This is set sometime after the end of Season 1. While it doesn't break canon to my knowledge, it is definitely AU. The Winchesters have made it to Madison, GA – a small town plagued by gargoyles. The boys decide that Charlie's going on her first stakeout, but Dean's the one who is going to get the biggest surprise.
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: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Charlotte Webb, OFC (Arlene)
Rating: PG-13 ( Mild sexual situation. Some bad language.)
Summary: Visions suck more than just rocks.
Feedback: Absolutely!
Miscellaneous: As always, this would not have been possible without the brilliance of JMM0001, who rightly called me on every loose point and OOC action – pulling an otherwise coherent plot out of this week's very dizzy brain. (Having not learned my lesson about writing when sick.) Much thanks to wenchpixie, who listens to my meta conversations and for putting the Charlie back into Charlotte Webb. (See comment about dizzy brain.) Both acted as my betas for this chapter. As always, the good parts are because of them. The bad parts are all me. I also owe a debt to pheebs1, who held my hand and listened to my proposed plot changes entirely too early for someone like me to be thinking properly.
Chapter Seven: Don't Turn Your Back
Practical jokes required a combination of brilliance and finesse, sprinkled with divine inspiration and perpetrated with a master's sense of timing – but all that meant nothing without the balls to pull them off.
Charlotte Webb was going to have to grow a pair if she wanted a shot at besting Sammy. Dean almost felt sorry for her when he realized what she was doing, half-dazed from whatever goddamn vision knocked her flat on her ass but trying like hell to help Sam any way she could. He should have figured the girl with the chick flick gift would realize that Sam Winchester was part prankster; Dean just never figured Charlie would actually try to take Sam on less than two weeks on the road. That whole phony prank call had just been lame. Especially when she called Dean's cell phone first.
His little brother had learned how to pull off a practical joke from the same men who taught him advanced combat techniques and the fine art of picking up high school chicks. Years on the road had fine-tuned Sam's natural abilities; he developed the knack just to survive an eight hour stretch across a barren highway. Practical jokes helped to pass the time, kept the boys on their toes without endangering their lives. Leave it to John Winchester to turn a practical joke into a practical lesson.
When Sam went to Stanford, even the pranks weren't enough to fill the silences. Dad retreated to some place that Dean could never follow, quiet and angry and completely unwilling to bend. The Winchesters were broken – Dean could always see that. It was why he tried so goddamn hard to fix them, why he always stood between Sam's anger and Dad's rage, interpreting father for the son and son for the father. Why he picked up Sam after Dad went missing. Sam would never know how much that hurt to ask, even though Sam was only there because of Jess; because some goddamn fallen angel threw her up on a ceiling. Not a day went by where Dean didn't feel guilt for that; an innocent girl, a beautiful girl, was dead – but, God, how he had missed his little brother.
Before Stanford, practical jokes had kept them together, or maybe it was just what the practical jokes meant. Solidarity. The Winchesters were a team. They fought – at each other's sides, with each other. Being a Winchester made you a fighter. But they laughed together, too – at dumb jokes, or stupid movies like The Surf Ninjas. The laughing mattered just as much as the fighting. Maybe even more.
Dean always knew the laughing mattered, like in Texas – when he was taking a picture of Sam with a spoon in his mouth like Stanford had never happened. They were brothers. Family. Not even a goddamn demon could take that away from them. Just took awhile to get to the point where they both saw family as a possibility again. It hurt like hell that Sam didn't see it the same way. Dean, we are a family. I'd do anything for you. But things will never be the way they were before.
And now some evil bastard had set up housekeeping in Sammy's body and his little brother was never going to be the same again. Sam thought he was playing it cool, hiding how he felt. Just like a Winchester. But even Charlie had seen enough of what Sam used to be, what Sam was trying so hard to hang onto, to set herself up for a world of hurt and humiliation just to make Sam feel like himself. Just to give his little brother a sense of something beyond the demon inside.
And Dean was going to help her.
It wasn't completely about Shemhezai. There was still that moment in Texas when Dean realized he had a beer bottle super-glued to his hand, when he knew that Sam had been nursing that old grudge from his sixteenth birthday. Dean hadn't even seen the beer bottle coming; hell, hadn't even felt the glue on the side. So Dean reluctantly allowed Sam time to revel in his victory – at least until the skin on his palm grew back. Time brought with it the need for revenge, served up cold and completely unexpected.
Revenge, like practical jokes, was all about timing.
It was Sam's fault, anyway. Bringing them to some pasta place that looked like it was from The Godfather. Dean's plan was going to kill two birds with one stone. Teach Sam that his older brother was still the master, and maybe make amends with the girl. Penance. Dean knew what that meant, even if she didn't explain it. A boy, and a fire, and the baby in his arms. The girl he swore to kill the moment he thought there was a monster inside of her. The girl who dropped inside of him like a stone. The girl who knew that Dean Winchester was four years old where it mattered most.
But she'd never told Sam. Dean knew that now, as surely as he knew anything. Part of him still didn't trust Charlie, worried about what other secrets she was hiding. And whether they'll come back to bite us in the ass. But not telling Sam counted for something. And then talking about her dad. My mother watched my father die, and the thing inside of her laughed while he burned. Laughed while I burned with him. That counted for something, too. Charlie just opened up, and Dean couldn't even put a finger on it as to why. All he knew is that she was telling the truth, could sense it as easily as he breathed; which meant they had something in common – something so fucked up they were both screwed. But it was something.
Dean figured he'd meet Charlie halfway and see what happened. He might even be wrong about her. Stranger things had happened. A hell of a lot stranger.
He made the decision while watching Sam liberally sprinkle sugar over Charlie's spaghetti and meatballs. The redhead had excused herself from the table to 'freshen up' – and damn if Charlie hadn't actually said it that way. Better manners than us. She managed to drip tomato sauce on her shirt at least three times that Dean counted before Charlie realized what had happened. Lucky for Dean, though, she didn't attempt to twirl her pasta in the spoon; he was sitting right next to her.
Sammy had stopped grinning like a maniac by the time Charlie came back to the table, red splotches on her white shirt reduced to light orange stains, but she stared at his little brother warily – pointedly looking at Dean to pull out her chair. She smiled at Dean after he dragged out her chair and sat down, setting her crutches next to her against the wall.
Sam exploded with laughter when she took her first bite – Charlie's face screwed up to the point where she was unrecognizable, and she let loose with a little gagging noise. She managed to get a glass of water – probably Sam's, which almost served him right – but not before pushing off the little plate of herbs and olive oil the waiter had set on the table. Right in Sam's lap.
"Shit!" Sam yelped, jumping to his feet. A slick stain covered his crotch. Dean snorted. I'm never sitting across from her, even if my life depends on it. Blue-green eyes narrowed, glaring at him. "Don't say a fucking word, Dean," his little brother added with a menacing growl.
Dean was already pulling his cell phone out of his pocket to take a picture. "At least you kept it in your pants," Dean said, lining up for the shot.
"I'm really sorry, Sam." Charlie's voice was soft. "It was an accident."
"I know." Sam smiled at her, before realizing what Dean was doing with his cell phone. "So help me God, Dean!" Sam made as if to charge him and grab the phone, and then thought better of it – rushing out of the dining room. Probably straight to the john.
Dean heard the laughter of several patrons in Sam's wake. Charlie was bright red, sipping from her glass of water, and he shook his head at her. "I'm beginning to think that take-out and the motel is the best plan for eating with you, Charlie. You're still going to get food all over us, but at least the bathroom is only five feet away."
"I'm a food klutz." She set her glass of water down on the table, and it sloshed over her hand. Charlie frowned, grabbing for her napkin. It had fallen off her lap, and she leaned down to pick it up off the floor.
"No shit!" Dean couldn't help but grin – it was the world's biggest understatement. Charlie bumped her head lightly on the table as she tried to sit back up, a muffled 'ouch' greeting him before her head reappeared from underneath the table. "You okay, Girl Genius?"
"Apart from a perpetual state of embarrassment?" Charlie asked with a small smile. More patrons were watching them, and a girl at the table next to them was giggling. "Some days I really miss the library," the red-head muttered. "Books don't stare." She wiped the water off her hand and put the napkin back in her lap. "But you were brilliant! Pretending to take his picture? I thought I was going to die."
"See, I'm thinking you just need to learn how to seize the moment. You're as smart as Sammy. We can use that to our advantage." The words were out of Dean's mouth before he could stop them. "And I took the picture so we could talk. Well, that and the fact that Sam looked just like he – " The look on her face made him stop and just grin at her.
"You actually took the picture?" Charlie was stunned. Dean nodded. Gray eyes narrowed. "And did you just say we?" she asked.
"I'm your ace in the hole," Dean replied. "If you want to get Sammy, you're going to need help from someone who knows his habits." He pulled out the drawl no woman ever refused. "And you know you need my help."
Her brow furrowed, and Charlie started chewing on her thumbnail. "I do need the help. And you're one sneaky bastard." The redhead smiled at him suddenly, a look so mischievous that Dean found himself wishing she was playful more often; God knew the girl could be serious, between proclamations of doom and tortured confessions, listening to that Goth crap she pulled up on her iPod when they were traveling.
"Thanks," Dean said wryly.
Charlie looked like she was going to say something else, but her eyes suddenly clouded over and color drained from her face. She turned quickly in her seat, like she was looking for something, and then trembled.
"You okay?"
"No. Someone is – " She leaned forward and placed her forehead in her hands. "Scared and angry." Charlie turned in her chair, eyes focused, and gestured with her head where a couple was hunched over a table. The woman sitting there was crying, shaking her head. "I wish I could help," Charlie added, "But I just can't walk over there and say how terribly sorry I am that she's so upset." She flexed her hands at her sides, took a deep breath. "That one hurt." Gray eyes flickered at him, and Charlie looked like she had said more than she intended; Dean could feel it inside of her, the fear that she had said too much. "Nothing like a random drive-by during dinner," Charlie added. She was still pale. "Couldn't you sense it?"
"Hell, no." Dean felt sick – the fact that Charlie could pick up on feelings, that sometimes it just happened, was like a punch in the stomach. He didn't know how that should scare him. "Does that happen all the time?" he asked softly.
"It depends." Charlie grimaced, and then she looked him right in the eyes. "It's like being in a room full of open windows when the wind is blowing. Most curtains are heavy, some not so much – but every once in awhile, when the wind is strong, it pushes the curtains open and I can see outside. Only while the wind is blowing, and sometimes it blows stronger than others." Charlie's voice broke a little at that, and she tried to mask it with a cough – but her eyes. Charlie looked just the way she did at Alfie's when she mentioned her dad. "And I can pull open the curtains when I need to, but that requires me to touch people," she added. "It's worse when I physically touch them."
Dean didn't want to know the distinction. It was bad enough that he was a walking chick flick – he didn't want to understand how the damn thing worked. He covered by taking a sip from his beer, and then grinned at her. "So knocking me over must have really sucked."
"Could have been worse," Charlie replied lightly, looking down at her plate.
"How?" Dean didn't want to know the answer, but the question ripped itself out of him. It's worse when I physically touch them. He figured the back of the Impala qualified. What part of him hadn't touched her? Maybe his feet. Sometimes, when he closed his eyes, Dean could still smell her.
Charlie had the grace to look chagrined, still staring at her sugar-covered spaghetti, but she didn't say anything. Dean snorted. Looked like neither one of them was going there. They didn't have much time, anyway. "So, do you want my help or not?" he asked. "This is a one-time offer, Charlie. I'll teach you everything I know so you can take Sam down. I might even make you swear by the code."
"There's a code?" Her eyes widened, until Charlie saw his grin. "This is where you tell me it's set of guidelines, right? Did you forget that you made me watch Pirates of the Caribbean after you caught me watching Amelie?"
"Just making sure you were actually watching, sweetheart."
"Sometimes you are the world's biggest prick, Dean Winchester."
"Only sometimes? I must not be trying hard enough."
"You're growing on me. Like a fungus, only marginally more self-aware." Charlie returned his grin. They could both hear Sam's voice as he walked back into the dining room. Someone had given him a white apron, like the waiters wore, to cover up the spill. "But I get the feeling there's a bigger story here you're not telling me," she added.
"Still waiting to hear that answer." And ignoring that comment about feeling. Dean chuckled. "You're just lucky I'm helping a chick who called me a spore."
Charlie laughed outright at that – and it was almost a belly laugh. Dean couldn't help but laugh with her. "I am going to have to be nicer to you now that you're helping me," she said before spearing one of Sam's meatballs off his plate. He raised an eyebrow. "That's a yes, Dean." She took a delicate bite, snickering when someone tried to flag Sam to their table. "That smug bastard's going down," she added. Charlie suddenly blushed. "And, thank you for listening to me. About…" Her voice trailed off, but her eyes were shiny.
"That whole curtain thing?"
She nodded, almost touching him on the arm. "I'm not used to trusting people. I'm always waiting for the second shoe to drop."
"You're not going to try and hug me or anything, are you?" Most of the time, Dean was able to forget that Charlie was a chick – apart from the obvious; like when she bent over to pick something up and you could see down her shirt. Even Sam watched her. She usually didn't act like a chick, either – at least not like the girls he picked up in bars; which was pretty much Dean Winchester's standard of comparison. And then she would do something so completely girly, Dean wanted to get up and leave; like making them watch Scrubs at night instead of MacGuyver. He coughed. "Just kick Sam's ass, and we're square."
Charlie surprised him – smiled that shy smile she had flashed earlier back at the room. Never saw a girl smile so much after being called a freak. "Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship," she said, so softly Dean had to lean towards her just to hear. What the fuck? Charlie folded her hands in her lap, caught the look on his face. "You've never seen Casablanca?" she asked.
"Nope."
"You should watch it some time," Charlie replied as Sam came into earshot. "Casablanca is a really good movie."
"That would require Dean to watch movies that are in black and white," Sam interjected, with that same shit-eating grin he always got on his face. His brother's lanky form slid easily into his chair, and he looked like nothing had happened. "And I'm pretty sure the romantic subplot qualifies as a chick flick in Dean's book."
"Why don't you see if you can scrounge us up a dessert menu, Geek Boy?" Dean snapped. "And I've watched black and white flicks."
"Yeah?" Sam raised his eyebrows. "Name one."
"Godzilla," Dean returned.
Sam rolled his eyes. "Godzilla movies don't count!"
"Why not?" Charlie's question interrupted Dean's retort – he exhaled as Sam did a double-take. "Gojiro is a classic. Ishiro Honda was a second-unit director on many of Akira Kurosawa's films."
"Yeah," Dean added, cocking his head towards the redhead. "What Charlie said." Beautiful friendship, huh? Now that would be a joke. Him. Friends with a chick. Dean Winchester screwed the pooch when it came to being friends with a chick. Hell, he screwed the chick.
"I think there was crack in the sugar," Sam muttered. "And you don't even know who the hell Akira Kurosawa is, Dean."
"Wasn't he the kid buried underneath the stadium?" Dean grinned. Sam was pissed. "You aren't going all Tetsuo on my ass, now, are you? Crazy psychic powers and all."
Charlie's eyes widened at that, and she tried to shake her head imperceptibly. But Sam just chuckled. "You asshole." He leaned forward in his chair, picking up his own bottle of beer. His little brother glanced at his watch. "It's about 8:30. We should probably head out to get set up," Sam said.
"I figure we can have you in place by 9:00," Dean replied, nodding. "Charlie should be able to get up those stairs we saw off the alley." He resisted the urge to poke her arm for emphasis. "Even on her crutches. It's not like there's any food that could get in the way."
"I have a candy bar in my purse," Charlie retorted.
"Oh no." Dean did poke her that time, couldn't help himself. Charlie didn't even flinch. "The plan is doomed," he added.
"And Dean can be getting laid by 10:00," Sam added, as though it were an important part of the plan. His little brother chuckled. Dean scratched his ear, glancing at Charlie sideways. What the hell are you playing at, Sammy? "It's a small town. I'd expect nothing less of you," Sam added, cocking his head. "Maybe 10:30, if it's a slow night and the bar isn't packed."
"Well, maybe if there's time," Dean qualified dubiously, trying to avoid the glance Charlie gave him. He was going to get laid sooner or later, anyway. "I'm going to that bar to work on the job," Dean added. Sam snorted, and Charlie turned to his little brother. Sam grinned at her like a moron. Charlie looked annoyed, frowning. Dean caught the scent of strawberries as her hair swirled around her shoulders.
They didn't say much after that – Sam flagged down the waiter and got the bill. Charlie excused herself once they turned in the credit card, telling them that she'd meet them in the foyer. Dean suspected she was going to the restroom, but was too polite to mention it. You'd think she grew up rich or something. He snorted. Sam just looked at him, half-grinning. "What?" Dean snapped, standing up.
"Nothing. Just wondering how you knew about the stairs." Sam chuckled. "You really planned on dumping her with me."
"Not that you mind," Dean retorted. "Two geeks on a roof? Imagine all the nerdy mischief you could get into with her." What the hell am I saying? Sex, Sam and Charlie was a one-way ticket to Armageddon, scars or no scars. "You know, looking at the constellations and seeing who can name more of them," Dean backtracked, feeling sick to his stomach. He saw Charlie waiting for them, leaning on her crutches. "Hey, you know any constellations, Charlie?" Dean called.
Charlie shook her head. "Is that a prerequisite for my Junior Hunter's badge?" she asked. Sam just burst out laughing at that.
"What kind of Girl Genius are you?" Dean asked, holding the door open for her.
She gave him a strange look. "A Girl Genius who can use proper noun declensions, Mr. Christo."
Fuck me. Dean didn't say anything to that, but Sam was still chuckling. His little brother followed Charlie out the door, raising an eyebrow at Dean as he passed. And fuck you, too, Sammy. Even with the new girl in the band, Dean Winchester was getting laid, he decided. It had been almost three weeks. The sex would help clear his mind, get him focused on the job. And maybe it would help him forget. Sammy. Demons. Angels. Maybe some space to breathe. For a little while. He was ready to explode like a firecracker with the right amount of pressure.
He unlocked the back door of the Impala, and waited while Charlie scooted herself backwards. Her face turned red when she tried to grab the door handle so she could close the door on her own, but couldn't reach it. She was always trying to do things on her own, like get on the bed without help or take a shower even when Charlie wasn't supposed to get her cast wet. Or run away when the Circle of Enoch wants to kill her.
Charlotte Webb really did need a friend.
He poked his head into the back. "Hey, do you…" Dean's voice trailed off. The question died – he didn't even know what wanted to ask her. Gray eyes looked at him expectantly, a little puzzled. Pull it out, Winchester. "Do you want to sit in the front next time? More room for your leg. Sammy won't mind."
"We can change places now," Sam added.
"It's only a five minute drive back to the grocery store," Charlie replied. "But maybe when we leave town?"
"Sure." Dean closed the door and slid into the front seat. Within seconds, his baby's engine was purring.
Ten minutes later, Charlie and Sam were sitting on the roof of Peachin's General Store – one of those mom and pop grocery stores that was identical to every grocery store in every small town across the country. Dean had been in enough of them to know. They found a secluded spot near the store's sign, and both his little brother and the redhead were armed with a pair of night binoculars. When Dean turned to look at them on his way back down the stairs, Sam was kneeling behind Charlie – pointing her binoculars in the direction of the old Catholic church next door.
Time to get to work.
He passed the Impala and headed out of the alley where they'd parked it, secluded behind a dumpster but close enough to the stairs if a quick getaway was needed. Joe's – the bar from the article – was just down the street. According to the newspaper article, some good old boys had wandered out of the bar a week ago and spotted the gargoyles. Been seeing them every night ever since, between 9:45 and 10:30. All Dean had to do was find one of them, and ask some questions.
Which was easier said than done. The bar was a pit, bad country music twanging off the jukebox in the corner. And mostly empty. There was a couple off necking near the bar – but between them, the bartender and the waitress, Dean was alone.
Dean walked to the jukebox, and scanned the selections. He pulled two quarters out of his pocket in the numbers. Maybe something decent to listen to would help lighten the mood.
Don't turn your back – one chance to save her.
Don't turn your back; keep her out of danger.
Don't turn your back; she'll return the favor.
She wants you so don't say no.
He sidled up to the nearest table, slid up onto the stool. Dean's grin caught the waitress unaware – she blushed. Her nametag – Arlene – was pinned to the right side of her tank top. And she was cute, in a Daisy Duke kind of way – short shorts, skimpy top, high heels with the clunky soles. He'd almost forgotten what it was like to see a woman who wasn't wearing combat boots and had every square inch of her body covered from the neck to her ankles. Maybe his age, a couple of years older. Dean shrugged. What did it matter?
"Hey, there, sweetheart," he drawled as she came within hearing range. "Anything good on tap?"
"You're not from around here," Arlene stated. Her hair was a dusky blonde, and she smelled smoky – like she'd spent most of her life in the bar, soaking it up in her pores. It was a good smell. A familiar smell, of darts and beer; of girls who didn't dump ancient prophecies in your lap. And it reminded Dean of furtive couplings in bathroom stalls between shifts, or in an alley near where he would park the Impala.
Dean didn't want much. Just some time to forget who he was. Forget what he felt. Forget that his little brother was standing between everyone and the end of the world. His skin was vibrating with the need to just forget, to pound into someone until he was nothing but wanting.
And it didn't take long – twenty minutes later, Arlene was on break, giggling breathlessly as he pressed her against a brick wall near the Impala. She smelled musky. Hard and heavy with desire, her breath tasting like cigarettes. Arlene was inching his shirt out of his jeans, one hand dipping inside to brush against him. Dean groaned, moving lips down to her neck. Nipping. "Stop that," she whispered. "Don't need to eat me there." She laughed, low in her belly.
"You're the boss, sweetheart," Dean managed as a shooting pain twisted through his stomach. What the fuck? Something slammed into his head, hard against the back of his skull, as white light flooded against the his eyelids. Something was reaching inside of him, pulling him apart. Something that hurt. Something that wouldn't be denied.
Dean screamed. The other sound he heard might have been Arlene, but it was hard to tell when his body was cracking against the pavement.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Death has fed here – the old tang of rust, bleached bones on the walls – and Death feeds here still. Salty and sweet against the wood, falling in small rivulets from her skin.
The girl has dark eyes and no hope. She is tiny. Small. And the knives slice into her flesh, quivering still on its forks as Death feeds. Every slice should bring a scream, but the girl is stubborn. The girl chooses not to cry.
A blue flicker across a cheekbone, a blue flash in her eyes.
Death feeds on blessed flesh.
Her only hope is that somehow, some way, Death will kill her. But this memory remains in her skin, throughout the night. Living, when she should have died – joining the bleached bones on the wall. Dying is her only wish. A little girl's prayer.
"Help her."
A woman's voice, so long remembered.
And she is so small. His resolve cracks. No pain endured like this, no need so great as to help her. Not for the voice long remembered, but because she is one of them. A blue flicker across a cheekbone, a blue flash in her eyes.
She is Beata.
He will kill Death. For her. For all of them. He will take back their world. He will take back the world. He is Called and he is Chosen. He dies fighting. He fights in death.
"It's time."
The other's voice, soft within him.
It will save her. A blue flicker across a cheekbone, a blue flash in her eyes. So small. So frail. The girl who chooses not to cry. So brave. So tiny.
"Come back to me."
And it will save him.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
It wasn't the noise that Sam noticed first – it was Charlotte keeling over, bracing herself with her hands against the rough roof of the grocery store. She was looking through her binoculars, chatting about the library at Georgetown University; she'd just mentioned something about the stacks – right before she fell forward. The binoculars cracked against the roof. And then he heard a scream. A man's voice.
"Charlotte!" Sam was at her side faster than he could blink.
Charlotte shook her head. "Dean – " She tried to stand, grabbed for one of her crutches as she swayed on her feet. Charlotte toppled forward into Sam's arms with a whimper. "They hurt, Sam."
Sam didn't get a chance to ask the obvious question. There was a screeching noise from the direction of St. Joseph's steeple, and a black swarm came flying towards Peachin's. It wasn't a gargoyle. It was a gaggle of gargoyles, or whatever the hell gargoyles were called when you grouped them. Those good old boys must have been drunker than Dean in San Antonio when they were talking to that reporter. Unless more of them have been coming.
Charlotte tried to stand again. "We have to go."
"You're in no condition to walk," Sam retorted. He put the binoculars around his neck, and pulled out the gun on his back holster. Pulled off the safety and loaded a round. "Duck, Charlotte!"
The creatures had reached them. They flew past Charlotte as she stood, whipping her clothes around her like she was caught in a maelstrom. Whatever they were, they weren't gargoyles. The things brushing past his face didn't even feel like flesh, let alone stone. And they smelled like rotting cows. Sam had never seen a monster like this before, not even in the journal.
"Dean said gargoyles were an easy gig!" Charlotte screamed. She looked like she was trying not to gag.
Sam shouted, trying not to take in the stench. "I have no fucking idea what these are!"
The horde screamed as one, and swarmed down into the alley between Peachin's and the feed store next door – where Dean had parked the Impala. Charlotte was already whipping across the roof to the stairs, when a woman's scream erupted through the chittering of the flock of monsters zooming through the alley. Sam could see a blue glow, incandescent, flicker between the creatures' bodies.
Dean!
Charlotte navigated the stairs as though she were possessed, and the hands on her crutches glimmered with the same incandescence as the light in the alley. Dean was surrounded as he lay on the pavement, but the woman screaming next to him was untouched. Charlie made a beeline to his brother's fallen body while Sam fired into one of the creatures. It exploded into a scatter of sparks. Damn. Protecting Dean was all that mattered, and they made a good team – Sam shooting the creatures directly in Charlotte's path to his older brother.
When she sat down beside his older brother, careful of her cast, Charlotte's hands were as blue as Dean's entire body – and she lifted him easily into her lap. The blonde woman who was with Dean took one look at both of them and screamed.
Sam continued shooting the bastards – blowing up as many as he could before he ran out of bullets.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Arlene's voice brought Dean back to himself, harsh and unyielding in the corners of his head. "Oh, God! Oh, God!" If words could scratch, his skin would be covered with tiny lacerations. The waitress whimpered. "Oh, God!"
"What happened?" Sam's voice. His little brother was edgy, and Dean could feel the horror running through him – whatever the hell Sam had seen, it wasn't good.
"Wha – " Dean tried to sit up, and it was like something picked up his brain and shook it in his skull. Darkness against his eyes, and he fell backwards against the pavement again. Only the pavement was soft. And it smelled like strawberries. What happened? What the fuck do you think happened, Sammy? I'm laying here flat on my ass from a goddamn vision.
Strawberries.
Fuck me.
Dean tried to roll to his side, but Charlie wouldn't let him – kept one hand firmly on his chest. His head hurt too goddamn much to fight her anyway, and her fingers on his forehead were cool – stroking away the worst of his migraine with each pass. He wondered if this was how she and Sam always felt. After. Visions sucked giant green donkey dicks. And what the fuck does it mean that two of us have a vision in the same day?
Dean could sense how anxious Charlie was, and her hand trembled on his forehead. When he closed his eyes briefly, Dean saw why; she was holding him within the gossamer edges of whatever she used to protect herself. Protecting him. When it should be the other way around.
He snorted, opening his eyes. Charlie looked down at him, but she never stopped moving her hand. It's worse when I physically touch them. Dean tried to push her hand away, but she frowned and deliberately put her hand back. Stubborn bitch. You'd think she was a freaking Winchester. But then Charlie smiled at him, her soothing fingers brushing against his forehead. The pain throbbed less when she touched him. Dean didn't want to fight her. The splitting ache in his skull hurt too much.
"Please." Sam's voice was soft, and he placed his hand on Arlene's right shoulder. "He's my brother. I need to know."
Arlene sobbed. "It was my break, and we came here and, oh, God! He fell, and he screamed. And he started glowing. Blue! On his arms at first. Those monsters attacked me!" She took a sucking breath. "And then you people showed up, and her hands were blue! What is he? What are you people?" Anger was in her voice, undercutting the fear. "Don't fucking come any closer! I have mace!"
"Gargoyles?" Sam asked, still inching towards the waitress. "Did you see gargoyles?"
"Are you a fucking lunatic?" Arlene snapped. "There's no such thing as…" Her voice trailed off, and she hiccupped. Sam pulled her into the crook of his arm, offering comfort. Murmuring in that soft voice that Sam always used to soothe those they helped.
"Whatever is here, it's not gargoyles." Charlie leaned down to whisper at Dean. "Sam doesn't know what they were." Her hand stopped moving, but she kept it on his forehead all the same. "Every one he killed ending up disintegrating, so we don't even have anything to study." Her gray eyes were serious. "I think they're coming back. The gun just scared them."
"You can sense – " Dean swallowed. Even the inside of his throat hurt. He grabbed onto Charlie's arm and pulled himself up into a sitting position. "Monsters?"
"Strong emotion," Charlie countered, dropping her hand from his forehead. "Doesn't matter what it comes from." Her face was ashen. He guessed she'd been sharing the pain. Hell, the way she winced when Arlene let out a wail, bawling on his little brother's shoulder, Charlie might have just taken it from him.
Dean grunted. "Open curtains."
Her entire face scrunched up like it always did when Charlie was about to say something she didn't want to say. "I'm sorry, Dean."
"For what?" Dean began to turn his head, appraising the alley. "You come up and knock me in the back of the head with a psychic baseball bat?" His voice was rough.
"I should have warned you about what visions are like, what they can do. How they can make you feel afterwards." She grimaced. "I – " Charlie swallowed. "I thought I had time. I didn't expect you to have one so soon. The same day I did." Charlie was worried about that, too. There's our Girl Genius… "And it's my fault you're totally unprepared for this," she added.
"Your fault?" Dean snorted. "You've known me for less than two weeks!" There was a chittering sound in the distance. "They're getting closer, aren't they?" Dean didn't even have to ask – he felt rage spear through him, barely tempered by the gossamer cocoon around them. He wondered if that's how Charlie felt all the time – normal, until something jagged scratched its way into her. Like that woman. "Can you help me stand?" Time to stop talking – Dean Winchester had work to do. Monsters were coming.
"Sure." Charlie brought herself to a stand, braced on a crutch. "But what if we both end up falling down?"
"Wouldn't be the first time one of us was on top of the other," he drawled, grinning at her. Dean glanced over at Sam. He was still comforting the waitress. Dean rolled onto his knees slowly, holding out a hand for Charlie to help brace him with as he rose gradually to his feet. He wobbled, and he had a mild headache, but otherwise he felt normal. Well, as normal as someone who just got smacked down by a goddamn vision from God. Or wherever the hell they came from. He was fucking Called and he was freaking Chosen. "Sammy!" Dean called. "Incoming."
"You shouldn't be up, Dean!" His little brother frowned, arm still around the waitress. "What the hell are you doing letting him up, Charlotte?"
"Keep your pants on, little brother. We don't have much choice. You think you can take all the little bastards on by yourself?" Dean smiled at Charlie to soften what he said next. "You want Charlie to wade in and start whacking with her crutches?"
"Good point." Sam pushed the waitress away gently. "Are you going to be okay, Arlene?"
The blonde woman nodded. "Yeah. I think so."
Dean shared a glance with Sam, saw his little brother look pointedly at Charlotte Webb. "Charlotte," Sam said, "You need to take Arlene and go. Neither of you should be here when those things come back."
"I can do that," Charlie replied, giving Arlene a look. "Why don't you come with me, Arlene?" She smiled at the waitress. And Dean saw it. The cocoon expanding, one small wisp reaching out to brush against the waitress as Charlie smiled. Arlene returned the smile, warily at first. And I can pull open the curtains when I need to, but that requires me to touch people. Charlie glanced at Sam. "Keep yourself safe, Sam," Charlie said. But Charlie was still worried when she looked at Dean, hadn't quite closed herself off the way she normally did.
"Take my phone." Sam's eyes widened as Dean handed Charlie his cell. "And take a cab from the bar. Once you get back to the motel, you keep the doors locked. If you even sense that asshole nearby, Sam's the first speed dial. And I want you to keep the spare gun in the dresser with you." Dean frowned. "You got all that, Charlie?" he asked.
Charlie's eyes flashed underneath a nearby light, but then her body relaxed. She put the phone into the small purse she had slung over her shoulder. "You stay safe, too, Dean. Don't – " Charlie's face crumpled. "We still need to talk."
"Damn right we do, Girl Genius, but I've got to work now." Dean smiled softly at her. And the look on her face – Charlie knew. Hell, Charlotte Webb had told him what he was in the back of his car, when all Dean could think about was fucking her. But this was what he was born to do, who he was born to become. If anyone understood that, it was the girl who could drop inside of someone and calm their nightmares. Who took someone else's pain inside of herself.
"You need to learn – " Charlie started, but stopped when their eyes met.
"I know, Charlie. And you're going to teach me. But I have to go." And he did. Dean's hands itched. There were monsters coming to Madison, and the Winchesters were taking them out. It was what he was born to do. He glanced at his little brother. What we are both supposed to do.
Sam did another double-take, coughing. "If the phone rings, answer it," Sam added. "It might be us."
The chirping noise was closer now, humming through the air around the church. Charlie was walking towards the waitress on her crutches, voice low as Arlene began to whimper again. One of the creatures came into view – bastard looked like a gargoyle's ugly cousin. Dean felt anger uncoil from inside of himself, and Charlie's head turned sharply towards him – gray eyes narrowing as she put her arm around Arlene.
He was unraveling inside with need, the need to protect someone. Just like he always protected Sammy, ever since the day he'd carried his baby brother out of a burning house. And Dean had the same need on jobs, when there was an innocent to be saved and that was more important than anything – his life, his revenge. It was worse when kids were involved, the one thing he could never deny. He'd even felt it once with Charlie, when he saw her laying on the ground at the bottom of a stairwell. But this feeling was different. Bigger. It wasn't just a job. It wasn't vengeance. People just needed to be saved.
You are Called and you are Chosen.
Dean Winchester was a fucking Warrior of God. This was what he was born to do. Monsters might walk its roads, but this world didn't belong to them.
"I think they're congregating near the church," Sam said. His eyes had gone round, and the look he gave Dean was faintly ill. "Are you sure you're okay, Dean?"
Dean shook his head. "Got no choice, Sammy. We've got to save this town." He sighed. "And then I need to talk to Charlie about that vision." Dean swallowed. "I need to know if it was real."
"What?" Sam looked at him dubiously.
"I saw a little girl. Like one of us." Dean felt his throat catch, hoped like hell Sam didn't pick up on it. She was so tiny. "And something was hurting her, Sammy." Dean couldn't even bring himself to tell Sam what he felt as those knives sliced that little girl's flesh, and he bit back a dry heave. Dear God, please don't let it be true.
"Beata?" Sam breathed the question. "You know where she is?"
"I don't even know if it's real, little brother. But if I did, we wouldn't be standing here talking. Or thinking about those flying freaks." Dean opened the trunk to the Impala, pulled out two flare guns and handed one to his little brother. Pulled out some extra flares. "Sooner we kill those ugly bastards, sooner we talk to Charlie. And if we're lucky, they'll lead us to a nest." If they even have a freaking nest.
"Can't follow on foot," Sam said. "They fly too fast."
"Hopefully a swarm that big will be visible from the road," Dean replied. "Close to a full moon, so there's enough light to see them by. Not too cloudy." Sam was looking at him with a grim expression on his face. "I've always wanted to try off-roading in the 'Pala," Dean added. He slammed the trunk closed.
Sam shook his head. "You're one crazy bastard."
"Just hope I don't get knocked unconscious by a vision while I'm driving." He opened the door and slid behind the steering wheel. Sam just stared at him for a couple of minutes, then shrugged his shoulders. Dean leaned over to unlock the passenger door before Sam could pull his little trick. Sam joined him in the front seat, glanced at him furtively before slamming his own door shut. Dean sighed. "What, Sam?"
"It's just – " His little brother frowned. "I've seen that expression before. It's not good."
"What expression?" It was Dean's turn to frown.
"Just promise me you'll take care of yourself tonight," Sammy returned. He set the flare gun in his lap, settling his arms around himself. His little brother looked so empty, leaning suddenly against the cold window with his sunken eyes, Dean couldn't do anything but swallow fiercely. "I can't lose you, Dean," Sam added. His voice cracked, and there was a shimmer of blue along his cheekbone.
Dean kept his eyes on the road, pointing the Impala towards the church. Knuckles white on the steering wheel. He hoped Sam wouldn't notice. He slowed down the car when the church was in view and dared to look at Sam. His little brother looked tired, but fully alert – loading a flare into the gun he was holding. "We're going to have to do this quick, Sammy," Dean said. "Think you can hike up the window?"
"Think you can drive this piece of crap once all hell breaks loose?" Sam retorted. Smartass.
Dean grinned suddenly. "Let's do this, Geek Boy."
Sam nodded, already opening his window and sliding out to rest his bony ass on the door. He had a second flare in his hand, ready to reload once the first shot was fired. Dean rolled down his own window, peered up at the bell tower of the church. What looked like hundreds of those flying freaks were swirling around the tower, gibbering and shrieking against the night sky. "Ready, Sammy?" Why the hell didn't the town notice a group of – things – like that every night for the past week? Fucking gargoyles?
"Game on," his little brother said, and a flare burst into the swarm.
They burned easily, exploding into shadows with each flare that hit them. Bodies didn't drop to the ground – when they exploded, they took others with them. Screams increased, and several lights turned on along the street – on top of the stores where people probably lived. Shit. Dean was running out of flares, and Sam slid back into the car with a frown.
Suddenly there was the bang of a shotgun, the bullet whizzing past the Impala, and the flying freakazoids swooped past and began flying away.
Dean didn't need to be told twice. He pressed his foot down on the gas pedal, and sped down Madison's main drag after the shrieking mass in the sky. The creatures swooped angrily, some even attempting to dive bomb the car – exploding into flickers of fire against the windshield as they died. The barreled out of town as the swarm veered past and turned into some farmland.
Fuck.
He twisted the steering wheel, pulling the Impala off the road and into a field. Gunning the engine, his baby roared into action – spitting dirt behind her as they gave chase. Those goddamn flying fuckers weren't getting away without a fight. The entire dashboard was infused with a blue glue.
"Holy shit!" Sam was staring at him with eyes gone round. "Dean…" It was him. Dean was shining like a motherfucking glowstick. Got to work. Don't have time to scream. Sammy's hands were braced on the dashboard, sigils cropping with the same blue glow across his wrists.
"You hanging in there, Sammy?" Dean's voice seemed to fill the entire car. Knuckles still hard around the steering wheel, eyes not even needing to focus on the things soaring above and around them. He could feel their hate, their anger. And what Dean could sense, he could track – the first use of his chick flick gift that didn't blow chunks.
Sam actually chuckled. "Yeah. Just trying to do those crap exercises Charlotte taught me, and your driving sucks."
"Bite me."
"You wish, Dean." The symbols on his hands were fading.
Another creature shrieked and swooped down into the dashboard, sparking across the window. Dean just kept right on driving, while Sam's eyes got a little white around the edges. A stone wall appeared before them, topped with barbed wire and jagged edges. Dean slammed his foot on the brakes, and swerved the car so that it was running parallel to the wall. Sam bit off a scream. The creatures were still flying around somewhere past the fricking wall.
"Fuckers just tried to kill us!" Dean roared. The anger was flying towards them again, swerving past them and back out past them into more farmland. "Damn it!" Dean grit his teeth and turned the Impala to hound the swarm. Those little bastards weren't going to get away now. "Hang on, Sammy!" And he gunned the engine, the Impala roaring past the wall and back into the fields.
They were good – Dean would give them that much. But they were getting careless – more of them flying into the Impala. Like that would slow my baby down. He didn't know how long they'd been on the chase; they moved, the 'Pala moved with them. So long as Dean could feel them, Dean could track them. Even Sam was getting into it, grinning like a lunatic each time Dean turned the wheel, or started running parallel to walls whenever the ugly bastards thought Dean was getting careless.
When the last one dive-bombed the car, Dean had no idea where they were and he had nothing left to follow. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" Dean slammed his hand onto the steering wheel. Those goddamn monsters had led them to a road in the middle of nowhere.
"Oh, shit," Sam whispered. He pointed towards a sign on Dean's left. A highway sign. "Madison, three miles," Sam added. "They led us right back where we came from."
"So what now?" Dean's breath came out as a hiss. "What the fuck do we do now? Gear up for round two tomorrow night?" He shook his head. "Hell, no. I'm talking to Charlie and we're going after the girl."
"That bad?" Sam shook his head.
"Sam!" The urgency filled him, the need to protect battered into the back of his skull. "If she's real, I have to save her."
"I know, man. I know."
"You don't understand, Sammy. This little girl – in the vision, she's being eaten alive." He swallowed. "The fucker is cutting her to pieces!" If Dean weren't so pissed, he'd be throwing up with the memory. And the knives slice into her flesh, quivering still on its forks as Death feeds.
Sam's eyes were shiny when he turned to look at Dean. "And you can feel it, right?" It was his little brother's turn to swallow. "Being an empath must suck out loud. At least I just see the things that happen. I don't feel it."
"Yeah." Dean's voice was hard. "I can."
"The one thing I know is that we're sent visions to prevent something from happening, Dean. I read that in the journals that Charlotte gave me." He frowned as Dean pulled the car onto the road back into town. "But the visions don't run on the same time-table we do. Charlotte told me she had a vision once fifteen years ago, and it hasn't happened yet," his little brother added.
"This blows chunks, Sam. I don't even know what's real anymore." Dean let out a sigh. "That girl sure complicated things with her stupid plan to give you a freaking book bag and a glowing sword."
"This would have happened to us regardless, Dean. It's how we're made."
"It pisses me off that she was right, though." Dean knew it wasn't fair. The way he felt when they were on the chase, the way he used his Gift to track monsters so angry they left a trail for him in the sky. He believed it now. He was born to this life. Men and women who fight like you and Sam. Helping them fulfill their sacred purpose, protecting humanity from curses and monsters that we were never meant to see. "That I'm a fucking Warrior of God," Dean added.
"Wouldn't it be easier for you if it was?" Sam snorted.
"Cute, Sammy."
"Just pointing out the obvious." His little brother's voice was soft, and Dean saw him close his eyes – lower his head like he was seeing something in his geek brain that Sammy didn't want to see.
"I'm so wired I'm never going to be able to sleep."
"You could call Arlene," Sam replied, his voice a little short. What's with the attitude, little brother?
"Or we could go back to the motel and check in with Charlie," Dean replied, glancing at Sam as they drove. He turned on the radio – "Stairway to Heaven" was playing, and damn if Dean couldn't hear Charlie's little off-key warble in the back of the Impala. "Charlie really can't sing."
"How do we ask her to stop?" Sam was looking out the window.
"We don't, Sammy. Girl likes to sing; she just can't. You talk all the time, and half the crap you say is full of shit." Dean grinned. "I can't make you stop talking. Trust me, dude, I've tried. You stop talking so much, and then I'll ask Charlie not to sing."
"Screw you." But his little brother was laughing. "You know what I think, Dean?"
"Nope." Dean snorted, looked out the window – hoping to catch another glimpse of the swarm, but the sky was clear. Just a big, nearly full moon. "But I'm guessing you're going to tell me," Dean added.
"I think you're just as glad she stayed as I am. Even if she did complicate our lives with a book bag and a glowing sword."
"And I think you've got a few screws loose, Sammy, but you don't see me bringing that up as a theory for your fucked-up personality." He shook his head. How could Dean tell his little brother that he felt their mother die and that a goddamn redhead was the only person in the world who knew; and that as fucked up as the whole thing was, it was good to know that someone understood what that felt like. That his nightmares didn't just stem from being crazy deep down inside. Dean shrugged his shoulders. "Once you get past all that end of the world crap, she's a nice girl."
"That's my point," Sam returned, looking out the window. "She is a nice girl."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Jesus Christ! Warning received loud and clear, Francis."
"Fuck you, Dean." Sam was holding himself again, and Dean saw another flicker of blue glint in his little brother's eyes. "I just don't want to see my friend get hurt."
"And when have I ever been interested in nice girls?" Dean retorted. "She's here because I don't want my little brother to become the thing that destroys the world." Sam's body jerked as though Dean had smacked him, hard against the chest. Dean frowned, a warm ache blazing in his chest. Damn, Sammy. "I – " He took a deep breath. "I can't lose you, either, Sam." You and me and Dad—I mean, I want us… I want us to be together again. I want us to be a family again.
Sam didn't say anything until they were walking up the stairs to the motel room. "What if we lose?" Dean's throat ached when Sammy said it – his little brother looked so much like he used to when he said it, before Shemhezai started taking over the neighborhood. "You don't know how bad that thing wants out of me, Dean."
"You're not that thing, Sam. You're my geeky little brother, and I'll kick your ass if you ever forget that." It was the only thing Dean could think to say as he pulled the cardkey out of his pocket. "I might just kick your ass on general principle because this conversation is starting to piss me off."
"Doofus." But Sam was grinning.
"Asshole," Dean returned, sliding the key and opening the door.
The room was brightly lit – it was almost midnight, but Charlie was sitting on the farthest bed with a laptop balanced on her knees and several of her own research books scattered around her. She was ready for bed, wearing new red-striped pajamas they bought to replace her old blue ones. Dean had wanted to get her a set with yellow ducks, but Charlie had her limits; even had Sam smack him on the arm for her when Dean mentioned them a second time. She kept typing, but a shiver went through her shoulders. "Hey," she said, looking up at them suddenly. "Any luck?"
"No." Dean really didn't want to talk about it – and he felt damn guilty about that little shiver. He had probably just ripped Charlie wide open. Good thing for him that she didn't mention it in front of Sam. "You?" Dean asked.
"I think so," Charlie answered. "Arlene's brother is one of the good old boys from the article. Said she would ask him to meet us for breakfast at the diner around 9:00 or so. He might know more about the creatures." But she looked doubtful.
"Score one for Research Girl," Sam chuckled. He took off his jacket, and headed off towards the bathroom.
"Score two for Charlotte," she returned. She gestured for Dean to join her on the bed, which would have shocked the hell out of him any other day but this one. Charlie was already turning her laptop around as he slid next to her, and the ugly mug of one of those flying motherfuckers greeted him from the screen. "I found some references in books, too. I was just getting ready to cross-check them."
"Where did you learn to become such a research geek?" Dean asked lightly. Charlie gave him an arch look, and then started chewing her thumbnail again as she stared at the bathroom door. He sighed. "Tonight really sucked, Charlie. I couldn't even find a goddamn nest. How am I supposed to save a little girl I saw in a vision?" Her head whipped around to look at him, taking in what he said – gray eyes wide. How's that for dropping the shoe, Girl Genius?
"Do you remember any details from the vision?" she asked. Her fingers actually twitched above the keyboard, like Charlie was getting ready to start researching based on anything he could give her. Dean almost smiled at that.
"Beyond feeling what it's like to be eaten alive, no."
"Oh, God." Charlie looked like she was going to throw up, and then blinked. Once. "Did it feel real to you?" She frowned. "Of course it felt real to you. Don't be an idiot, Charlotte." Her eyes widened. "Is that the vision you had when you collapsed?"
"Anyone ever tell you that there's a hole in your head the size of Texas?"
"It could be important, Dean. Those things attacked you once your vision started. You actually called the Ziv Zakai and they were drawn to it. That's enough proof for me that you were being Called." Charlie had tears standing in her eyes when she looked at him. "I just wish you remembered more, so we would know where to start."
"I'll take notes next time, Girl Genius." Dean's eyes widened. "And did you just say we?"
Charlie nodded. He was going to say something more but there was a yelp from the bathroom, followed by a groaning sound from Sam. The door whipped open, and Sam entered – wrapped in nothing but a towel. His little brother immediately grabbed his duffel bag, glaring at Charlie. "That was so not funny, Charlotte! The gloves are off!" Sammy gave her another pissed off look and stalked back into the bathroom.
"What the fuck was that about?" Dean had to ask.
She coughed, lowering her eyes. "I did some other research tonight, too," Charlie said, opening up another web browser on her laptop. Dean just stared at her dumbly. "I found a website for duct tape practical jokes," Charlie added, pointing towards one line. He leaned towards her to get a better look.
"Condiment commode," Dean read out loud. It was a pretty good gag, and Charlie knew where they kept the duct tape. Dean swallowed. "You did that to the freaking toilet?" His eyes widened. "What if I had gone in before Sam? My ass would be covered in ketchup!"
"This is war, Dean." She grinned at him. "Casualties are expected." Her mouth twisted. "And it was honey mustard barbecue sauce."
Dean returned her grin. That damn mischievous look was infectious. "Score three for the Cowgirl," he said, laughing as Charlie registered the words. He still couldn't get that little girl out of his head. But Dean Winchester would pick right back up fighting tomorrow, because that's what Winchesters did. Because sometimes, when the job went south, the only thing to do was laugh. Laugh until it hurt. And then get back to work.
"I warned you, Dean." Charlie wasn't exactly pulling off the solemn look, though.
"Bring that fiendishly clever revenge, sweetheart." Dean snorted. "But you're not good enough to take both Sammy and I on – even with that handy roll of duct tape you stole from Sam's bag." The startled look on her face only made him laugh harder.
And then Charlie poked him in the arm; she was laughing, too.
A/N:
Not even sure where to begin on this one…
I got down with my fangirly self. I even mentioned The Surf Ninjas – a silly movie, with some of my fondest memories of friends. This was full of movie references, actually – The Godfather comes to mind. Not to mention good old Pirates of the Caribbean, Amelie and the big daddy of monsters himself: Godzilla. Yes, Gojira is the unedited for American audiences version of the original film. And Ishiro Honda, its director, did work with Akira Kurosawa.
My inner otaku came out to play for awhile, too. Akira is an anime based on the manga title of the same name. (My advice, read the manga; the movie is beautifully animated, but barely scratches the surface of the story.) Testsuo is a character who starts going insane when his psychic powers manifest. Seemed appropriate, given how Dean is always referring to Sam as a psychic. And I would suspect Teen!Dean would have been all over Akira.
Girl Genius, apart from being Charlie's nickname, is a fabulous online comic by Phil Foglio. Those who follow By Gaslight may be particularly interested, as its undeniably steampunk. (Hey, don't shoot me for pimping my other fic.) Since Dean uses it so much, I felt the need to shout-out and give credit where it's due.
The title is a song by Blue Oyster Cult.
As for the rest, you know the drill: Criticism always welcome. (In fact, I encourage it!) And comments are the things that make my dizzy brain happy.