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. Sam's picking himself up off his ass and getting back to work, because there's no way in hell that Dean's going to die. Prophecy or not.
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: Charlotte Webb, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester
Rating: PG (Angst. No shirtless Dean in this one. But I did put in some Impala love.)
Summary: Cows, claymation, crap cars and confessions. The things a girl's got to do.
Feedback: Absolutely!
Miscellaneous: As always, this would not have been possible without the brilliance of JMM0001, who not only had me giggling with her notes but told me the chapter worked (even when it didn't go the way I had planned). And for continuing to thwack me with a stick, because I need it; even on the best of days. As always, the good parts are because of her. The bad parts are all me. And this chapter is dedicated to wenchpixie, who keeps telling me that Charlie can stand on her own.
Chapter Six: The Baby Screams
Breakfast was a ritual complete with offerings – usually grease-covered fried eggs and equally greasy hashed browns, with stacks of pancakes next to slices of toast overloaded with butter and, in Dean's case, strawberry jam.
Even Sam – who usually attempted to eat food not inherently designed to welcome heart disease – had indulged in the greasiest meal at every dirty spoon they came across during the last week. And the Winchesters had an uncanny knack for tracking down hole-in-the-wall diners; Dean pointing the Impala unerringly down the road where an unhealthy breakfast could be purchased as a blue-plate special for less than five dollars.
They ate like starving men – Dean scooping up mouthfuls of fried eggs with his toast, Sam ordering sides of bacon and sausage like there was a meat shortage. Shoveling down food with a careless abandon, completely unaware of the looks the other patrons gave them as they planned their daily route – moving around until something came up to investigate. Laughing and joking with each other, especially when they forgot that Charlotte was sitting there watching them – eating a bowl of oatmeal along with a banana. Family.
In the three weeks it took to find the Winchesters, breakfasts were never like this. Alex was fastidious about what he ate – those who worked for the Council needed to be in prime physical condition. And they were quiet – Alex eating his egg-white omelet while going over his notes, reviewing his messages on his Blackberry. If Charlotte even attempted to make small talk, Alex would give her the same look they all gave her. Charlotte Anne Webb had traitor's blood pumping through her veins. Every action was questioned, every day was a test of devotion to the Circle. And every day, Charlotte was found wanting.
The Winchesters' breakfast ritual never included a litany of every mistake she made the previous day – unless you counted Sam's complaints about her snoring.
Their third day out of Milwaukee, Charlotte succumbed to temptation. Sam's eyes widened when she rattled off an order of double biscuits and sausage gravy with a side of bacon, but Dean chuckled when she added a banana as an afterthought. He even shared his toast with her when she was still hungry, slathered in butter and strawberry jam – which made Sam's eyes go even wider and a sharp shock rustle through him. Charlotte didn't flinch. How could they learn to trust her if every move betrayed that she knew what they felt? And she wanted them to trust her.
Sometimes wanting wasn't enough.
Her shields were returning – she'd spent a day trying to get the inner one back, deadened as she was by the Percocet. Listening to techno, mostly – using the repetitive nature of the music as a focus. Only strong emotions were getting through her shields, those so sharp that they whittled through her. And the inner one never fell. Dean seemed to think that Charlotte spent her entire day sitting in the back of the car, keeping herself open like a wide area antenna – making cracks about how she got better reception with her headphones on. Sam acted like her silence was merely Charlotte's attempt at being polite while she sifted through their insides with her brain, filing away everything they felt – everything they thought – for some later purpose. Like she was a telepath. She wished that she trusted them enough to tell the truth.
The truth was that feelings hurt. Charlotte went through life blocking out most emotions because the pleasure of other people caused real pain – a lesson learned from her mother. Not the pain that came from being angry, or saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, but the pain of cutting someone. Killing someone. Making them burn. There were those who enjoyed the power that simply taking a life could bring, and the pleasure derived from its pain – her mother with Azazeal inside of her, the burning hands that made her watch. Always the power and the pain.
In Charlotte's nightmares, her gift was practical. She could kill. It was simply a matter of falling into his destiny, hand-in-hand with the smile that unleashed Armageddon. So along with silence, she cultivated walls. No less than six at any given time, between herself and the people she was supposed to call family. No less than six shields present when she walked the halls of the building she was supposed to call home. And when she needed them, there were more. Wrapped around her like an onion.
But the moment Dean Winchester looked at her with the eyes of a son who lost his mother, she dropped them all – dropped everything because his eyes looked like he lived with loss every day. Having sex in the Impala had left her shaken – she'd never needed anyone the way she needed Dean Winchester in the back of that car, like he was the other half of her soul and she would get it back, even if only for the ephemeral seconds he was inside of her – but the instinct to trust him was dangerous. A week later, it was the instinct that remained.
Their seventh day on the road, Charlotte didn't even order the banana. And she added a short stack of pancakes.
"Want a little pancake with your syrup?" Dean quipped; she'd poured too much damn syrup on them. Sam snorted, looking at her out of the corner of his eye – waiting to see if she would get upset or laugh.
"If you didn't insist on stealing all the Ding Dongs at lunch, I'd already be getting my sugar fix," Charlotte retorted, giving Sam a side-long grin. Dean laughed with her, comfortable. "A girl's got to make do with you Winchester boys," she added.
They both looked at her then, relaxed in the rhythm of their journey – even with the empath sitting in the booth next to Dean; neither of them caring that she was bringing Alex Masters down on them as surely as they were all breathing.
And if Alex found them, he would kill her. He would kill Dean. Shemhezai would rise out of Sam Winchester – a boy so innocent that he believed she needed his help. Because Shemhezai just needed the bodies intact – not even whole. He didn't need the souls inside. Isn't that what Richard Masters had told her mother while Charlotte burned?
Charlotte shuddered, fork dropping out of her hand. Cracking on her plate. The clatter echoed through the Yellow Hen – two of the regulars sitting at the counter turned to look at her, before shaking their heads and turning back to their breakfast.
"You okay?" It was Sam. Dean was just looking at her, like he was trying to figure out what he'd done wrong.
"I'm fine," Charlotte returned. At least she hoped she would be. "I haven't been sleeping well." The dreams were getting stronger each night, a front-row seat in the retribution play. Dreams of exactly what the Circle would do to them, what Alex was planning as punishment.
"You having nightmares?" That was Dean. His voice was short, undercut by the tang of fear. Charlotte caught a flash of the white altar. She walked with him there, that first night. In his dreams. Charlotte wondered if he even remembered.
"Since we left Wisconsin," Charlotte confirmed. Dean didn't press the subject, but Sam had already opened his mouth to ask the question. "Not about Shemhezai. Personal things."
"Handsome demon hunters who steal your Ding Dongs?" Dean asked. Relief flooded through him. No dreams of Sam Winchester and the white altar.
"Demon hunters, anyway." Charlotte picked up her fork and began tackling her eggs. She accidentally ripped open the yolk. "Shoot!" Charlotte carefully tore off a piece of toast and stuck it in the hole so that the yolk wouldn't spread all over her plate. "No Ding Dongs," she added.
Sam looked at her thoughtfully. "Circle stuff?"
"Sammy," Dean's voice slithered between them, annoyed. "You like it when people ask you the opening up questions?" Charlotte's eyes flickered right at him, a little startled. But he looked like he was curious himself – Dean had been the one to ask her questions about how the Circle was structured, where it kept its libraries, if they had safe-houses. A reconnaissance mission for his father, like the good soldier he had been raised to be.
"It's OK." Charlotte smiled. "And Sam's right. It is about Circle stuff." Sam didn't press at that point, either – just continued looking at her like he wanted to fix her. The boy with the demon inside still wanted to help other people. Even someone like her. Jacob was right about him the whole time.
"You really are one of the good guys, Dean," she continued. She'd have figured it out sooner if he wasn't also the world's biggest prick. But he cared. Probably too much, which was the problem. Dean made a face. "You both are," Charlotte added, flushing. She knew it was maudlin and Sam suddenly found something on the wall that held definite interest. But Charlotte felt safe with them, a feeling she'd never known with anyone but Jimmy and Maggie since... My father. Not even with Miles.
And she liked them. Another line on the long list of things Charlotte never expected.
"You know you eat your eggs like a freak," Dean pointed out. He was gesturing to her plate, where she had put the piece of toast into the yolk. "Is that how special operatives eat breakfast? Like a crazy person?" He grinned.
"I've eaten my eggs like this since I was little." Charlotte shrugged her shoulders. "I never liked the egg whites, so I ate them first, and then saved the yolks for my toast. My father thought it was funny." She gave Sam another side-long glance; the younger Winchester returned her grin. "Do you honestly have nothing better to do than watch a freak eat her fried eggs?"
"Anyway…" Dean's voice trailed off, and he glanced at Sam with a strange expression on his face. Charlotte could almost hear his thought on that one – Girls are fucking weird, Sammy. "So what's the agenda, Sam?"
Sam stretched out the map on the table next to him, finger trailing down a route. "We should be in Madison around dinner-time," Sam said. "Earlier if you drive."
"I was thinking that we should split up for this one." Dean scratched his arm absentmindedly. "I'll take the bar, and you and Girl Genius can go on a stakeout. There's a grocery store right next to the church." He pulled out the newspaper article, gesturing to a one story building with a huge sign on top that said Peachin's General Store.
"Are you crazy?" Sam nearly yelped.
"What part of my academic resume makes you think I should go on a stakeout?" Charlotte slammed her glass of orange juice on the table, glaring at Dean. What the hell are you thinking? "Do gargoyles speak Greek? Because that's news to me."
Dean shrugged. "Hey, it's an easy gig. Gargoyles don't hurt people. They're mischievous." He lowered his voice. "But it's a farming community and they do go after things like cows. Could hurt a smaller farm."
"You're sending me on a job to save a cow?" Charlotte laughed; Dean looked too sincere for it to actually be an insult. "And how do you suggest I get onto the rooftop of a building with my leg in a cast?"
"On crutches," Sam added. He clearly thought the idea of Charlotte assisting on the job was just as stupid as she did – much to Dean's obvious annoyance. "Why can't she go into the bar with you? Her gift would help, wouldn't it?" Dear God. Sam was trying to turn her into a Hunter, too. "I mean, she's trained to interact with people," the younger Winchester added.
"You know I have my own special interrogation techniques," Dean returned. "Charlie would ruin my mojo."
Sam snorted. "You just wanted to pick up chicks and dump Charlotte with me for the night."
"She needs to learn how to protect herself," Dean countered. "And gargoyles are the easiest gig, Sammy. You know that. They fly around, eat livestock, and then go to sleep on something that reminds them of home. Like that church."
"Are you planning on hand-to-hand classes when she's out of the cast?" Sam looked disgusted. "I'll start looking up firing ranges when we get to the hotel. And maybe Jet Li takes credit cards and will give her martial arts lessons." He shook his head. "She's a psychic, Dean. We can't expect her to fight the way we do. Physically."
"She's sitting right here!" Charlotte interjected as they turned to glare at her – obviously she wasn't supposed to join in on the conversation. Arguing was something the Winchesters had perfected into an art form, and interruptions only broke their stride. "Here's a plan. Dean can go to the bar and get laid, Sam can go hang out on the roof of a grocery store not getting laid, and Charlotte can stay in the motel room watching Scrubs." She frowned. "I do know how to lay salt lines. I can even manage a purification ritual with a little salt and water. Why don't I handle that?"
"I could get laid if I wanted to," Sam glowered.
Dean muttered, "And I'm not going to…" His voice trailed off and he scratched the back of his head.
"The point is that I'm not a Hunter." Charlotte picked up her orange juice, tried to take another sip. "I don't even want to be one." She frowned. "And with an uninterrupted evening, I can finish coding another block of the translation program. Maybe even get started on the next one."
Dean gave Sam a side-long glance, and his eyes hardened. "Look, Charlie," he snapped, "We don't know how long it's going to take to figure this thing out. Sam and I don't exactly take care of puppies for a living. You could get hurt." He scratched underneath his left ear. Dean was uncomfortable, not sure how to get the words out. He grimaced. "I'm not asking that you hunt with us. We – " and Dean glanced at Sam before he continued. " – just want to know you're not going to end up getting killed."
"Let me get this straight. You want to take me on hunts to protect me, instead of letting me stay in the motel?" Charlotte's mouth twisted. "Do you have any idea how ridiculous that sounds?"
"What happens to you when the Circle shows up at the motel?" Dean countered. "You think Alex Masters is going to wait for us?"
Sam looked at her, a haunted expression in his eyes; another feeling so strong it came out as a thought. Or if Dean is out and Shemhezai takes over.
Charlotte felt her own eyes softening in response, the argument stopped up in her throat before it could be fully voiced. Damn them! They weren't lying. This had nothing to do with protecting their own butts out on a job; if it had, she'd be out the door and in the Impala by now – pulling on her headphones to block out their anger, waiting to watch the scenery as they drove past. But it wasn't. Their concern was genuine – and you didn't need to be an empath to see it. Like I'm becoming a friend.
A friend who doesn't trust them isn't a friend.
She dropped her glass of orange juice on the table, splashing juice against herself. Charlotte felt the slow rush of heat up her cheeks when one of the regulars made another crack about her, loud enough to hear. She grabbed a paper napkin out of the dispenser and began wiping the map down with it. Ineffectually. Sam reached over to try and help her. "I'm so sorry," she blurted. "I've always been a clutz and – "
"Jesus, Charlie!" Dean's voice was hard again, and she recoiled; tried to cover it up just as quickly. Charlotte could barely bring herself to look into his eyes. He sounded like Alex Masters. "It's just a freaking map," he added, as they made eye contact. "It's OK." Dean sounded like he was talking to a child, or an animal. A frightened animal. Crap. He had seen her flinch.
"I'll handle the gargoyles by myself, Dean," Sam added. "We should have talked to Charlotte first about what she wanted, instead of just dumping it on her." His blue-green eyes shot her up and down, and he smiled softly. "Besides, the quicker you get that program done, the quicker we can start doing more research."
"True enough." And the quicker I can leave. "And I can sense Alex Masters coming. I trained myself to do it." She sighed, trying to wipe the orange juice off her sweater – but it had already soaked into the fabric. "I'm never going to be like the two of you," Charlotte added.
"Witty?" Sam asked.
Dean grunted. "Or handsome?"
"Brave." And she said it with such finality, neither Winchester could respond. Sam frowned – trying to think of something consoling to say. Dean just gave her that look again, like he was trying to figure out what she really meant. Charlotte returned the gaze. "The price of betrayal, Dean. Remember? The last time I did something brave, I was six."
"The last time you did something brave was a week ago," Sam said. And he had a stubborn look in his eye. The same look they both got when they were expecting an argument, and just as unwilling to back down from it.
Dean nodded. "Much as I hate to admit getting knocked on my ass by a ninety-pound girl, you probably did save my life." The older Winchester looked at her briefly and then back at his plate. "And taking on that succubitch was gutsy. Hell, Charlie, you didn't even have a gun."
"I have a confession to make." It was Charlotte's turn to blush. "I didn't exactly knock you down." Two pairs of eyes stared at her. "I used the momentum from the succubus to get Dean on the ground."
"You let the succubus hit you?" Sam nearly choked on his apple juice.
Charlotte nodded. "I've never knocked anyone down in my life, so it's a good thing the laws of physics work." And then it was time to add insult to the injury. "And that I weigh a lot more than ninety pounds," she added.
Dean's eyes widened, and he burst out laughing – actually leaned back in the booth while he laughed so hard, tears stood in his hazel eyes. Charlotte expected that; Dean liked a good joke as much as anyone. Sam's eyes narrowed and he made a slight scowl – mouth a thin line. And he was upset, annoyance fluttering in his stomach. Whatever Sam was thinking, it had nothing to do with the succubus. He wasn't talking about it. Dean didn't seem to notice.
"So do we have a plan?" Dean asked, eyes still twinkling.
Sam nodded. "Yeah. Are you driving?" He was pulling out his wallet, putting some money on the table.
"Sure as hell not letting Charlie drive after hearing that Yoko crap she likes to sing when she's in the bathroom," Dean retorted. He slid out of the booth, grabbing her crutches from where she had leaned them up against the wall. "And I'm being nice by calling it singing."
"She's on crutches, doofus," Sam snapped. "Don't be a jerk."
"Since when does being honest make me a jerk?" Dean retorted. He was right; her singing was awful. It never stopped her from trying, though. "You coming or not, Girl Genius?" Dean added, holding out his hand to help her out of the booth.
"I think I can stand up by myself, Dean."
"Suit yourself." Dean shrugged his shoulders, and then he turned and walked out the door – but not before giving the cute brunette waitress a grin on the way.
Charlotte slid down the length of the booth when he was gone, pulling herself into a standing position by bracing one hand on the table and the other on the wall behind the booth. He'd left the crutches for her.
Sam coughed, and she turned to look at him. "You don't touch Dean, either."
"Excuse me?" Charlotte nearly jumped. How closely had Sam Winchester been watching her? Two days ago, Charlotte made the mistake of taking Dean's hand; the flash of lust that poured through her when a blonde waitress walked by was more than unsettling – she almost fell back into her chair from the shock.
"At first I thought it was just me. That it was because you didn't want to touch Shemhazai," Sam said. His blue-green eyes stared at her, hard. The way Dean stared when he was trying to figure her out. "But you don't touch Dean, either. Not if you can avoid it."
Charlotte didn't know what to say to that – Sam was right. She didn't touch anyone if she could avoid it. Charlotte could live with the glimmers of feeling rushing through her as she walked through a crowd, the occasional flash of a particularly strong emotion worming its way through a crack in her outer shields; but to actively drop into someone, to find the dark spots that required absolution, was something she avoided. Touching someone, even for a brief moment, could trigger the gift.
And the gift was fickle, Calling Charlotte Webb when she least expected it.
"Hey!" Dean popped his head back into the diner, impatience quickening towards them. "You two coming, or are you just going to stare at each other like two moony retards?"
"He's been waiting a week to pull that line on you," Charlotte said softly.
Sam chuckled. "I know. My brother's a prick."
"Lucky for him that Winchester boys are cute." Charlotte saw the catch in Sam's shoulders as she followed him towards the door. Oh, God. He's worried about Dean and me. She wanted to tell Sam she had a boyfriend, and that his older brother was definitely not her type – but the man in question was in earshot. "Or else he'd have a world of hurt waiting for him every time he opened his mouth," she added, passing through the door past Dean. "I don't know how you do it, Sam."
"Do what?" Dean asked, holding open the door for her.
She smiled at Dean. "Put up with you."
"I'm saintly," Sam returned, bestowing a subdued version of the same grin that his older brother used on waitresses. He walked around to the front passenger seat, and Charlotte heard a click when he put his hand on the door. Her eyes narrowed – he'd never actively used telekinesis around her since the first night. When he blew up the demon. What the hell kind of message was he trying to send anyway?
Charlotte shrugged her shoulders and Dean unlocked the back door for her. He felt uneasy – a sharp stab right through her stomach – and when they made eye contact, Dean was the one to look away. What the hell?
She braced herself against her duffel bag – she'd been using it as a pillow whenever they traveled – and pulled out the pink iPod. Traveling music was definitely in order. Sam and Dean passed a look between them as she pulled on her headphones, turned on her music. Dean was going to listen to Zeppelin again, but her own headphones were turned up so loud, she barely registered the opening notes of "Kashmir."
They had barely pulled out of town when she closed her eyes.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"Do you see?"
The cold voice. The cold that snatches. Liquid ice against the skin, the freezing blaze in her heart. Did she see?
"Yes."
She saw. Watched from outside the shell, the fleshy skin. Hanging off his bones like so many tatters. Cracked against the white altar. But she remembered his eyes. Cold now against the shattered skin. Dead now on the white altar. And the cold voice, laughing, as light coalesces.
Ascends.
"He can stop this."
The warm voice. The voice at night. A blanket under the stars, when the wind blows through the open window.
"Do you see?"
And she did. The other, blowing through her. Her hands, holding him as he fell – farther and faster than they had ever fallen in dreams, than they had ever fallen before. Than they would ever fall again.
"He's not ready."
The line snaps.
"Couldn't ask for more."
And she screams.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"Easy now."
There was a weight on Charlotte's chest, pushing hard. Constricting. She reached a hand to her cheek. It was damp, slick with tears. And her throat hurt, like she'd been screaming. Heaven, give me a sign. Something cold against her lips, something wet. Water. And arms around her, holding her up while she drank. Concern wrapped around her like a blanket. A blanket under the stars when the wind blows through the open window.
Charlotte opened her eyes. Dean was holding a bottle of water to her mouth, hazel eyes watching her furiously as she drank. But he wasn't holding her. Sam had her on the ground, braced up against him with his arms around her. Why the hell wasn't she in the car? Charlotte lurched forward, his hands were on her arms. His hands were on her arms. And the weight. It hurt, banded about her chest with iron.
"I said easy now."
That was Dean. The voice. Charlotte reached up both hands to take the water bottle, drinking slowly. The constriction eased as Dean fell back on his heels, glancing at Sam over her head. They were both worried, but fear was bouncing off Dean with orange sparks. Charlotte whimpered, remembering the pain. Now she was seeing his fear. And her head hurt. "I'm OK," she whispered.
"You sure as hell don't sound OK," Sam muttered, his voice rumbling against her back. She learned forward slowly, trying to extricate herself from his arms without grabbing onto Dean; Charlotte didn't want to touch either of them. They hurt too much right now.
She hurt too much right now.
"Do you have epilepsy or something?" Dean asked. "Asthma, maybe?"
"What?" Charlotte's head whipped to look at him, as she sank back against Sam. "No."
"You looked pretty bad." The older Winchester frowned. "Like you were having a seizure." Dean looked at his younger brother again. "Think we should take her to an emergency room?"
"No." Charlotte was sick of emergency rooms. She was sick of hospitals. She just wanted to go. "I'm fine now." This time she did grab Dean's hand, breathless. Waiting for the tingling at the base of her neck, to be flung apart by the little boy inside who could not be denied – but all she felt was some incredulity from Sam and annoyance from Dean. "No hospitals!"
Dean helped Charlotte to her feet, hazel eyes watching her critically as she looked up at him. "You're acting like your old self. That's as good a sign as any." And he grinned at her.
"My being bitchy is a good sign?" she asked, returning his grin.
Dean shrugged. "Hey, you said it, Charlie. Not me."
Sam chuckled. "Bet he's not looking so cute now." He used the handle on the back door of the Impala to stand. They hadn't taken her far – probably just dragged her out the back and onto the ground.
"That whole cute thing applied to both of you, Sam Winchester." Charlotte's mouth twisted; her head still hurt, and the thought of walking the three feet between herself and the door made her leg ache. She shuffled to the back door, wishing someone had remembered her crutches – and realizing that was stupid. "You've never seen me when I get really bitchy." She smiled sweetly at him. "And I've got crutches."
"Are you threatening me, Charlotte Webb?" Sam sounded incredulous.
"I've seen the poor excuses you two call practical jokes," Charlotte countered. I am going to regret this. But she had to help him somehow, besides teaching him how to meditate. Charlotte sniffed, shaking her head. "I bet you've even used that old Nair in the shampoo routine."
"That was Dean."
"Then it's a good thing I'm not challenging him, then, isn't it? Or else I'd be the Bald Book Bag Avenger." She folded her arms in front of her chest. "No Nair. Deal?"
"Deal. You are so on!" Sam was leaning against the car, holding himself up while he laughed. "I'm taking you down." Charlotte found herself smiling – he still had circles underneath his eyes, and his skin was as pale as the first night she saw him in a rain swept parking lot, but Sam Winchester was laughing like she'd never seen him laugh before.
And that made Dean Winchester smile.
Charlotte could only shake her head, pulling on the handle and scooting herself backwards against the duffel bag in the back seat. Please, God, don't make me lose my hair. But it might even be worth it if it kept Sam Winchester smiling. Sam waited until she was settled, and then shut the door for her. Dean was already sliding into the front seat behind the driver's wheel, looked at her over his shoulder. "Thanks," he said softly.
"For what?"
"Giving him something else to think about." His eyes in the rear-view mirror looked like he was going to say more, but then Sam was opening up the passenger door. Dean coughed, and turned the key in the ignition.
The Impala's motor roared.
Hazel eyes flickered into the rear-view mirror to look at her. Sam was staring happily out the window, with another grin on his face. Charlotte's eyes met Dean's in the mirror, and then he looked back towards the road. It was almost like he knew. The white altar. She stared out her own window, watching the trees fly by as Dean drove. Biting her thumbnail while she went over the images in her mind again – the shattered body, the icy voice. The other, blowing through her.
Charlotte leaned her head back against the duffel bag, staring up towards the roof of the Impala. Dean was still listening to Led Zeppelin, the bass so loud in the car that it rattled through her hip bones. It was enough to fight off the lassitude that swept through her, keeping her awake despite her body's stubborn yearning for sleep. And the next inevitable vision. She held onto that backbeat with everything she could muster, even singing along with the songs while Dean drove and the sun went down behind them.
"You really can't sing," Sam said, his voice breaking into her thoughts.
"Be nice, Sammy. The girl knows Zeppelin." Dean sounded impressed.
Charlotte pulled her arms around herself and shivered. The jerk of that snap was a scream rumbling through her – how it felt to lose him as he fell. Farther and faster than they had ever fallen in dreams. Her eyes flickered towards the back of his head. He wasn't ready. He was oblivious, head bouncing a little to the beat as he pointed his car towards Madison. A sign outside the window said they had about ten miles to go, and she could already feel his excitement. There was a bar in Madison. He hadn't picked up a chick since… Charlotte blushed, her rebellious brain finishing the thought for her.
Since me.
Dean Winchester was going to be the death of her. If the Circle didn't find her first – or the demon inside finally yielded to the charms of Shemhezai. And here she was getting Called by a mind-bashing vision in the very same place she got screwed to begin with, his ring cold against the hand that burned on her thigh. She placed one hand at her waist, remembering the way his fingers brushed her stomach as he removed her shirt. Light against the scars. Called for him. Again. How many times would she need to be laid flat before she listened?
She should never have agreed to help him in the first place – help save his doomed little brother. Charlotte should have forced herself on a bus – any bus – because being away from them, anywhere, was better than sitting in the back seat realizing that her secrets could kill them. She'd given them the notes. She had even given them the sword. They were smart boys. They would have figured it out. Winchester boys were clever.
How can you be so proud, when you're sinking into the ground?
Charlotte glanced at Sam. He was sitting with his elbow on the window, still looking at the scenery with that goofy grin on his face. Sam had saved her. Still wanted to help her with a demon crawling around in his belly, whittling him out from the inside. Sam Winchester would still be fighting the day Shemhezai stole his last breath.
And Dean. Here's the thing, Charlie. I want to trust you. He'd risk everything for Sam. Even himself. Even his soul. No one would ever do that for her, not in the whole wide world, but she had found someone who loved – and loved unconditionally – because it was the right thing to do. It was how Dean Winchester was made – a little boy who carried his baby brother out of a burning building. Jacob used to tell her that love was the one power that could not be denied.
The only thing you can do, when faced with the strength of love's purity, is stand with it.
She just never knew that rule applied to her.
Only one way to find out, Charlie.
Charlotte took a deep breath, steadying herself before speaking. "I've been having nightmares about the Circle finding us."
The Winchesters didn't say anything to that, although Sam shifted in the passenger seat to begin staring at her – instead of out the window. And the goofy grin was gone, replaced by something else.
Madison was three miles away.
"And when Alex finds us, I'll be the first one he kills."
Dean chuckled at that. "I'm the one who kept bashing his head in. I'm guessing you're going to have to stand in line, Charlie."
"You better pull over, Dean." Because what Charlotte Webb was going to tell them was the biggest secret of all. Almost two miles out of city limits. "I'm serious," she added. Fear was bouncing off of him again, orange sparks. Sam just looked concerned, like he wanted to hear what she had to say. Which is the saddest thing of all. At least she'd be able to walk the two miles into town and hope she could find a bus station somewhere in the Yellow Pages. And maybe some passerby might take pity on a girl walking on crutches.
"I'm not pulling over this close to town." Dean looked into the rear-view mirror, caught a glimpse of her face and frowned. "But I'll see what we can do about getting you there faster. You look like you need to lie down." And the Impala suddenly burst down the highway with another scraping growl, Led Zeppelin bellowing out its open windows.
No sooner had they crossed the line into city limits, a whooping sound erupted behind them followed by a flashing light. "Crap," Sam muttered. Dean's shoulders tightened, a little anxious. "What if that guy put out a missing person's report," the younger Winchester added. For me.
"We just need to ride this out," Dean returned. "You all right back there, Charlie?"
"I'm not sick, Dean. There's just something I need to tell you." She sighed. When you're not driving a car.
He grunted, pulling the Impala up onto the shoulder, and rolled down his window. Sam had already turned down the stereo, the music a low rumble. "Good evening, officer." Dean Winchester had turned on the charm – even for a balding cop in his forties. "What can we do for you this fine evening?" He was already handing his wallet and registration out the window.
The police officer peered into the car with a flashlight. Charlotte felt the disdain when he saw Dean – wearing that leather jacket – and heard the Zeppelin grumbling underneath Dean's greeting. She reached out with a tendril, felt the disgust intermingled with a need to prove his superiority. The desire to bully. "You were speeding, son." The police officer chuckled, a slow drawl. "You two don't look like boys who follow the rules. And we don't like boys who don't play by the rules."
They had been pulled over by a good old boy.
And Dean Winchester was about as subtle as a jackhammer when his back was pushed up against the wall.
Charlotte broke out the officer's cadence into its phonetic components, and smiled. Language was nothing more than sounds, on its most primal level – understand the sounds, the way they fit together, and you could speak the language. And the blood of Armaros, one who led choirs of angels in song, flowed within her. She had to trust them. She had to. Her secrets could get them killed.
But her gift could help them.
"These boys are my good Samaritans, officer." Charlotte said softly from the back seat, matching his cadence with her own. One small tendril, soothing the distrust. Another, making her vulnerable in his eyes as he flashed the light in the backseat and took a good look at her. "They found me off old Peachtree road, and were kind enough to take me into town so I could call my folks. Going home on spring break, sir."
"We got a little enthusiastic," Sam added, glancing back at her with round eyes.
Dean nodded. "Didn't want her folks to worry." His voice was steadier than his brother's, but fear was sparking through him in brighter flashes of orange than she'd seen earlier. He didn't trust her. He was afraid of her. The gift that could pull his worst nightmare out of himself, the brush of her against him as the tendrils reached for their target.
The officer huffed. Shoulder's dropped. Distrust had been replaced by something else – a little disbelief, maybe some yearning. Charlotte pulled the tendrils back behind her shields, taking care not to touch Dean with them. "Well, see that you take it slow from here on out. This little lady needs to get home in one piece." And the officer handed Dean's things back to him through the window, shuffling back to his car and whistling to himself.
"What the hell was that?" Sam yelped as Dean rolled up the window.
"Her mojo," Dean replied, watching the police car pull out from behind them. The sparks were slower now, shifting underneath him. But he still sounded uneasy. Distrustful.
"Your mojo lets you do that accent thing from Firefly? That was cool!"
Charlotte smiled in spite of herself. There really was something in Sam Winchester that made you want to like him. An innocence that Shemhezai would never tarnish. "No," she replied. "The accent thing is because I'm a year out from my doctorate in linguistics." And the fact that I'm related to an angel of sound. Dean turned in his seat to look at her. "The mojo part was convincing the good officer that I was harmless, and you two were heroes."
"If you say the hero part was easy, I'm kicking you out of the car," Dean snapped. "Why shouldn't I kick you out of the car right now?"
"I thought you wanted to get into town before we did this," Charlotte returned.
"We're stopped now. Seems as good a time as any for a little chat."
"Don't be an idiot, Dean." Sam pitched his voice low. "If we don't move, that cop is going to get suspicious."
"I'll calm down when I'm good and ready to calm down, Sam. Charlie could be manipulating us the same way she manipulated that cop." More anger, now – reds and yellow glimmering along the length of his arms. Charlotte's heart stumbled; why was she still seeing his emotions? How could she even tell him that without scaring him, let alone what she was going to say.
"Sam would never know," she said softly. "But you would, Dean. You have the same gift." Charlotte clutched her hands into fists, feeling the prick of the nail against the soft skin underneath. He didn't say anything to that, just pulled the car onto the road like his little brother had told him to do. "And I promise. I'll tell you everything in the motel. If you want me to leave afterwards, I will."
Dean growled. "You? Hiding something from us?" Charlotte lowered her head. I am putting you down like a dog.
"About me," she said softly. Which meant nothing to either of them.
Dean kept his eyes on the road, the clench of his shoulders hard against the front seat. Sam looked apologetically back at her, shrugged his shoulders – until Dean's gaze snapped on him and Sam shifted to stare out his window. Charlotte knew better than to say anything; antagonizing Dean wouldn't help. Neither would putting Sam on the defensive for trying to protect her; he thought she was worth saving.
Dean obviously didn't.
Twenty minutes later, she was shuffling up a flight of stairs to another second story room while Sam walked beside her with her duffel bag and the mandolin. Dean had already gone up to the room, and the expression on his face when he realized Sam was carrying her things made Charlotte want to turn around and start running. Again. Dean was really going to do it. Just like she had asked him to. She swallowed, walked past Dean into the room. Sam gave her a brief smile as he sat down on the nearest bed.
Charlotte took the bed closest to the back wall, her crutches accidentally falling off as she tried to boost herself up onto the bed. Dean usually helped her, but he was calmly moving to sit right across from her on the bed. A front row seat. Sam had grabbed a phone book off the table, and was rifling through its pages while she and Dean just stared at each other.
"I'm listening." And Dean watched her like he had just issued a challenge. "Enlighten us, Charlotte Webb." Not even a stupid nickname.
"Did you ever wonder why Alex Masters hates me?" It was a simple question.
"Easy," Sam said. "You betrayed the Circle." Even Sam was looking at her like this was old news.
"My father betrayed the Circle." Charlotte took a deep breath. "And my mother betrayed him." She was not going to cry. She had no reason to feel sorry for herself, because this was the truth. No matter which side you stood, Charlotte Anne Webb was a traitor. "She betrayed all of them," she added. "The ones who tried to break the prophecy."
"Break the prophecy?" Dean's eyes glittered at her.
"You can't break a prophecy," Sam said, and she could feel the sadness inside of him. "They don't exactly have time tables, but events need to progress a certain way. As they're foretold." Where does he learn these things?
"My father tried. For the children. We were supposed to save the world. Not break it." She was biting her thumbnail again, staring at her shoe. Biting so hard she tasted blood in her mouth. Charlotte pulled up every shield she could muster, so she wouldn't have to feel what was coming out of either of them. But she could still see the orange sparking off of Dean, the reds and purples flowing through him. "So Azazeal tracked the children down and began killing their parents. To get us back."
"To make warriors like Alex Masters," Dean said. Sam was still rustling through the phone book.
Charlotte nodded. "Some they took back, others they left to be broken."
"Like Max." It was Sam. And she would have sworn there were tears unshed in Sam Winchester's eyes if she could only bring herself to look at them. Jacob's faith in him was not misplaced. She believed that now.
"One they broke and then took back." Charlotte stared at her shoe again. "And two of them had a father named John Winchester. Your father is a legend. There's an entire archive devoted to his exploits – the people he saved, the plans he thwarted. And those who fight with him. Completely outside of the Circle. Not one gift between any of them, and they're still God's Warriors. More true than any of us." She smiled at the pride she felt swelling in Dean's chest, the awe in Sam's lanky frame. "Jacob tried finding him first. To warn him. The Circle knew he was closing in on Azazeal, and the Circle always protects its secrets."
"We found you first." She laughed softly. "I should have known it was another test when I was assigned to the mission."
"See, that's what I don't get." Dean's impatience underscored by orange sparks shooting through her. "Why send you?"
"Dean." Sam sounded annoyed.
"I've been tested my entire life. My father was the last one they found." She swallowed again. "I woke up because I felt him dying. And all I wanted to do was save him. I thought if I could find him, I could save him. But I found the burning woman instead, and she held onto me and they made me watch. The burning woman and the man who laughed. As he died." Charlotte glanced at them both. "Because I tried to save him, I was disloyal."
"Charlotte…" Sam's voice trailed off.
"Oh, that's not the worst part." Charlotte laughed, a sullen little sound, and pulled her arms around herself. "The worst part was how they felt. They enjoyed it. Watching my father burn on the ceiling. Making me watch. And it hurt. Even the shadow of that memory still hurts." She did finally cry at that, soft tears that fell without a sound. "My mother watched my father die, and the thing inside of her laughed while he burned. Laughed while I burned with him."
There it was. Even Jacob never knew.
"Your mother was Azazeal's host?" Dean's voice was soft. Tense. Angry. Charlotte felt the spear of it inside her own belly, twisting her insides with the vengeance of a son who got up every morning ready to deal payback on the monsters that tore his family apart. And he was sitting in a motel room with the daughter of the woman who carried the demon – the demon that threw his mother up on a ceiling, ripped open her stomach and burned her. While he felt her die.
"Yes." It was all that Charlotte could say. But she wanted to touch his hand, curled on the bed so close she could just slide her hand next to his. Dean Winchester leaned forward and looked at her, looked at her with the eyes of a son who lost his mother. His skin so pale she could see the freckles outlined across his face. "That's why I…" Her voice trailed off. "Penance," she added. Maybe he'd understand. "She wasn't the only one. Azazeal has too much power for one person to wield, burns them up from the inside."
"Christ," Dean muttered.
"That's why you wanted to run." It was Sam who spoke. "When you saved Dean, when you gave me the notes, you knew they'd kill you. Because of your father. And you did it anyway."
"I'm not my mother's daughter. I just couldn't sit by and watch the world die. So I came up with a stupid plan." She sounded too defensive, didn't care. Shook her head. "I'm not my father's daughter, either. I've wanted to leave the moment your brother knocked Alex Masters out in a parking lot. My father would have stayed to fight."
Sam snorted. "If you really wanted to leave, you'd be gone by now." Charlotte saw his grin. "How many chances did you have in the last ten days?"
"For a smart girl, you sure are stupid." And the way Dean Winchester said it, Charlotte knew he thought she was a moron for not even figuring out this apparently simple thing about herself. "You think Sammy and I haven't wanted to run away at least once in our lives?" He chuckled. "Well, more than once in Sam's case. He was going through this emo phase when he was sixteen, and nothing we ever did was good –"
"Dean!" Sam snapped. "She gets the point."
"And you didn't have to tell us all this," Dean continued. "I know I got angry, but I thought – " He actually smiled at her. Defenseless. "I thought you were hiding something that could hurt Sam." His head was shaking. "Jesus, Charlie. You were six? And you ran through a burning house to find your dad." It might be the closest thing to an apology Dean Winchester would ever give her.
Charlotte didn't realize she'd been holding her breath until she exhaled. "I did have to tell you all this," she countered. "Fair is fair." Dean gave her a funny look. But please, God, don't make me say why.
For once, God listened.
The younger Winchester was still looking through the Yellow Pages. "So do you eat pasta the same way you eat eggs?" Sam asked, chuckling a little. "Like a freak? Because I'm feeling like pasta."
"How does a freak eat spaghetti, Sammy?"
"They do that whole twirling it in the spoon thing."
Dean snorted. "Slept with a girl once who did the whole twirling it in the spoon thing."
"Claymation!" Charlotte yelped. It was instinct, pulling up the Gypsy Rules. If you must visualize, always remember: Claymation! Maybe she'd even tell the Winchesters all of them one day, the way that Jimmy had told her. Or the baseball bat rule; Dean might actually agree with it. "But I can do the whole twirling it in a spoon thing. My best friend Jimmy is Italian."
"Did you just say Claymation?" Dean asked. "Don't tell me, Freakazoid, because I don't want to know."
Sam poked at the book triumphantly. "Hey, they do have an Italian restaurant!"
"You want to get spaghetti in Georgia? Their meatballs probably blow." Dean shook his head. "Why don't you ever want spaghetti when we're near Chicago, you little freak?"
"Yeah," Sam retorted. "I'm as freaky as the guy who admits he slept with a girl who did the whole twirling it in the spoon thing. What the hell is that exactly?"
"Dean Winchester doesn't twirl and tell," the older Winchester replied. "But if I'm a freak and you're a freak, Sammy, that makes Charlie just like us."
"A freak?" Charlotte chuckled. "I'm beginning to figure that out. I'm actually following your conversations now."
"No, you little idiot," Dean replied, looking her right in the eye. "Brave."
"Just a little out of practice," Sam added.
"Oh." And she wished that they were still in the car, because then they both wouldn't have seen her suddenly grinning like an idiot and trying not to cry at the same time. She covered her face with her hands, shoulders shaking.
"Sammy, you broke Charlie!"
"He had help," Charlotte replied, removing her hands. Wiping the tears away quickly. No chick flick moments for Mr. Dean Winchester – ten days had taught her that. "Emo Boy," she grinned. The look on Dean's face was worth it. The whole conversation, some weird rite of passage that only the Winchesters understood, was worth it. Maybe Sam would tell her what the conversation meant some day. If she asked him, maybe he would. Charlotte smiled. "After dinner, can we go save my cow?"
Sam raised an eyebrow. "You want to go on a stakeout."
"I promised your brother I would help him." She raised her chin, and Dean was suddenly grinning at her. Charlotte blushed even harder than she had before, lowering her head. "And it would be nice to know that I can take care of myself." She didn't add that she'd never really done that before – even in college, everything was paid for her; even now, she was traveling with the Winchesters. Charlotte Webb was totally unprepared for the realities of living outside of the Circle of Enoch. Her great plan had never encompassed the reality of her dream. "Besides, how hard can it be? We're sitting on a roof staring at a church with binoculars."
"That vision thing still bothers me," Dean returned dubiously, concern on his face before the mask dropped. "Maybe you should rest."
"No way. Dinner first, though." She glanced at Sam. "Where's that pasta place?"
"Got a map," Sam replied, pulling out the page.
"You're serious about this, Charlie?" Dean rubbed his cheek with closed knuckles, caught her eyes with his own.
"I promised you." Charlotte held out her hand. "Help me up, Dean. I have a cow to save and one bad dream in the back of your crap car isn't going to stop me." He looked like he was going to say something to that, cocky grin slowly spreading across his face. "And if you start calling me Cowgirl, so help me God, I will do something so fiendishly clever to you that it cannot possibly be described," she added.
"When you figure out what that is, sweetheart, let me know and I'll start shivering in my shoes."
But Dean took her hand, and helped her to her feet.
A/N:
No cows were harmed during the writing of this chapter.
There was a mild Firefly reference, to the scene where River uses Badger's accent. But it's also a mild homage to My Fair Lady, as Professor Higgins is always transcribing language phonetically; somewhat over the top without a notebook, but I figured Charlotte is related to an angel of sound.
The title is a song by The Cure.
Didn't like it? Let me know — I won't get any better without it. Did the boys seem off to you? I can fix it if you tell me. The story is finally here; Charlotte's past being the missing piece. Ready for gargoyle hunting? So am I. And if you liked it, a little note saying so would be likewise greatly appreciated.