff."
"The next couple of weeks are just going to suck," the red-head replied. "Once the percocet wears off, you'll figure out why my mother was always making donations to the hospital." And she was smiling – a little shy smile that Sam would never have guessed her using in a million years.
"That's where Sammy comes in." Dean returned, his eyebrows raised. "One look from those puppy dog eyes of his, and you'll be towing the line." He smiled back at her. "I told you Winchester boys are prepared."
"Puppy dog eyes?" What the fuck! What happened to not trusting the girl? "I'm sitting right here, asshole."
Dean chuckled, and started pulling off his shirt.
"Dude!" Sam yelped. "What are you doing?"
"Getting ready to take a shower before I eat. I'm dirty as hell, man."
Sam coughed. "Opstay ippingstray inway ontfray ofway ethay irlgay."
"It's not like she hasn't seen me in my boxers before, Francis, and all I'm doing is taking off my shirt," Dean retorted. He walked over to his own duffel bag, pulling out a new pair of boxers and shaking his head. "Pig Latin? Dude."
"I was trying to be subtle." Sam glanced at Charlotte; she was still calmly eating her hamburger.
"Whatever, man." Dean was still shaking his head as he walked into the bathroom. And Sam noticed the look that flashed between his older brother and Charlotte Webb – and it stung a little to realize that Dean hadn't shut the door all the way, kept it open a crack. The skin on Sam's cheeks burned. So when I become Shemhezai and she starts screaming, Dean will hear her. They didn't have to be so goddamn obvious about it.
Sam stared at Charlotte, listening to Dean putter around in the bathroom. His older brother found the MP3 player, because music started pouring out of the crack in the door. "Goddamn," Dean barked after ten seconds. "You're never driving my car." Then there was grunt, and the music was replaced by the familiar strains of "Enter Sandman." The shower started running.
"So," Sam said. Charlotte took small bites of her hamburger, methodical and a little slow. If she was worried about the beast erupting out of Sam's belly now that they were alone, she wasn't acting like it.
"So."
"This is pretty awkward," Sam admitted.
That pulled another small smile out of her. "What isn't awkward about this, Sam? I've got a list with checkmarks next to every inept thing I've done since I met you."
"We'll have to compare lists sometime, " Sam chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. She was nicer than he thought she'd be, broken leg and all. Without Dean constantly pushing her buttons. "But I need to ask you something."
"Can it wait until morning?" A shadow crossed her face. "I'm tired."
"It's important." But Sam couldn't bring himself to ask the question when her gray eyes focused on his face. What if she's using her mojo on me right now? He coughed, taking a deep breath. "How do you apologize to someone for the monster inside of you? Tell them that you're really sorry they got hurt because you weren't ready to deal with what was happening?"
"Just like that." Charlotte's gray eyes were serious, and her face opened completely.
Sam's throat swelled. Sometimes people surprise you, Sam. If you give them a chance.
She was watching him, a shy girl in glasses. And then she sighed. "This is still pretty awkward. At least you didn't see me having sex with your brother in the back of a car, or something." She took another bite of her hamburger, swallowed as she watched Sam thoughtfully. "Because that would be really awkward."
"I didn't see much." Dean kept your shoes on. "Anyway, uh…"
"That was supposed to be a joke at my expense, Sam. Didn't anyone ever teach you about falling onto your own sword?" Charlotte smiled – a real smile. "Why is it that no one ever gets my jokes."
"It must be such a big pain being so smart no one gets your jokes," Sam retorted.
"Something like that." Charlotte reached for her pill bottle and opened it. Popped the pill and took a little sip of her milkshake, head cocked like she was trying to figure him out. "I can't even wash my hair now without someone's help." She gestured down at her leg in its cast.
"Dean signed your cast?" He couldn't think of anything else to say to that.
She nodded. "Said I looked like a loser. I can't tell if it says 'screw you,' or if that's just how he signs his name." She lifted her head, making a show of looking at her cast.
Something cracked inside of Sam Winchester – a door opening, as unguarded as her eyes.
He had to tell someone. Maybe it was even better that it wasn't Dean.
"I never stopped to think about what it was like," Sam said. Calm. Conversational. "Getting possessed. All those people we save, and I never once thought to ask them what it was like." He snorted. "Well, now I know. How scared you are when you're stuck in the back of your head, watching some thing inside of you move. Speak with your voice. And all you can do is scream inside of yourself, wishing you could come back."
Sam spit out the words quickly; he wouldn't be able to say them if he stopped. "And then it hurts someone." His breath caught. "Oh God, all I could think about was what would I do if it hurt Dean? Or killed someone?" He lowered his head. "And Dean. He brought me back." She didn't say anything, just watched him talk. "I don't know how long I can hold onto myself. I can't ever get away from it. It even talks to me in my dreams."
"For how long?" Her voice was soft, but she looked like she was getting ready to bolt off the bed.
"Months, I guess. And they're nightmares. I thought they were part of the visions I was getting, but now I'm not so sure."
"Beata are called to their duties by dreams and visions. Makes sense that the other side would do the same thing; their powers have the same origin, even if they are corrupted." She frowned. "You're getting messages from both sides."
"Seems so."
"I don't envy you for the world, Sam."
That surprised him. His head shot up, and she was looking at him. The way Charlotte had looked at Dean when he finally fell asleep, one hand on his forehead while she watched him breathe. Sam's heart lurched, stuttering against his chest. She was worried about him.
"I'm turning into a monster," Sam said softly.
"Maybe knowing that is what you need to stay Sam Winchester." She made a face.
"Maybe." Sam shook his head, took a breath. Cleared his thoughts. "Is there a way to work on that? To not lose myself?"
"To work on not losing yourself?" Charlotte's eyes widened. Sam recognized the expression. Oh, fuck me. Aaron was related to her. Uncle? Maybe even father – he was the right age, but they didn't look that much alike. And if she was using her mojo, Charlotte just missed a big fucking clue. "You're talking about a mental defense?" she asked.
Sam nodded. So not going there with the Aaron thing. "Isn't it called 'grounding?' Wiccans do it all the time, right?" Smooth…
"I don't know much about Wicca," Charlotte returned dubiously, "But I use meditation to center myself. Usually with mu –" She stopped herself. "Everyone has their own technique, Sam." The red-head shook her head, registering his stare. "Oh, no. You're asking me to teach you!" Charlotte looked annoyed, right into his eyes. "There's a reason I work with dead languages." She closed the paper around her hamburger, slowly – glaring at him as she set it in her lap. "I'm not a people person."
"I need help." Sam wished like hell his voice didn't crack.
"No." Arms folded, chin raised as she continued to stare him down. "It's bad enough I'm still here, Sam Winchester. There's no way in hell I'm putting myself in a position to touch…"
"The thing inside of me." Sam shook his head. "I'm not asking you to do that. I just want you to teach me how to ground myself." He sighed, lowering his head. He had to make her understand. Sam couldn't run. But he had to learn how to protect himself. To protect Dean. Charlotte was still staring at him when he raised his head. "Please," he added.
"God has a sick sense of humor," Charlotte muttered, arms around her stomach. But then a thought occurred – and a smile spread across her features, like she was watching the Whos down in Whoville. "You want my help? Ask Dean. If he's OK with it, I'll help you."
"Dean?" Why the fuck would Dean need to be told about this? Had Dean already laid down the "my way, or the highway" rule with Charlotte Webb? Right up there with the music crap – Driver picks the music, shot gun shuts his cake hole.
"Take it or leave it." Charlotte was almost as goddamn stubborn as freaking Dean.
"You think you can help him, Charlie?" Neither of them realized the music had stopped, or that the bathroom door had opened. Well, Sam hadn't – Charlotte probably knew Dean was watching the whole time. Could sense him there with her Gift. Dean stood in the bathroom doorway wearing a pair of boxer shorts, towel wrapped over his shoulders. He was being considerate.
"Maybe." She scowled. "I have a better chance teaching you."
"Like that's happening, sweetheart." He shrugged his shoulders. "So you'll help my little brother?" She nodded, turning to look away from him. Sam thought she was blushing. Dean didn't seem to notice. "Alright." He snorted. "I still smell like succubitch." Dean threw his towel near the pile by the door. "Which sucks, because I'm hungry. And succubitch ruins my appetite."
"That's where you're wrong, Dean." Sam shook his head, chuckling. Never underestimate the power of my older brother's pectorals. Charlotte Webb was going to help him."You really wanted strawberries."
Dean's head whipped in his direction, eyes stormy. Sam shrugged his shoulders. What the hell did I say? "Succubus poison sucks rocks," his older brother said softly, walking over to the desk and picking up a bag of food. Dean brought it with him and set it next to Charlotte's bottle of pills. "Think we can leave in the morning, Sammy?"
"Do you feel like leaving in the morning?" Sam asked. "We all look like hell."
"Not really, but sitting here for three days while Geek Boy gets his panties in a bunch over research books isn't high on my list of things to do while recuperating." He glanced at Charlotte. "And she needs her rest, too. No late nights for Charlie or her translation program."
Sam grinned. "OK. I promise."
"Are you two really sure about this?" Charlotte asked suddenly. "Because it's not too late. I can stick around for a couple of days, and leave on the bus when you're both ready to go wherever it is you're planning to go."
Dean frowned. "We asked you to come, didn't we?" He looked sick – and Sam didn't blame him. This was like going on a road trip with Missouri Mosely, and there were few people Dean avoided faster than Missouri. The girl who could reach out and touch someone probably wasn't high on his list of traveling companions. Which begged the question of why Dean had asked her in the first place. Sam figured he really didn't want to know the answer, because it probably had something to do with him. And Shemhezai.
Yeah, shouldn't have gone there. He coughed. "We need your help," Sam added. Dean raised an eyebrow. "Well, I need your help. Enochian's all Greek to me." Another smile flickered across her face. He leaned forward conspiratorially. "Dean needs a personality consultant."
Dean sat back onto the bed, back against the headboard, and looked at her. And then he smirked. Oh, fuck me. "So, do you prefer Emo Girl or Book Bag Avenger? I'm leaning towards Book Bag Avenger." Damn Dean and his stupid road trip initiation rituals. His older brother chuckled. "I'm going to be telling that story to Sammy's grandkids."
"Dean." Sam shook his head. A warning. Shut the fuck up, idiot.
"Hey, Sam. This is serious. Every cute girl sidekick needs a code name."
Sam choked. Dean pulled a hamburger out of his bag. Charlotte waited until he had just taken a bite out of it before snatching the pill bottle off the nightstand and whipping it towards Dean. It rattled as it arced through the air, smacking sharply into the wall about two feet past Dean's head, and landed next to him on the bed.
"Sidekick?" Charlotte asked softly, eyebrows arched. Cute sidekick? The girl wore cardigans.
"It was sidekick that got you?" Dean grinned. "Because I was really betting on Book Bag Avenger."
"You scored points for Book Bag Avenger," the red-head replied as Sam took a bite of his own hamburger. She returned his grin with one of her own. "It's why I aimed for the wall."
"You were aiming for my head."
"You should just be happy that I throw as well as I shoot a gun."
Dean didn't get a chance to make his snappy comeback. "You fire a gun," Sam said automatically. "You shoot the demons." It was one of Dad's biggest pet peeves – the whole idea that you shoot a gun. Even had a whole crack about sticking a gun into a howitzer to shoot it. Dean's eyebrow twitched, and Charlotte had a dazed expression for a couple of seconds, like she'd just been smacked upside the head with a two-by-four.
And then she and Dean took one look at each other and burst out laughing. "Sammy," Dean managed. Whatever the hell Sam had said, it was fucking funny. If you were in on the joke. When you weren't in on the joke, you just sat there feeling stupid. Except hearing them laugh – watching Dean laugh, even if it wasn't the usual full-on laughing mode – felt pretty good. Which made Sam grin.
Until he felt a slither through his ribcage, a growl deep inside.
A/N:
No overtly fangirly references in this one, apart from the generic comic book geekiness. What can I say? It was a slow week.
The title is a song by Depeche Mode.
Didn't like it? Let me know — I crave feedback and won't get any better without it. Did the boys seem off to you? I can fix it if you tell me. (And this is my first time writing Sam's POV, so any concrit would be most welcome.) Hope the Enochian lore is almost over? So do I, because now it's time to start telling the whole story. And if you liked it, a little note saying so would be likewise greatly appreciated.