This is set sometime after the end of Season 1. While it doesn't break canon to my knowledge, it is definitely AU. There's something bigger in Madison, Georgia, than a plague of flying freaks: the thing controlling them. They've got one clue, they're probably out gunned – and they have to wait until morning to get anything done.
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, Aaron, Arlene
Rating: PG ( Some bad language, but also the return of Shirtless!Winchesters – so some good with the bad, I think.)
Summary: Conversation is the slowest form of human communication.
Feedback: Absolutely!
Miscellaneous: As always, this would not have been possible without the brilliance of JMM0001, who rightly called me on pacing and tension – and hopefully I have done her insight justice. Much thanks to wenchpixie, who convinced me to keep in the funniest bit. (I did not want Sam to kill me with his brain.) Both acted as my betas for this chapter. As always, the good parts are because of them. The bad parts are all me.
Chapter Eight: Lost Like This
The only constant Charlotte knew about traveling with the Winchesters – beyond the way they ate breakfast – was that it was never going to be dull.
Jacob had always taught her that people had patterns to their behavior; once she understood the patterns, it was a simple thing to use her Gift to subtly influence people – to couch her persuasion so that it meshed with the target's natural instinct. Charlotte only used her Gift that way to guard herself, a practical application that helped her survive living with her mother, living within the Circle – which was probably the real reason Jacob was so adamant that she understood the lesson. He used to say that she needed to stay safe, that the Circle of Enoch could never know she was her father's daughter. It wasn't true, but it seemed to give Jacob hope to believe it.
The Winchesters, however, didn't play by conventional rules and just when Charlotte thought she had figured out Sam and Dean Winchester, one of them did something that surprised her. Usually something that floored her – like telling her she was brave and meaning it. When Dean opened up to her about his vision, she would have fallen down had she not already been sitting – and even then, she asked him the dumbest question anyone could ask an empath. Did it feel real to you? Charlotte could have kicked herself when he just looked at her – between that and the fact that she couldn't make it through a meal without dropping something on herself, Dean Winchester probably thought Charlotte Anne Webb was the world's biggest dork.
There was no way in Hell that she could tell Dean about her visions after that. Who would feel better knowing that some inept girl was getting knocked out in the backseat of your car because she couldn't even hold onto you long enough for you to save your brother? Charlotte couldn't even drink orange juice properly. Why should Dean Winchester trust her with Sam's life? With his life? But the visions never lied, and Charlotte felt like she was standing on the edge of a precipice – she could feel the air around them, thick with something that was coming.
Something swirling around a boy who should be at Stanford.
The boy who had been surprising her from the moment they met, the boy with the demon inside. Charlotte saw what happened to Meg the first time she had been Touched by Azazeal, how Alex held his sister until the screaming stopped – and they were Beata trained to be a host. Strong-willed Meg – so resolute she had begun learning the Azeali Hexes when she was just thirteen – was reduced to a gibbering thing after five minutes.
Sam wasn't simply Touched – somehow, Shemhezai was burrowed inside of him, stuck in the cracks between Sam's soul and what he could become. Shemhezai swirled in Sam like a virus, the contagion before the world died; every time Sam started Awakening, the creature tried to push its way out – using the power that should stop him to give birth to itself. And it should have, as many times as Charlotte saw the power shimmer across Sam. Shemhezai should have ripped out what was left of Sam Winchester and howled its victory across a broken landscape.
But he was still Sam Winchester, clinging stubbornly to himself with everything he could muster – buoyed only by a brother's determination to save him. If Dean Winchester could save his little brother by sheer force of will, he would have already single-handedly averted Armageddon. Charlotte would be on her way to Washington D.C. with a warm hug from Sam, and maybe another poke in the arm from his older brother.
The only thing you can do, when faced with the strength of love's purity, is stand with it.
It always came back to Jacob's oldest lessons, about what it meant to be a Blessed Child. She could repeat every lesson in her sleep, every rule of behavior – every reason they were born to serve. So many lessons, all recited and repeated while the others were learning how to forge their gifts into Shemhezai's weapons. She always thought Jacob taught her simply to keep the old ways alive – she was a girl too scared to do what was right – but he always made her recite his words until they came as easy as breathing.
Maybe Jacob was following his own plan, completing his own appointed task before the end.
Charlotte was totally unprepared. At least the Winchesters had their father. John Winchester had made them hunters, teaching them that uncanny way they looked at the world. They were his answer to the Circle of Enoch, and those boys broke every rule she'd been taught to obey – to do what really mattered. To save people. Celeste Webb had broken her daughter – but Jacob had taught Charlotte what it meant to be Beata.
It was hard to ignore a lifetime of lessons when all that stood between the beginning and the end was a pair of brothers crossing the country in an Impala.
She maintained a brave face when the Winchesters asked her questions – Charlotte didn't want them to know she was as scared as they were, that she didn't know how to respond. She was Circle-trained. Charlotte was supposed to know the answers to their questions. But when Sam asked about mental defense to protect the world from what was inside of him, Charlotte knew she had stumbled into unknown territory. The second time she heard that woman's voice cry 'Help him' in her mind, Charlotte ran through a horde of flying demons to pull Dean Winchester into her arms and cocoon him in her shields. She had never been so far removed from the safety of her library before, years of reading books and memorizing things – safety shattered by the fear of what was coming.
Charlotte didn't know how the Winchesters did it, living like this. God help her on the day that a lifetime of planning her escape kicked in, because even the memory of the way the Winchesters looked when they told her she was brave – how Dean smiled, the shift of Sam's body as he thought twice about hugging her – wouldn't be enough to keep her at their side. Hell, she'd only just decided that she was on their side. And she really wished Jacob was with them. He could teach the Winchesters what they needed to know, answer all of their questions. She was no substitute for a real teacher. It was all Charlotte could do to clamp down the fear inside long enough to read a goddamn paragraph in a book.
Charlotte slammed her book shut, breath coming out in a huff, and let it fall into her lap.
"What's wrong, Charlotte?" Sam looked up from his own laptop – he was reviewing the websites she had found earlier, while she and Dean looked through her books. Her own laptop was still powered on, sitting between them on the bed.
"Just tired," she replied, pushing up her glasses with her hands to rub her eyes. Charlotte wasn't going to say more. People needed to be saved – that was more important than sitting around wishing you had a some small clue about what to do next. A little girl's life was at stake. And it didn't help that Dean was sitting beside her, shaking inside like he was touched by a livewire. "And I think I need some coffee," she added.
"Maybe you should get some sleep," Sam responded. She glanced at the clock – it was almost 2:00 AM.
"Are you both going to sleep?" Charlotte asked. Sam and Dean shot each other sheepish looks. Of course not. She looked over at the little coffee maker in the room – they'd already used the complimentary packet an hour ago. Damn. Maybe they could make another pot; it would taste awful, but she'd done worse pulling an all-nighter back at Georgetown.
Dean's mouth twisted. "Sammy, she's going to stay up as long as we do." He shook his head. "Maybe we should all get some sleep; it's not like we're going to find anything new, and I've been reading this freaking book for so long it looks like gibberish." Hazel eyes rolled up into his head. "Oh, come on!" Dean exclaimed, and he flipped the book over.
Sam snorted. He might even have laughed, except that Dean was glaring at him. "So what do we know?" the youngest Winchester asked.
"Beyond what Charlie already figured out while we were wasting our time chasing the freaks, not much." Dean's face was etched with his frustration, and Charlotte watched him flex his hands. "These little Dreamling bastards are mostly incorporeal. They're summoned, so they're too weak-minded to act without someone controlling them, and they feed on dreams."
"So whoever was controlling them led us right back to town." Sam leaned back in his chair. "So we need to figure out who, why and where." He stretched his arms. "And the who is bad, Dean. It doesn't take much to call one of these things, but fifty? A hundred?"
"So we're looking for one powerful mofo," Dean returned, frowning. His eyes glittered, his fists unclenching slowly. "One thing we haven't checked is how their victims react, if there are any common symptoms. If we could figure out who the victims are, we can figure out the why. Try to see if they had anything in common."
Charlotte found herself grinning – for someone who said he wasn't good at research, Dean Winchester asked all the right questions. Charlotte was so concerned with trying to figure out what they were, she hadn't stopped to think about what the Dreamlings did and to whom. "What?" Dean asked suddenly, eyes focused on her. Angry.
"Nothing, really…" she replied. "It was just – researching the victims." Charlotte lowered her eyes. "That was clever." Dean gave her a strange look, and she felt the color creep into her cheeks. It's official. I'm the world's biggest dork. "But I might have something that would help with that," she added, twisting herself so that she could get off the bed.
"Park it, Charlie," Dean said. "We're on it."
Sam was already standing. "What am I looking for?"
"In the file box, there's a green leather CD case," she responded. Charlotte turned to look at Dean. "Did you just tell me to park it?"
The older Winchester shrugged. "You don't have to do everything by yourself." Dean looked at her pointedly, and she moved her legs back in front of her.
"I'm just as capable of finding a CD case," Sam added, his voice muffled as he rummaged through the file box. He stood up, several multi-colored cases in his hands, and sat down on the foot of the bed – dumping the cases in front of them. "How many of these things do you have?"
"Not as much as we need," she said, "But I didn't have time to download every archive before I left." She started to lean forward to get the green one, but Dean was already reaching for it. "Thanks," Charlotte said when he handed it to her. She unzipped it and started flipping through the discs. Her head ached.
Sam was still fiddling with the other cases in front of him – brow furrowing as he unzipped the red one. "You downloaded archives from the Circle of Enoch?"
Charlotte nodded. "Secondary copies of texts and documents were digitized about five years ago." Sam was grinning at her, and she returned the smile. "So I started downloading as much as I could before I left, and organized them as we traveled. Alex actually believed me when I told him I was bringing research along with us for the mission." Charlotte patted the case on her knee. "The green CD case is full of case reports."
"Case reports?" Dean snorted, eyes twinkling. "So does any schmo get to write up a case report, or can only special operatives do it?"
"The Circle's been around for hundreds of years," she retorted. "They weren't always the bad guys." But Charlotte laughed at the question. "Given how they're written," she added, "I think it was any schmo, although Alex Masters can barely spell his own name." Charlotte chuckled, leaning conspiratorially towards Dean. "I've got a copy of his last report saved on my laptop. It's perfect for slow torture any time you need to interrogate a demon," she added.
Sam groaned as Dean's eyes widened, returning her grin. "We're not going to get anything done with the two of you – " the youngest Winchester was abruptly shocked into silence by a glare from Dean. "Getting punchy," Sam added, grinning at his older brother. It was too early in the morning to even try and decipher their messages.
"Punchy? I'm not punchy!" Dean made a face at his little brother, his eyes a little too bright, and then poked her in the arm again. "Are you punchy, Charlie?" Dean asked. Ow. She rubbed her arm where he poked her. He managed to hit the exact same spot the last three times he felt the need to emphasize something he was saying to her.
"I rest my case," Sam muttered, shaking his head. His eyes, blurred and just as tired, focused on Charlotte's face. "So, what do we do with the case studies?" the youngest Winchester asked.
"Each disc has a small search program on it. I figured we could look up cases that correlate to the different names for Dreamling." Charlotte bit her thumb. "The only problem is that we need a third laptop." She sat up straight, back against the headboard. "We could switch off with catnaps every hour."
"You're just trying to figure out a way to stay up with us Winchesters, aren't you?" Dean asked. "You're exhausted, Charlie. And I know you've got one kickass headache." There was no arguing with that – he knew what she did for him in the alley.
"There's a little girl out there who needs help." Charlotte said. Dean looked at her like she was stating the obvious. "How do both of you do this all the time?" She asked softly. Oh, God… Now they think I'm a whiner on top of being a dork. Dean's eyes widened, and he shrugged. He picked up the green case on Charlie's knee and handed one of the discs inside to Sam.
"One case at a time," Sam answered, and his voice was rough. "And this clue is the best we've got."
Charlotte balanced her laptop on her knees again, taking the second disc that Dean pulled out of the case. She slipped it into drive, and pulled up the search utility once the main menu appeared. Focus on the job, then. I can do that.
She started typing in search parameters into the text box on the screen, opting for French first – it would be slow-going, but she might be able to make out something without having to rely too much on a dictionary for translation. Charlotte had no idea what they would do if case reports showed up for some of the oriental languages. Call Alan? That would work. Poorly. She hadn't talked to him outside of departmental meetings since she started dating Miles, and Charlotte always avoided the memory of Alan's eyes when they woke up in bed together and he saw exactly what she looked like underneath her clothes.
Too late.
Charlotte closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the headboard. I know I was drunk, and you were fucking fantastic in the dark but, Jesus, you're a freak. A scabby, ugly freak. As if a linguistics TA couldn't tell the difference between scabs and scars. Even Miles looked faintly ill whenever he saw her stomach, the crazy woman's quilt, although the rest of her didn't seem to bother him. Much. He still averted his eyes whenever she was getting dressed, and she didn't buy the argument of 'I really like the lights off.' She opened her eyes and saw Dean, staring at the status bar on the search program. Her throat swelled, a little ache like it did when she was growing up. But if I'm a freak and you're a freak, Sammy, that makes Charlie just like us.
The Winchesters even made the word 'freak' hurt a little less.
The program pinged, interrupting her thoughts. The search in French pulled up nothing, so Charlotte put a checkmark next to the French variant on her notepad – sorely tempted to hit Dean with her pencil when he snorted. Charlotte settled for a knowing look, which only set off his laughter; she probably looked exactly like Sr. Rose Bernadette back in math class. But at least he wasn't vibrating inside, and she could actually breathe a little.
Anger slammed into her. Sam out of the corner of her eye, darkened scowl on his face. For a moment – a flash of a second – she braced herself for a flicker of orange in his eyes. "I am such an idiot!" Sam exclaimed. Charlotte exhaled. "I've been searching on terms individually instead of using the 'or' function," Sam added, rubbing his eyes.
"Me, too," Charlotte said. Her head fell backwards against the headboard – not hard, just enough to startle her as her head connected with a thud. "And I've been checking them off on a list! How stupid can I be?"
"That's it," Dean said, pulling the laptop off Charlotte's knees and setting it on the nightstand. She tried to reach for it as he picked it up, but the damn man was too fast. "We're all going to bed. We can get about five hours of sleep and still have time to pick up where we left off." He grinned at Charlotte. "We'll switch off while taking showers or something."
"But – " Sam started to protest, immediately closing his mouth with Dean's gaze whipped towards him. Dean looked away. "But what about the girl," the younger Winchester added.
Dean's shoulders slumped. Charlotte resisted the urge to touch his hand. "It's a vision, right? Those happen so we have time to stop it," he said. Dean swallowed. "If that's not true, guess the only hope I've got is that she heals," he added.
"Her Gift is Regeneration?" Charlotte asked. He hadn't told her that before – only that she was Beata – but it explained his urgency. Dean nodded. If that's not true, guess the only hope I've got is that she heals. Full of pain and fear – if his visions weren't prophetic, Dean would never know how many nights a little girl lay dying. No wonder he was a livewire inside, fingers itching just to do something. Not to be sitting in a goddamn room looking at goddamn books. Charlotte shook her head sharply to clear her thoughts. And no wonder I'm picking up on everything. She took a deep breath. "You were Called, Dean," Charlotte said softly. "And visions are warnings. You can stop this."
"You think so, Girl Genius?" Dean asked. He didn't look at her.
"I do," Charlotte answered simply, watching his shoulders as he breathed. Wishing that bravery she was supposed to have was strong enough for her to do the right thing – to wrap her arms around him and share his pain. Hell, she'd settle for touching his hand. To send out one small tendril of comfort.
"Yeah, so…" Sam coughed suddenly. "I noticed there's no cot." Charlotte winced but didn't say anything – she was so driven to research the Dreamlings that she went straight to work. She didn't call the front desk for a cot. She hadn't even checked under the beds to see if one had been stashed away by a previous occupant.
"I can take a pillow and some blankets and go sleep in the bathtub. You two need to rest." Getting the cot was supposed to be her job. No reason either of them should suffer because she was too caught up in the research to do her job.
"The bathtub?" A grin was playing across Sam's face as he asked the question. "Are you going to prop your leg up on the ledge or something to have enough room for your cast?" When Sam Winchester put it that way, the whole idea sounded stupid. Charlotte could feel the heat rushing up from her neck, past her ears and tingling to the top of her head.
"It won't be the first time Sam and I had to sleep in the same bed," Dean added. He smiled at her, but it didn't reach his eyes. "But if he hogs the covers, you're not going to hear the end of it, Charlie."
"Fair enough." Charlotte returned his smile, mouth twisting up as she looked at him. She began pushing the books away from her, getting enough space to lie down on the bed without having to put her things away. Dean helped her clear the bed, turned off her laptop – started piling the books on the table. Anything to keep from actually settling down and sleeping. Sam was already on the other bed, curling up in his clothes – facing the front door to the room. She moved her legs over the side of the bed, looking for her crutches, but Dean was already there to help her stand. Touching Dean brought with it a frustration so hard it stabbed through her shields, rocking through her head.
Charlotte decided not to use her crutches, and she shuffled unsteadily towards the bathroom. Checked underneath the toilet seat, where Sam had left her a couple of surprises duct taped under the rim. When she was done, she washed her hands and face before brushing her teeth. A stab of aggravation whipped into the bathroom, and Charlotte's stomach clenched. She opened the door slowly and hobbled back into the room.
All of the lights were off, except the small one on the table. Dean had reopened Sam's laptop, and was typing in search terms off of her notepad. Sam was asleep – his breathing calm and relaxed.
She peered over Dean's shoulder and he started guiltily when her hair fell forward, brushing against his neck. Charlotte hadn't intended to get so close. Hazel eyes looked up at her as he twisted in the chair. "I can't sleep," Dean said quietly. Even the air around him was throbbing with need, his desire to just be doing something. Anything. If he knew where to start.
Charlotte sat down in the chair across from his at the table. No way I can sleep, either. "Go get my laptop, Dean. You can search and I'll translate, and we'll swap computers for that." She frowned. "And I'll need my blue book bag – I keep it in the duffel," Charlotte added. I'll need dictionaries. She realized she had raised her chin at him again when Dean got that stupid grin on his face, like he was proud of her or something, but he didn't move. "I can't help you fight, Dean, but this – " Charlotte swallowed. "It's what I've been trained to do. Language is what I know."
"I'll take all the help I can get, Charlie," Dean said, and his smile reached his eyes. "But how about I find something first, and then I'll get your stuff." He pushed something towards her across the table. "Hungry?" Dean Winchester had just offered her a Ding Dong. She took it, started nibbling around the edge as she watched Dean – his eyes staring hard at the monitor. "You know," he said softly, "If you keep thinking so hard, you're going to break your brain." Dean raised an eyebrow and smirked at her.
What the hell have I gotten myself into?
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Sam was walking down an overgrown road, green trees arching overhead as dappled sunlight came down in patches on the dirt pathway in front of him. He could hear birds chirping, and some animals off in the brush – none coming close enough to see what he was doing on their road. Sam could hear whistling up ahead, beyond a turn in the road; the song sounded familiar.
He was surprised to see Aaron sitting on a stump, whistling and looking up at the clouds. "Hey, Sam," Aaron called as he drew closer, that same shit-eating grin on his face that Sam remembered from Milwaukee. "You going to pull a shotgun full of rock salt this time?" The accent just as strong. Still wearing the Sex Pistols t-shirt, with his brown hair slightly rumpled in the breeze.
Sam chuckled at that. "Didn't think to pack one," he returned. Aaron looked at him hard for a full ten seconds, and then burst out laughing. "Not meaning to sound all rude, but isn't this a little melodramatic?" He gestured towards the woods and the stump.
"More melodramatic than just showing up unannounced in your motel room? I whistled so you'd know someone was here," Aaron retorted. He stood up, putting his hands in his pockets. "I need to talk to you, Sam, and I can't do that with the girl in the room," Aaron added. "Besides, it was this or drop by for a nice chat in the john. I don't think either one of us wanted that."
"Thanks," Sam said wryly.
"Don't mention it," Aaron returned. "So, you been keeping busy?"
"Do jobs count?" Sam asked.
"Been on a job the whole time?"
"Touché," Sam returned lightly. "We're on a job now, but I've been practicing the sword for two hours every day when we aren't." Sam sighed. "Dean thinks I'm an idiot." Which was an understatement – Dean had always preferred a Glock to a broadsword. Can't shoot long-range with a sword, little brother.
"Let me guess. Your brother always wanted to be Han Solo? Not sure how I feel about that." Aaron grinned. "You'd best remember to bring that sword with you on jobs, Sam. Practice is good, but it's not the same thing as a real fight. The sword may only react to you when your life is on the line."
"Good to know," Sam said lightly. That'll really piss off Dean. Me lugging a sword around on every job? The Beata's eyes appraised him, like he was being measured by the man. He squared his shoulders. "Charlotte's been teaching me how to meditate," Sam added.
"Charlie's got a lot to learn from you boys." The way Aaron said her name, it was like he always knew that Charlotte Webb should really have been called 'Charlie' all along, and no amount of convincing would make a difference. "It's good that she's returning the favor by helping you." He narrowed his eyes. "Have the lessons been helping?"
Sam nodded. "I was able to keep Shemhezai inside a couple hours ago. Not even sure how I did it."
"Looks like you need to start listening to yourself more often, Sam. You're the one who told me you'd do it because you're a Winchester," Aaron said with a smile. "Shemhezai is one stubborn son of a bitch, but it's about time he realized that we're not ants just waiting to be stepped on."
The smile fell out of Aaron's eyes, but the accent got thicker. "But doing one thing right doesn't win the war. You're still a bunch of broken kids trying to save the world with a book bag full of notes and a glowing sword. What's coming up will break all of you if you're not ready." The Beata's eyes turned serious. "The three of you don't have time to be screwing around with practical jokes, Sam, so I hope you've enjoyed your little holiday. The moment you walk out that motel room door, the others are going to start joining you."
"Others?" Sam felt his blood grow cold. "More of the Twelve?"
"Circle doesn't have them all." Aaron nodded. "We made sure of that – hid them well, sealed their gifts until the time was right for them to Awaken. Haven't people been telling you that a storm is coming, Sam? You're the calm that stands in the middle of it right now and they'll be drawn to you."
Sam swallowed. "What about Shemhezai? Won't he try to…" break them all? Sam had actually felt the thing's manic desire, when Charlotte's gray eyes filled with tears, and Sam heard something pulled from her memory that made him want to go to Georgetown and hurt someone. I know I was drunk, and you were fucking fantastic in the dark but, Jesus, you're a freak. A scabby, ugly freak. And Dean – Shemhezai kept pushing at the frustration, and Dean was barely holding it together. Too wired to sleep. He was probably up right now trying to do more research.
"Oh, he'll try, Sam. It's what he does. And you'll fight him, because you have to." Aaron stretched his arm. "Are you even reading the prophecy? You should know by now that the others are coming. Wasn't just luck that Charlie ended up in that bar with you. The others have signs, too." The Beata snorted. "The Circle gets them, and you're screwed. Don't go pissing your allies away before you even get them just by being sloppy."
Sam's cheeks burned. "Charlotte's still translating it."
"What are you three doing playing practical jokes on each other when you have so much work to do? Tell that girl to get a move on, Sam Winchester. Prophecy won't help you kids if you don't even know what's coming. What the hell is that girl thinking?" Aaron shook his head, and his eyes narrowed again. "And you can stop trying to make that girl a Warrior. She's a Mystic!"
It really pissed him off that a dead man could read his mind in a dream, but Sam remembered what happened the last time he challenged Aaron. And Sam knew what would happen if he asked the obvious question. What the hell is a Mystic? "Aaron, Charlotte doesn't want to be a Hunter." It was a lame answer. "But we're going to teach her how to defend herself," Sam added, staring Aaron in the eyes. "If she's supposed to be with us, then she's going to stay safe. And that's non-negotiable."
The Beata looked away first. "Can't argue with the reasoning, I guess. But the girl knows how to defend herself; Charlie just doesn't like doing it. I should be thanking you boys for taking care of my little girl, instead of taking your head off..." Aaron's voice dropped off, and Sam could see tears standing in Aaron's brown eyes. Shit. I knew it. I fucking knew it!
Sam lowered his eyes. "You can't see her." I need to talk to you, Sam, and I can't do that with the girl in the room.
"That's not your worry, Sam. It's the bargain I made to become what I am." Aaron had that same determined look on his face, the one that mirrored Dean's and Sam shivered, pulling his arms around his stomach. "I hate always being the bearer of bad news, but I feel responsible for all of you. All of this." He grinned suddenly. "Guess we're two of a kind, Sam."
"The term you're looking for is 'Emo,' Aaron." Sam returned the grin.
Touché." Aaron sat back down on the stump. "You been reading the book, Sam?"
"I've been trying." Sam scratched his ear. "Some of it I get – like the stuff about family." Rarely do members of the same family grow up under the same roof. Sam wouldn't have believed it a year ago; for a Winchester, there was nothing like sharing the name. It forgave all manner of sins, the blood they shared. But the world was connected, bigger than that – and they shared blood with more people than they knew. "But the rest of it seems pretty selfish to me," Sam added.
"Huh?"
"Using your own desire to shape the world. Donald doesn't take into account other people," Sam returned, feeling like an idiot. Sam had hated literature classes in college, interpretations that never meshed with what the professor wanted. "It seems to me that if you can shape the world, you should at least consider other people."
Aaron chuckled, looking up again at the clouds. "Well, that's the trick, isn't it?" He grinned at Sam again, brown eyes twinkling. Between one breath and the next, Aaron was gone.
Sam just stood there, staring open-mouthed at the empty stump. He had so many questions to ask, so many things he needed to know. The most important was whether or not Dean would be able to save the girl without dying – because that look on his face, when Dean was Called, said only one thing to Sam. I died fighting. I fight in Death. Dean Winchester was not going out that way. Not while Sam Winchester could still breathe.
But at least the sun was warm on his skin – and the air smelled fresh. Down the road, Sam could see an old farmhouse, mostly burnt but some of it was still standing. And there was a tree in front of the house, with an old tire swing.
Sam wondered what it would be like to swing for awhile, and not once did the thing in his belly stir.
He decided, while he was swinging, to pull one last prank.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
She was warm, snuggled underneath a blanket, and Charlie could hear Daddy singing in the kitchen as he made breakfast. Smelled like he was cooking some sausage, which meant that it was a special day. Daddy only made sausage on special days. Well, he made sausage every day because Daddy said every day was special. Every day was a chance to fix your mistakes from yesterday.
And there was nothing in the world Charlie loved more for breakfast than sausage, nothing she liked to do more in the morning than lay under the covers and listen to Daddy sing. Any day you start with a song is a good one, Charlie. Daddy would ruffle her hair when he said it. He'd smile, too – like nothing was wrong. Even if the smell of sausage was undercut by something else, something smoky that scared Charlie Webb just enough that she gave a small cry, pushing the covers off.
"Charlie!" There was a hand on her wrist, firm, as she sat up quickly.
Charlotte blinked, turning red. Dean Winchester was holding her arm, staring down at her hand. There was a huge pile of shaving cream in it. Sam! The elder Winchester was frowning. "Damn it. I told him to leave you alone while I took a shower."
Charlotte smelled sausage – as though the dream still lingered. She must have slept right through Sam putting the shaving cream on her hand – which meant she was stretched to her limits. Before the Winchesters, that never happened. I'm getting careless.
"Still waking up, huh?" Dean smiled at her and began wiping off the shaving cream with a towel he had draped across his neck. Charlotte realized he wasn't wearing anything but boxer shorts, and his hair was damp. Drops of water covered his shoulders.
She shook her head sharply. "No, I'm awake!" Charlotte pulled her hand from Dean's as gently as she could without making it look like she just needed to stop touching him. He was still smiling when she shifted herself away from him on the bed. "Thank you."
"Don't mention it," he replied softly. Dean Winchester was completely unguarded, looking at her with a crooked smile. She could almost convince herself that this was the world without demons, that Dean didn't carry a wounded little boy inside.
But he did. So all she could do was smile back and say, "You're a brave man, Dean Winchester."
"Yeah, I'm brave. I defeated the rampaging shaving cream monster with nothing but a towel," he returned, giving her a weird look.
"I've been known to hit people in my sleep when they come too close," Charlotte explained. "When I was in the hospital, I used to hit one of my nurses all the time when she came in to give me my medication. Usually with my right elbow."
"I think I can take a scrawny redhead."
"I am not scrawny!" Charlotte exclaimed. Dean grinned. She was turning bright red, and then Charlotte saw how delicate her hand was compared to his – and the faded scar on the top of his hand, starting at the base of the thumb. She brushed the length of it with her fingers, the undercurrent of tension flowing underneath his skin. What the hell am I doing? She pulled her hand away. "Well, maybe a little," Charlotte added. "But it's relative, isn't it? You're a midget compared to Sam."
"Thanks," Dean returned wryly. "I'm feeling the love."
"I did appreciate your daring rescue, Dean." Charlotte looked him right in the eyes. "Do you have any shaving cream?"
"Yeah…" Dean's voice trailed off. His eyes were wild, and he was bursting with the need again to just do something.
"We should fill up the left sleeve of his jacket with shaving cream before he gets out of the shower." Charlotte started to get off the bed as Dean's eyes continued to glitter and his mouth crooked up again.
"Sit!" Dean hissed. He made a half-hearted gesture and stood quickly, nearly sprinting to his duffel bag.
Did he just tell me to stay on the bed? "You jerk!" Charlotte tried to follow suit, wobbling on her feet. Crap. She fell back onto the bed. "I'm not a puppy, Dean!"
"Lucky for me. You're housebroken," Dean returned with a chuckle. What a prick! He was already fumbling in his duffel. "But why the left sleeve, Charlie?" he asked. The question was important to him; of course, Dean spoke Winchester – maybe telling her she was housebroken was high praise.
"Sam always puts his arm into the right sleeve first," Charlotte returned slowly, watching his face. She stayed on the edge of the bed, just in case she needed to stall Sam in the bathroom. "So he won't be expecting anything on the left."
Dean whistled. "We might make a Hunter out of you yet. That's a fair observation for a girl barely two weeks on the road," he said, shooting her another grin. Dean cut her off before she could protest. "I know, I know," he added. "You've got no intention of doing it, blah blah blah. It's not your Calling, blah blah blah. You're getting a doctorate, blah blah blah." Dean pulled the shaving cream out of his bag. "I do listen when you're talking, Charlie."
"The blah blah blah really drove that point home, Dean."
"Thought you'd appreciate my attention to detail," he said. Dean was spraying the shaving cream up the sleeve of Sam's jacket. He stopped and then sprayed some more with a satisfied grin. Charlotte watched while he rearranged the jacket to look like Sam had just thrown it over the chair. He was wound up inside, just waiting to explode – using some stupid practical joke as a way to not think about the little girl getting eaten alive.
"But you forgot something, Charlie," he added. Dean put the can back into his duffel, and zipped it up. The water in the shower stopped. "You have to make it look like you've been tagged, or Sam will still be suspicious." Dean gestured to the towel next to her on the comforter, lowering his voice. "As soon as you hear that door open, you whip out that towel an –"
The door opened. Charlotte already had the towel on her face, pretending to pat it. "I am killing you, Sam Winchester!" she yelped. Maybe that's a little over the top. "I snorted shaving cream up my nose!" Sam chuckled. He bought it! "Lucky for me that your brother had a towel, or I'd be blind right now." Even Dean was laughing.
"I thought Dean would warn you," Sam said. Charlotte pulled down the towel as the younger Winchester sat next to her on the bed. Between Dean prancing around in his boxer shorts and Sam wrapped in a towel that left little to the imagination, Charlotte was beginning to think that they spent most of their free time half-naked in a motel room. Claymation! "Ready to give up?" Sam asked. His green-blue eyes were serious.
"Because you managed to spray shaving cream on my hand when I was asleep?" Charlotte grinned. "You're going to have to do a lot better than that, Sam."
"Looks like Cowgirl here has a backbone," Dean interjected. Two pairs of eyes whipped in his direction. He was sliding into a pair of jeans, buttoning it as they both watched. "You might have met your match, Sammy," the eldest Winchester added, smirking at his little brother. Dean felt Charlotte's frown, and he glanced off-handedly at her. "What? Bring it on, sweetheart."
The man was a prick – even when he was trying to help her. Why the hell was she trying to help him, anyway.
Because you were Called, Charlie.
Charlotte frowned. "I'm going to freshen up," she said, struggling to get off the bed. It was Sam who lent his hand to help her up. Dean snorted the moment he heard the phrase 'freshen up' – just like he did whenever she said it. Charlotte pulled her clothes out of her duffel bag as Sam glared pointedly at Dean. Another damn message in Winchester. Sam deliberately turned his back on his older brother, and Dean winked at her. I'm an idiot. Charlotte shuffled into the bathroom, shaking her head as she closed the door.
Sam hadn't done anything to the bathroom – Charlotte checked every place she could think to look for something, and shrugged her shoulders. The green iPod was in the bathroom, happily enough, so she turned it on – AC/DC blaring out of the speakers it was plugged into, which meant that Dean had been playing around with it again. She opted for something a little more soothing, and started washing her hair – kneeling over the side of the tub with an ice bucket.
Don't know how I got here, and I don't know why I stay.
The poets all around are laughing in their graves –
Must be something that I said.
This place is not like anything I've seen before.
The spirits move around, the houses have no doors –
But I'm getting used to it.
Sam and Dean were both staring in the direction of the bathroom when she opened the door. Sam looked horrified, white around the edges of his eyes. Dean was trying not to laugh out loud when Charlotte stepped into the room, and his eyes flickered guiltily towards Sam. Her cheeks burned. She knew she couldn't sing. She knew it. That wasn't going to keep her from trying.
"So, Sammy, you going to shut up for the next three days?" Dean asked. Sam grunted and shook his head, and then glanced at her. What the hell? Dean snorted. "Well, then, tough titties, little brother."
"You suck, Dean," Sam said.
"I'm not even sure I want to understand Winchester," Charlotte muttered, putting her dirty clothes into the laundry bag. She shifted her body so they couldn't get a glimpse of her underwear as she shoved it as far down as it could go in the bag.
"What did you say?" They asked it simultaneously, almost like they practiced it. Two pairs of eyes staring at her like she had just discovered the Rosetta Stone, before gaping at each other in perfect unison. Charlotte held back a laugh, imagining the conversation that had just passed between them. Oh my God, Dean – a girl is starting to understand Winchester! Damn it, Sammy, no freaking girl is supposed to understand Winchester; if I find out she knows the secret handshake, I'm kicking your ass.
Charlotte smiled, covering the scar on her arm with her right hand – she'd forgotten to get a sweater before she went into the bathroom. "At least you're both dressed," she said, ignoring the question completely. "It's almost time to meet Arlene for breakfast."
"Yeah." Dean's eyes lowered. "About that, Sammy. I was thinking that maybe you and Girl Genius should talk to the brother, and I'll start scouting out the town." He scratched underneath his left ear, and Charlotte's stomach clenched. "Maybe check out the local library and research symptoms that match the victims."
"You just had to do research instead of sleeping, didn't you?" Sam asked lightly.
"Charlie made me do it," Dean retorted. "Said she couldn't sleep and I was too much of a gentleman to let her stay up by herself." She whipped her head around so quickly to glare at him that the wet hair slapping into her face actually stung a little.
"Yeah, I can tell that's exactly how it played out." Sam crossed his arms. "So what did you find out?"
Dean shrugged his shoulders. "Pretty common problems with sleep deprivation." He picked up the notepad they had left on the table. "High fever. Irritability. Chronic Fatigue. Delusions. Red eyes. Body aches."
"Well that makes sense. They feed on dreams." Sam nodded, and then grinned. "So basically you're trying to avoid breakfast with Arlene and her brother to research people with sleep deprivation?" Dean didn't say anything. Sam shook his head as he chuckled at his own joke.
"Laugh it up, fuzzball," Dean said shortly, stalking to the closet and pulling his leather jacket off a hanger.
Charlotte stifled a laugh, and pulled a sweater out of her duffel bag to match her dress. She was hobbling across the room to get her crutches when Dean handed them to her. She almost jumped when his hand brushed hers; he was hot as an electric wire.
"Blow me, Dean," Sam began. His older brother gave him a sharp look and Sam closed his mouth. Sam whipped his right arm into his jacket, followed up almost immediately by the left. "What the fuck!" Sam's left hand emerged through the cuff, covered in shaving cream. Blue-green eyes whipped in Charlotte's direction, and Sam looked totally flabbergasted. "You suck, Charlotte." His face contorted, and then Sam started laughing. "But you got me." Suddenly his eyes were serious, intense. "Can we call a truce until after we find the girl?" Sam asked.
"Scared I'm going to slip something into your apple juice?" Charlotte retorted. But he was right. Jacob would probably smack her if he found out what she was doing – even if it was only to help Sam Winchester.
"No." The worry came off of Sam in waves. "I just think the little girl is important," he added. He pulled off his shirt and jacket all at once, wiping the remainder of the shaving cream into the bundle of clothes. "We don't need any distractions."
"And she's one of us," Charlotte returned softly, averting her eyes while Sam pulled on another t-shirt from his duffel bag. Sam grabbed a blue hoodie from the bag before zipping it. "But are you going to be…" Her voice trailed off.
Sam nodded. "Yeah."
"Then we'll pick this up when she's been rescued," Charlotte said, smiling. She brought herself up on her crutches, started walking for the door.
"You guys are wusses!" Dean's voice interjected. "When Dad and I were pulling practical jokes on each other, we'd never have agreed to a truce! Job or no job!" But he seemed relieved.
"Are you saying that you want in after we find the girl?" Sam asked. He opened the door. "Think you can show us young whippersnappers how it's done?"
"Don't make me kick your ass, Sam." Dean snorted.
"Last time I checked, Dean, I won the last Winchester war," Sam retorted. They were out of the room by now, walking down the outside hallway to the stairs.
"That was luck!" Dean yelped.
"It took skill!" Sam replied.
"You super-glued a freaking beer bottle to my hand, Sammy. That was luck."
"You didn't realize I had slapped the side of that beer bottle with super-glue, Dean. It took skill."
The argument continued – loudly – as Charlotte followed them down the stairs. One young mother covered her son's ears when Dean loudly declared that he had no skin left on his palm at one point, but both she and the man Charlotte assumed was her husband were grinning from ear-to-ear as they listened to the Winchesters rail on each other. They weren't self-conscious about it, either – joking at the top of their lungs, arguing about that goddamn beer bottle. Acting like brothers.
She sighed. Charlotte didn't have a family like that, for all that the Circle said otherwise. The Winchesters didn't care about power. They didn't control each other through fear. They laughed together – she'd never had one afternoon with her mother where that happened. Even when Celeste Webb was dying, she couldn't let the mask she hid behind, the knowledge that she was Circle-trained, slip just long enough to laugh with her own daughter.
"Hey, front seat." Sam's voice interrupted her thoughts, and he tapped Charlotte on her shoulder. She was standing next to the back seat.
"Excuse me?" She blinked.
"You're sitting up front with me," Dean said. "Your cast, remember?" He actually waggled his eyebrows, unlocking the door for her. Now that they were finally doing something, Dean was relaxed – still on edge, but not shooting sparks through her entire head. Sam took her crutches. "And I'll even let you pick the tunes," Dean added.
"What?" Sam yelped as she slid into the front seat. Dean shoved a shoebox full of cassette tapes into her hands before shutting the door.
"You didn't know the first-time shotgun rule?" Dean returned.
"No," Sam returned evenly as Charlotte started rummaging through the shoebox. "The only rule I know is 'Driver picks the tunes, shotgun shuts his cakehole', you asshole."
"The first-time shotgun rule only works for chicks," Dean said, unlocking his door and slipping in next to Charlotte on the front seat.
"Chicks?" Sam's screech was at least an octave higher than his normal speaking voice.
"With the hair, you probably qualify as a chick, Samantha." Dean chuckled as he slammed his door shut, turned the key in the ignition. "But you had a crew-cut the first time your bony ass sat next to me while I was driving."
"Screw you, Dean."
"Bite me, Sam."
"Found it." Charlotte pulled out a battered copy of Credence Clearwater Revival's Chronicle – the title was barely recognizable – and handed it to Dean. He slipped it into the cassette deck. "Your brother forgot to mention the condition to the first-time shotgun rule," Charlotte added, twisting a little to look back at Sam. Dean started humming "Susie Q" as he rolled his car out onto the road.
"Do I want to know any condition my brother puts on a rule?" Sam asked. But he was grinning at her.
"I asked him if he had any Credence," Charlotte said. She shrugged her shoulders. Her father loved to sing Credence in the morning while he was cooking breakfast – the one band she wouldn't put on her iPods because it usually hurt too much to hear their songs. But today… "It's been awhile since I heard it," she added. Charlotte turned to look out the front window.
"Hey, Charlie. Do you know all the words?" Dean glanced at Sam in the rearview mirror. Charlotte shifted just enough to see Sam shaking his head vehemently, sliding his finger across his throat.
"Subtle," Charlotte muttered.
"You really can't sing," Sam said, and it sounded like an apology.
"Still won't keep me from trying, Sam Winchester. Music is in my blood." Charlotte was watching him again, and her mouth twisted. Sam's eyes widened as he looked at her. "Armaros led choirs of angels in song, with a voice so pure that only the innocent could hear it sing."
"So you must be one hell of a sinner," Dean interjected. Sam smacked his older brother across the back of the head. "Fuck you, Sam!" Dean bellowed, ducking his head. "I'm driving."
"For once, your brother made an astute observation," Charlotte added, mouth twitching. Dean Winchester could be damn funny. "When Armaros fell, it damned itself. Lost its voice, and not being able to sing is its constant torment." She wrapped her arms around her stomach. It wasn't funny anymore. "Each member of the Twelve carries the mark of God's final curse. Even if Shemhezai ascends, Armaros will never be able to sing again. So I can't, either."
"That doesn't mean you're Armaros!" Sam's blue-green eyes were fierce, and he put a hand on her shoulder. Charlotte didn't even try to shrug it off. The boy with the demon inside. Always trying to help the rest of us.
"No," she replied, leaning her arm against the seat as she watched Sam. "But it means that I might be." She smiled softly, remembering her father's rumpled brown hair. The crinkles around his eyes when he laughed. "My daddy used to tell me to keep practicing, because one day I'll Awaken and Armaros will never be able to get inside. And then I'll be able to sing."
"You will." Sam's voice was almost a whisper, but his eyes were shining. The soft glow of the Ziv Zakai. Charlotte blinked, and his eyes were just the way she always remembered them.
Dean's voice was gruff. "Until then, we'll just have to get drunk and listen to your caterwauling."
"I'm even more off-pitch when I'm drunk," she said.
Dean glanced at her sideways, crooked smile. "Is that even possible?" She giggled, which startled both brothers – shock squeezing Charlotte from both of them.
"I'm not about to test the theory," Sam added. He pressed his hand on her shoulder as the sign for the diner came into view. Charlotte brought her hand up to brush his before he pulled it away completely.
Nothing happened. No shocking sparks. No demon pushing itself inside of her. Just the touch of Sam Winchester's hand – and a crooked smile that reminded her of his older brother.
Arlene was already waiting for them in front of Betty's – a rundown building with clapboard walls, and faded blue awnings over its dusty windows. Arlene was dressed in a tank top and a skirt so short that you wouldn't have to guess the color of her underwear when she sat down, walking easily on stiletto heels. And as soon as Dean was out of the car, slamming his door shut, the blonde nearly skipped to him – grabbing his shirt by the collar and pulling him down for a kiss. From the looks of it, she kissed pretty well.
Dean put his hands on Arlene's upper arms and pushed. Whatever Arlene was saying, it didn't reach the inside of the car. Sam leaned forward to whisper in Charlotte's ear. "That's for saving me last night from those icky flying monsters," the youngest Winchester said in a falsetto. "How can I repay you?"
Charlotte giggled, hiding her mouth behind her hand. Dean scratched underneath his left ear, mouth pursed, as he said something back. "I'm a Winchester," Charlotte whispered back towards Sam, trying to pitch her voice low. "It's what I do."
Arlene smiled, leaning in to ask Dean a question with a coquettish tilt to her head. "Does your little soldier turn blue?" Sam somehow managed to ask the question for Arlene without laughing.
"There's nothing little about it, sweetheart," she said in a rush to get the words out. Charlotte exploded with another round of giggles, hand clamped over her mouth to subdue the sound. Dean had raised his eyebrows, cocky smile on his face. He was shaking his head. "Nothing little about it at all," Charlotte added.
Sam burst out laughing at that. "You so have my brother pegged." Charlotte was leaning against the back of the seat again to look at Sam. He twisted his mouth in a semblance of a smile. "I'm sorry you had to see that, Charlotte."
"Why?"
"Well, because…" Sam's voice trailed off. "You slept with him. And you're still here."
"We were poisoned by a succubus, Sam. I'd hardly call that the basis for a relationship." Charlotte lowered her eyes. "You and Dean have a hard job, and he deals with it differently than you do." She wouldn't tell Sam that Dean had memories that burned inside, memories he kept locked beneath the sarcasm and the steady stream of women he screwed using someone else's last name. That was for Dean to tell. "Different isn't better, but it isn't worse."
"But – " There was something inside of him that Sam felt Charlotte should know; he was nearly bursting with the secret of it. Dean.
"Sam, I'm not the kind of girl who walks into a room and gets noticed, so when someone – " Charlotte sighed, pushing her glasses up as she rubbed her eyes. Why was this coming out all wrong? Maybe because masks cracked. Maybe so he could see that she didn't have all the answers, that she was just as scared as they were. Or maybe it was because he was just looking at her, with blue-green eyes. The boy with the demon inside, wanting to save them all. "But your brother – " is the reason I'm here. Called for him – twice in one day. First in the car, and then on the roof.
And there was something coming so quick now, she could feel it in the air. Could breathe it in. Why couldn't she just come out and say it? I keep getting Called, and it's always for your brother. Charlotte caught Sam's eyes with her own. Why didn't she just say it? We're all standing in the middle of something so big, it scares me. And when I get scared, I run. She wanted to go back to yesterday, when Dean was calling her Cowgirl and Sam was pouring sugar on her spaghetti.
Life spins on a dime, Charlie. The trick is figuring out how to dance.
Charlotte jumped as something cracked into the window. Dean was drumming on the window with his knuckles, and there was still time to tell Sam something but hell if she knew how.
Charlotte unlocked the door instead, and Dean whipped it open. "You two look pretty serious," Dean said, his voice too bright for the look in his eyes. He didn't even wait for Charlotte to extend her hand; he just reached in and pulled her out, steadying her as she wobbled on the sidewalk. It smelled like storm clouds in the sky when he touched her.
"Are you okay?" Charlotte asked softly.
"Things just didn't work out," Dean said. He was almost shaking, and the air seemed to shimmer around him. And then she was blocked – an iron wall so tight, nothing came out of Dean Winchester. "Her brother's waiting for us inside," Dean added.
Charlotte didn't say anything else as Sam handed her the crutches but she could still feel the sharpness in the air, so strong it slithered through cracks in her shields. A blonde man a couple of years older than Arlene was standing at a table near the back, waving his arm at them.
When she sat down, though, Dean automatically slid into the booth next to her. He brushed her shoulder with his arm when he reached for the menu. Another look passed between the brothers – something so simple that Arlene's brother didn't even realize it had happened while he introduced himself to them. But Charlotte understood the message all the same.
Time to get to work.
A/N:
Slower than I intended initially – between pacing and execution (being a week out from my usually posting deadline) – but it just didn't want to come out quickly in any fashion this time around. There's a fair warning, though: this is the calm before the storm, folks. There is much whumpage coming. When Aaron talks, everyone should listen. ;-P
Not many fangirl moments, but I think it's pretty obvious what I was watching this week besides Supernatural.
The title is a song by Oingo Boingo. But it was a toss-up between "Lost Like This" and "Up Around the Bend." The legend of Credence Clearwater Revival looms large within the story. ;-P
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.