The Third Wheel
by Destiny's Darkness

Disclaimer: I make no claim to anything Supernatural. Dean, Sam, and the Impala belong to some mysterious figure up in the hierarchy of the television world. Charlie is my creation, though my only condition on her use is to let me know how you play with her, just to see what kind of scrapes she gets into.

Author's Note: There is really no excuse for how long it took for this chapter to arrive. Writer's block, family illnesses and hospitalizations, changing schools and finding an apartment were all contributing factors, but the real kicker was sheer struggle with changing the episode to fit in our tagalong. I had trouble balancing out new material with what the Supernatural gods have already given us. You'll have to let me know how I managed.

Huge favor, if ya'll could indulge me: I've discovered a fictional relationship that perfectly matches how I want Dean and Charlie's to turn out. If anyone knows the (slightly older) show Las Vegas, you probably can tell I'm trying to pull off the same feel as that of Danny and Mary. She's in love, he's protective but oblivious. He's crazy about her as well, isn't quite able to admit it to himself. This, this is how I pictured Charlie and Dean when I first started playing with the idea of matching them up. That being said, I'd love some feedback on whether or not I captured that emotion.

Chapter 5 : The Time Between

Previously:

"So... how did I do?"

Dean considered his words carefully, pointedly not meeting her eyes. "You were a lot of help, but, Charlie, I meant it. I don't want you coming on hunts with us."

"That's all right. I'd probably get myself in all kinds of trouble at this point. I just want to be able to help."

Charlie Palmer had visited more bars in the three weeks that she had been traveling with the Winchester brothers than the rest of her life combined. She nursed her beer - or rather, took a few sips from the beer Dean had shoved in her direction before passing the mug from hand to hand playing with the condensation - while watching Dean talk up some girl she was beginning to recognize as his usual type. Sam sat beside her at the little table, pouring over the stack of newspapers he'd collected and comparing them to his father's journal, searching for their next case.

Closing her eyes to focus on listening to the over cranked music, she jumped when Sam suddenly shot straight up in his seat in order to wave Dean over, who clearly ignored him. Sam gestured again, and this time Dean excused himself from the barfly, though judging from his expression he was reluctant to do so.

"All right," Sam burst out as soon as his brother arrived, "so, I think I got something."

"Oh, yeah," came the quick reply. "Me too. I think we need to take a little shore leave for just a little bit. I'm so in the door with his one." He pointed to his target where she was being joined by a friend.

Leaning forward on the table, Sam questioned, "So, what are we today, Dean? Are we rock stars? Are we army rangers?"

"Renegade demon hunters?" Charlie chimed in. She ignored Dean's glare.

"Reality TV scouts looking for people with special skills." As the brothers chuckled, the blonde girl stared down the bimbos, unable to believe anyone could fall for one of Dean's ridiculous pick-up lines. He continued, "I mean, she's got a friend over there. I could probably hook you up, what do you think?"

"Dean, no thanks. I can get my own dates."

"Yeah, but you don't."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

The older brother quickly became aware that he wandered on dangerous territory. "Nothin'. What do you got?"

"Mark and Anne Telesca of New Paltz, New York, were both found dead in their home just a few days ago." Dean made a noise of agreement, eyes still locked on the girls at the bar. "Throats were slit, there were no prints, no murder weapons - Dean." At the same time as he snapped out his brother's name, Charlie punched the distracted man in the shoulder. He rewarded them by looking just vaguely guilty as he focused again. "No prints, no murder weapons," Sam repeated, "all doors and windows were locked from the inside."

"Could be a garden variety murder, you know, not our department."

"Dad says different."

"What do you mean?"

"Look." Sam turned the journal to face Dean, while Charlie peered at the pages upside down, and began to point out specific lines as he explained. "Dad noted three murders in the same area of upstate New York. First one, right here, 1912, the second one in 1945, and the third in 1970. The same M.O. as the Telescas - the throats were slit, the houses were locked from the inside. Now, so much time passed between the murders that nobody checked the pattern, except for Dad. He always kept his eyes peeled for another one."

"And now we got one," Dean agreed.

"Exactly."

Their companion couldn't help but speak up. "Your dad's a freakin' genius. Some of the stuff he put together is insane."

Dean shot her a grin. "All right, I'm with ya. It's worth checking out. We can't pick this up till the first thing, though, right?"

With a swift exchange of confused glances, "Yeah."

"Good." With that, he stood and walked back up to the bar and its waiting females. As they overheard him talking, Sam laughed. Charlie bemoaned the fate of her gender.

Charlie stayed in the car with a sleeping Dean while Sam checked out the Telescas' home. She had just dozed off when the horn was honked. Loudly. Both she and Dean jumped out of their seats.

"Man, that is so not cool."

Sam grinned, getting back into the driver's seat of the Impala. "I just swept the Telesca house with the EMF. It's clean. And last night while you were … out … "

Both of his companions rolled their eyes at Dean's self-satisfied grin. "Good times. Hey!" He rubbed the back of his head where Charlie had smacked him.

"Anyway, Charlie and I took the history of the house. No haunting, no violent crimes, nothing strange about the Telescas themselves either."

"There was one great story," Charlie interrupted, "about this cheating husband, a former resident, who fled naked out the window when his wife came home early. Managed to get himself stuck in a tree with all his business hanging there for the world to see…" She noticed the amused looks she was getting from both brothers. "It doesn't really pertain here though."

Dean winked at her before continuing their group think. "All right, so if it's not the people and it's not the house, then, uh, maybe it's the contents – a cursed object or something'?"

Sam shook his head. "The house is clean."

"Yeah, I know, you said that."

"No, I mean, it's empty. No furniture, nothin'."

Dean twisted to face his brother. "Where's all their stuff?"

It was nearly impossible for Charlie to miss the Winchester entrance. They'd dropped her off first so they could run some unspecified errands, after she'd exchanged her comfy capri's for something a little less causal, specifically dark slacks and a flowy top. Sam and Dean, however, had evidently not followed in her stead, choosing to stay in their well-worn jeans and leather jackets. Cringing, she watched from the railing above as Dean obviously managed to insult the owner of the auction house, or as he preferred to term it, the yard sale for rich people. She just prayed he hadn't repeated the sentiment to the clearly proud man.

"Friends of yours?" the woman beside her asked. Sarah Blake, the gorgeous daughter of the very man they'd just walked away from.

"Only if it's not going to get me kicked out."

They exchanged a glance before Sarah made her way down the stairs to approach them herself. The blonde followed only to the top landing, close enough to eavesdrop but still stay out of the way.

"A fine example of American primitive, wouldn't you say?" Sarah called out, testing them.

Confusion momentarily chased the pure male appreciation across Sam's face, taking another quick peek at the painting in question, which they had been examining. "I'd say it's more Grant Wood than Grandma Moses," he rebutted. She sent a bashful smile downward. "But you knew that. You just wanted to see if I did."

"Guilty. And clumsy, I apologize." They made the proper introductions, as the Connor brothers, with Dean once more embarrassing his sibling with his lack of manners.

"What can you tell us about the Telesca estate?" Sam inquired.

With a quick glance at Charlie, she admitted, "The whole thing's a little grisly, if you ask me, selling their things this soon. But Dad's right about one thing. Sensationalism brings out the crowds - even the rich ones."

The taller man returned her smile. "Is it possible to see the provenances?"

Daniel Blake interrupted his daughter before she could agree. "I'm afraid there isn't any chance of that."

"Why not?"

"You're not on the guest list. And I think it's time to leave."

Dean worked up an impressive display of wounded ego. "Well, we don't have to be told twice."

The older man fixed him in his gaze. "Apparently you do."

Before Dean could aggravate the man any further, Sam jumped in. "Okay, it's all right. We don't want any trouble." Dean turned on his heal and started toward the door, while Sam shared another long look with Sarah before following in the wake of such an impressive exit.

Charlie started after them, quickly coming to a halt when Mr. Blake stared her down, both only vaguely hearing his daughter's murmured reproach of, "Dad, that was rude."

"And just who are you?"

Little Miss Best-Behavior Palmer didn't have to fake the blush on her cheeks at his clear distain. "I'm sorry. I'm definitely not on the guest list, either."

Sarah took hold of Charlie's elbow, both stopping her impending flight and lending the blonde her support. "Dad, this is Charlene Sanderson. Her sister Jackie was very good friends with Anne Telesca in college."

"They were still close," Charlie confirmed her fake story. "Still kept in touch up until, well, you know."

Both Blakes gave the customary nod of understanding at the delicate topic.

"Jackie would have come herself, but her mother-in-law just came down with an illness of some kind, and she just deplores Jackie as her precious Nathaniel's bride of choice." She leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially, "Particularly since Jackie decided to keep her last name." Daniel looked amused at the scandalous action. "Anyway, the woman is absolutely insisting that Jackie drop everything else and attend to her. And Jackie so wants her approval."

Inwardly, Charlie suspected the work of fiction was unnecessary, and the delivery was definitely over the top, but it seemed to be concreting her plausibility. "She asked me to come down in her place. I couldn't get here in time for the funeral itself, but I made sure that I made it for this."

Sarah added to her story. "It seems Anne called Jackie, the night that she died, to tell her about something she had. An interesting surprise to entice her come visit. Something unusual."

"Strange, that was the word she used."

"Can you think of what that might have been?" the brunette asked her father.

He shook his head slowly. "The Telesca's had a wide and eclectic taste. That could describe a number of their belongings. I'll tell you what, I'll take another look at the inventory from the Telesca's estate, and I'll see if anything fits the bill. How does that sound to you?"

"That would be wonderful," the blonde gushed. "Thank you so much."

He clasped her hand in welcome, then made his excuses to return to the rest of the showing's guests.

She moved to extend her thanks to Sarah as well, only to find the elegant woman studying her. "You were trying to catch up with the Connors, right?"

Charlie flushed. "Yes. I know absolutely nothing about art so I asked them to accompany me here. I'm so sorry to have caused a problem."

She laughed. "Don't worry. My father is just a little stuffy sometimes. I suppose the shorter one was just a little - "

"Ill-mannered? Uncouth? Barbaric?"

"I was leaning toward 'rough around the edges'."

"Anyway, they're probably waiting outside for me."

Sarah held out a hand to stop her exit, but hesitated to make another move, clearly holding a mental debate about something. "I can't believe I'm doing this. But if Sam happens to say anything about me," she held out a slip of paper with a number written on it for Charlie to take, "could you give this to him for me?"

The blonde let out a chuckle at her obvious discomfort and embarrassment. "I'm sure he'll be calling. He seemed very intrigued."

On that note, Charlie finally made her exit. Sure enough, she found the Impala idling just outside the building. She slid into the back seat and gave Dean another smack to the head.

"Hey! What was that for?"

"Insulting a man we're trying to get information from? Really?"

He rolled his shoulder, as though it might make the semi-joking reprimand slide off. "The guy rubbed me the wrong way."

"Well next time, suck it up, Princess."

Sam couldn't contain his amusement at his tough-as-nails sibling's dilemma after that last comment. Seeing the man who only answer to one person - their father - being lectured by someone half his size sent him into uncontrollable laughter.

"You finished?" Dean asked as the sound finally wound down. Sam nodded and wiped the wetness from his eyes. Dean glared a moment longer, then aimed the expression at the female in the rear view mirror. "And what took you so long?"

She fluttered her eyelashes at him, at his irritation. "I was soliciting Mr. Blake's help." Judging from the silence, they were waiting for her to continue. "My sister Jackie went to school with Anne Telesca, you see."

Dean glanced over at Charlie, who was curled up against the headboard of Sam's bed, utterly engrossed in one of their more basic books on the supernatural world. He'd noticed that about her already in the two or so weeks they'd been traveling together, that tendency to retreat into herself. She would ball up instead of stretching out, as if protecting herself from the outside world. She never initiated any physical contact either, something that contrasted with her timid but affectionate manner. Idly, he wondered if it was because of the way she'd been forced to live for the past few years, or if it was just the way she was.

"Who's Jessica?"

He snapped back out of his thoughts to find the blonde studying him, the book closed and forgotten in her lap. "Jessica?"

"You and Sam had that argument the other day. You said something about a Jessica."

"Sam and Jessica were dating, living together. After he initially came with me to try and find our father, he came home to find her pinned to the ceiling just like our mother. They were killed by the same thing, the same monster."

They sat in silence for a moment, Dean uncomfortable with how serious the conversation had become while Charlie stared at the cover of the text in her lap. They'd gone over some basic family history with her, enough to let her understand what was going on in their lives, but they'd been sparse on the details, for obvious reasons.

"I'm sorry."

He shrugged it off. "How's the book? Discover anything interesting?"

"It's all fascinating. I'm just trying to wrap my head around all this information."

"Kind of blows your high school science classes out of the water, huh?"

"Maybe."

He cocked an eyebrow, but she still had yet to left her eyes and meet his gaze. "Only maybe?"

"I'm still working it out. But everything has an explanation; we just may not be able to understand it." She quirked the corner of her mouth in a small, bashful smile. "I guess everyone searches for meaning, though."

"Yeah. There are rules, though, for how this stuff all works, so you could be very right." He glanced at the clock, absently noting that he would normally be heading out for the closest bar by now. "Any questions?" He could see the hesitation in her face. "I know you're just getting to know me, but let me tell you, I don't offer to do something if I don't mean it, or I'm not interested."

She looked up, deciding quickly. "Okay," she began, bounding from her current position and across the space between the beds to sit facing Dean, "why salt? I know it's used in preserving meat, but is there a better reason that it's considered a purifying agent?"

Dean found himself enjoying the conversation more than he anticipated. Some of her questions he could answer easily, but most of them were about things he'd never considered. Was Christianity the only religion to offer the ability to bless water into Holy Water, or could practitioners of other faith do it too? Could a spirit of one religion be exorcised by the methods of a different one? If someone didn't believe in their protection, would it work? Or was it like in Voodoo where one had to believe in something for it to have an effect? Before either knew it, nearly two hours had gone by and Sam was walking back through their door.

"How was the date?" Dean asked.

Smelling of smoke and charred paint, the brothers reentered their 1970s hotel room quietly, mindful of the fact all their lights but one lamp were turned off. The TV was flickering with the sound turned way down. Charlie had fallen asleep on top of Sam's bed, clutching a pillow to her chest like a teddy bear. Dean surprised himself with a brief stab of jealousy at the bed she chose, though it was quickly overcome by concern at seeing the cut and emerging bruise along her cheek bone. "Charlie!"

She didn't snap awake, but that wasn't much of a shock. Their new partner had a tendency to wake slowly, over the course of several minutes. She'd been trying to adapt to their lifestyle, but this was taking her more effort than anything else. So Dean started shaking her shoulder in an attempt to rouse her as Sam took a seat to her side.

"Hmmm... Dean," she murmured as she began to come to, "did something go wrong with destroying the painting?"

He ignored her question in favor of one of his own. "What happened?"

She stared at him blankly, blinking away the last of her sleepiness. "What happened?" she repeated.

"To your face, Charlie. What happened to your face?"

A hand came up to gently trace the bruise. "It's not a big deal. Something caught my ankle, and I tripped. The table tried to help break my fall."

Sam took hold of her chin to turn her face this way and that. "Think we should take you to the emergency room? You could have broken your cheek bone."

"There's really nothing they can do, other than maybe put a plaster on it, which is seriously uncomfortable. Besides, nothing's broken. Just a small cut and an ugly bruise." She smiled awkwardly, clearly more embarrassed than in pain.

Dean looked at her a minute longer before abruptly moving to the door to the bathroom and vanishing into it. "I didn't mean to make him mad," she worried as the sink started to run.

"He's just upset because you got hurt on his watch." When she didn't respond or pull her eyes from the shut door, Sam sighed. "I almost hate to bring this up, but do you have any idea what's targeting you?" When she shook her head, he asked, "When did it start?"

"A little after my family's car accident."

"Do you think it could have been responsible for the accident?"

Her expression changed to something Sam couldn't quite decipher. The eyes went dark, the mouth became a thin line, and her posture became decidedly more rigid. "No."

"Are you sure? I mean, it could have - "

"No."

The floor felt almost unsteady to Sam as he fought his instinct to step backward from the blonde. He'd seen a number of sides to Charlie - sad, joking, affectionate, withdrawn, nervous, excited - but he'd never expected to find her threatening. He knew she wouldn't hurt him, yet... it was exceedingly clear she wanted him to drop the subject. Immediately.

The door opened to let Dan back in, grime cleaned from his face, and he froze at the sight before him. 'Little' Sammy rarely found himself intimidated, particularly to the point he was at facing the tiny companion they'd picked up. When Sam fixed his sight on him with a slow shake of the head, the elder Winchester realized he'd started to draw his gun. He halted the movement, but didn't begin to replace it as he stepped to get a better view of Charlie's face. The movement caught her attention and snapped her out of whatever had come over her. Immediately her cheeks flushed and her gaze dropped. "I'm sorry, Sam. You're just trying to help me, and I get all antagonistic. It's just ... whatever my little friend is, it's not responsible for the accident. Please, just take my word on that." She grabbed her sweatshirt from beside the door. "I'm gonna get something to drink. Anyone want anything?"

When both brothers responded in the negative, she moved around Sam and slipped out of the door, closing it firmly behind her.

"What the hell was that?"

Sam shrugged, clearly just as unclear.

"Well, what accident were you two talking about?"

"The one that killed her family." A silence stretched between them until Sam asked, "You checked out that crash, right?"

"Wasn't a lot of information, but yeah. Another driver on the road had a tire blow out and lost control of his truck. He hit their car, causing them to crash into a tree sideways, then flip. Charlie was thrown clear. Tragic, sure, but without the slightest hint of supernatural influence."

"So why'd she get so upset?"

"I don't know, man. She lost her entire family in one accident, and with nothing she could really hold responsible other than a weak tire."

Sam grimaced, feeling a fierce stab of guilt at bringing all the memories back up for her. "I'm gonna go find her."

He didn't have to look far. Rather than wandering off to find a vending machine, she'd sunk to the ground next to their door, arms wrapped about her knees as she stared into space. He dropped down next to her. "Charlie, I'm sorry for upsetting you."

She waved off his apology. "It was a valid line of thought, Sam. I just overreacted." He tossed an arm around her shoulders for a half-hug. "So, Dean's teasing aside, are you interested in Sarah?"

Sam may not have been expecting the change of topic, but he wasn't entirely surprised either. "I guess so. I mean, I can't be honest with her about who I am or what I do, so..."

He felt her laugh in the shaking of her body beneath his arm. "Sam, I didn't ask if you were planning to propose, or even get serious about her. Just if you like her."

"That's the problem. I think she's someone I could get serious about very easily."

"And you don't want to risk anything happening to her."

He didn't have to respond to the statement.

"I guess it's a waste of breath to point out that she could be hit by an out-of-control street sweeper next week."

"Which would be awful, but it wouldn't be my fault."

She nodded her comprehension of the logic, then quirked her lips in a wry smile. "Do me a favor, would ya? Don't tell her your reasoning. It's a bit... demeaning."

"I don't think it should be a problem, considering we're leaving in the morning. I'll probably never even see her again."

"So let me get this straight," Charlie murmured to the Winchesters, particularly Sam, while they waited for the librarian to return, "Dean pretended to lose his wallet to trick you into seeing Sarah again?"

Sam couldn't quite hide his embarrassment. "Yeah."

"And you didn't see that coming?" Dean just snickered.

"I thought the important part of that story is that the painting we cut out and burned to ash last night was back in its frame, showing no signs of damage."

Any response was cut off by the return of the librarian. "You said the Isaiah Merchant family, right? I dug up every scrap of local history I could find. So, uh, are you kids crime buffs?"

With a quick exchange of glances, Dean replied, "Kind of. Why do you ask?"

The man's response was to hold up an old newspaper, whose headline read 'Father Slaughters Family, Kills Self'.

"Yeah, that sounds about right."

Sam spoke up. "The whole family was killed?"

"It seems this Isaiah - he slits his kids' throats, then his wife, then himself. Now, he was a barber by trade - used a straight razor."

With a few more questions, it was revealed that this barber was a strict, controlling man whose wife might have been considering taking their two sons and adopted daughter when she left him. To the Winchester's annoyance, the bodies of the family were cremated.

"Anything else?" Sam questioned.

"Yeah. Actually, I found a picture of the family. It's right here somewhere." He paused to open a book to a certain marked page. "Right. Here it is." He showed them a picture of the painting, but something about it caught Sam's attention.

"Hey, could we get a copy of that?"

As usual, the brother's were disagreeing. Back in the hotel room, Sam insisted, "I'm telling you, man, I'm sure of it. Painting at the auction house, Dad is lookin' down. Painting here, Dad's lookin' out. The painting has changed, Dean."

Charlie was slightly disturbed by how easily she accepted this strange new turn of events. They discussed the implications, that the barber was still killing people and that other things in the painting may have also changed. Inevitably, they decided that closer examination was necessary.

The Impala slammed to a halt in front of Evelyn's house. Sam decided that since the painting had changed from its original state, they needed to see the painting again to compare the differences. But Sarah informed them that her father had gone behind her back and sold it to its next, unsuspecting victim, leading to a frantic cross-town dash.

The brunette was waiting for them. "Sam, what's happening?" she asked as soon as the trio was out of the Chevy.

He refused to answer, instead replying, "I told you, you shouldn't have come." She ignored him in return, following them up to the front door where Dean banged on the door and called for the woman inside, while Sarah continued to try and pry information out of the younger Winchester.

Finally, Dean gave up on his attempt to get inside the legal way. "I can't knock this sucker down. I gotta pick it."

"What are you guys, burglars?"

"I wish it was that simple." Dean finished his work on the lock, swinging the door open cautiously. "Look, you should really wait in the car, it's for your own good." With those parting words, Sam and Dean entered the house, leaving Charlie and Sarah staring at each other on the porch.

"The hell I will," Sarah decided quickly, "Evelyn's a friend."

Right off the bad, Charlie noticed that there was something more frightening about a silent house that should have been inhabited, though she suspected that her prior knowledge might have colored her opinions. They moved through the rooms quickly and efficiently, calling for their unknowing hostess.

Whom they found in the living room, seated in an armchair facing away from them and toward the painting. In the back of Charlie's mind, she noted that Sam was right; Isaiah was looking down at his adopted daughter rather than toward the painter like the rest of his family.

"Evelyn? Evelyn?" the brunette called out as they crept closer. "It's Sarah Blake. Are you all right?" She put a hand on Evelyn's shoulder.

Just as Sam leapt forward with a "Sarah, no. Sarah!" the weight of Sarah's hand changed the woman's balance, causing her head to fall back and reveal her grotesquely slit throat. Sarah, naturally, screamed while Charlie latched onto Dean. And a flash of movement caught all eyes as Isaiah's head turned to stare directly at them.

Sam was waiting for the knock at the door, while Dean worked at their laptop and Charlie thumbed through a few books. When it finally came and he answered, Sarah bustled in.

"Hey. You all right?"

Charlie and even Dean could see that answer coming.

"No, actually. I just lied to the cops and told them I went to Evelyn's alone and found her like that."

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me. I'm about to call 'em right back if you don't tell me what the hell is going on. Who's killing these people?"

There was another exchange of loaded glances between the brothers.

"What," Sam finally stated, confusing the brunette.

"What?"

"It's not a who, it's a 'what' is killing those people. Sarah, you saw that painting move."

"No. No, I was seeing things. It's impossible."

"Welcome to our world," Dean interjected, earning a glare from his brother, who then turned back to explain.

"Sarah, I know this sounds crazy, but we think that painting is haunted."

"You're joking. ...You're not joking. God, the guys I go out with."

"Sarah, think about it - Evelyn, the Telescas. They both had the painting, and they have been others before that. Wherever this thing goes, people die, and we're just tryin' to stop it. And that's the truth."

Sarah sighed. "Well, then, I guess you better show me. I'm coming with you."

"What? No. Sarah, no, you should just go home. This stuff can get dangerous, and - " Sam stopped, struggling to find the words under Dean's understanding gaze, "and I don't want you to get hurt."

"Look, you guys are probably crazy, but if you're right about this - well, me and my dad sold that painting, we might have got these people killed. I'm not saying I'm not scared, 'cause I am scared as hell, but I'm not gonna run and hide, either." Sarah walked to the door, opening it as she turned to look back. "So, are we going or not?"

Charlie hid a smile when Sarah vanished out the door, already guessing what the general reaction would be as Dean called out to his brother, "Sam? Marry that girl."

Sarah was clearly uncomfortable with the idea of breaking back into Evelyn's house now that it had been declared a crime scene, even mentioning it once, leaving Charlie with the somewhat awkward realization that she was in fact growing accustomed to this life. Gradually, to be sure, but enough that the legality of walking back into the murder scene failed to occur to her. Coming to the decision that the painting seemed to do most of its damage at night, Sam decided tit was safe to take it down and study it up close, comparing it to the image copied from the book.

"What are you guys looking for?" Sarah finally asked.

"Well, if the spirit's changing aspects of the painting, maybe it's doing so for a reason."

Oddly enough, she didn't look particularly comforted by Dean's answer. But before she could voice her thoughts, it was discovered that a painting in the portrait had also been altered, from a peaceful mountain scene to a crypt or mausoleum bearing the Merchant name.

They found the mausoleum in the third cemetery they checked, entering the cobweb-filled chamber after quickly looking for observers. Sarah found herself drawn to a glass case built into the wall and containing a preserved doll.

"Okay, that right there is the creepiest thing I've ever seen, " Sarah announced at the same time Charlie wondered, "Is there any way we could cover that thing up?"

The Winchesters grinned at each other, then Sam explained, "It was sort of a tradition at the time. Whenever a child died, sometimes they'd preserve the kid's favorite toy in a case right next to the headstone in a crypt."

"You notice anything strange here?" Dean questioned suddenly.

The brunette gestured widely. "Where do I start?"

"No, that not what I mean. Look at the urns."

Charlie realized what he was hinting at. "There's only four."

"Yeah, Mom and the three kids. Daddy Dearest isn't here."

At his look, Sam spoke up. "So where is he?"

Dean and Charlie left Sam and Sarah in the park to use one of Dean's fake ids to gain access to records not available for public use. While they waited for the flustered woman at the desk to find Isaiah's death certificate - which would hopefully show what happened to his body - Charlie turned to her protector and poked him in the side.

"Hey!"

"You should probably back off a bit from Sam and Sarah."

He had the sense to look at least slightly shamed. "I know. But this kid, sometimes he needs to get shoved around. Do you really think Jessica would want him to be alone for her sake?"

"I don't know, I never met her. . But I don't think he's worried about betraying her memory, Dean. He's worried about what might happen to Sarah as a result of this life. I chose to travel with you, and I've got a pretty solid idea that it's gonna get me dead, which I've accepted. Sarah didn't."

He made a face as he considered it. "Maybe. But this job keeps you isolated enough that you really can't afford to do it yourself. Not without going off the deep end." Charlie made a decidedly noncommittal sound of agreement, while he paused to peer seriously at her. "And you know that I'll never let anything happen to you, tight?"

She wrapped her arms around his upper arm, hugging him close. "Anything is a very broad term. I trust that you'll do all you can to keep me safe, and that's all I expect."

He didn't look exactly thrilled by her response, despite dropping his head to one side in order to lightly rest it on hers, but the clerk finally came back, holding a piece of paper that suggested a successful search.

Sam and Sarah were having a fairly serious conversation of their own, judging from the long, serious look they were sharing before Dean's approach interrupted them. They denied it, of course, to no one's conviction.

"So what'd you get?"

Dean grinned. "Pay dirt." Reading from the pages they'd conned out of the county clerk, he explained, "Apparently, they surviving relatives of the Merchant family were so ashamed of Isaiah that they didn't want him interred with the rest of the family. So, they handed him over to the county. The county gave him a pauper's funeral - economy-style. Turns out he wasn't cremated, he was buried in a pine box."

"So, there are bones to burn?"

"There are bones to burn."

"Tell me you know where."

From what she could see, Charlie formed the opinion that digging up a body was back-breaking work, leaving her glad that she and Sarah were on flashlight duty. Sarah seemed to be thinking along the same lines. "You guys seem to be uncomfortably comfortable with this."

There was a laugh from below as Sam looked up at them. "Yeah, well, this isn't exactly the first grave we've dug. Still think I'm a catch?"

Dean hit the top of Isaiah's coffin, using the shovel to open it. Before long all four of them stood over the open grave as the brothers poured copious amounts of salt and gasoline into the hole. "You've been a real pain in the ass, Isaiah," Dean informed the corpse as he lit a match. "Good riddance." He tossed the match into the grave, and the quartet watched the flames build in silence.

They pulled back up to Evelyn's mansion, surprising both of the ladies. "Keep the motor running," Sam instructed his brother.

Meanwhile, Sarah leaned forward. "I thought the painting was harmless now."

"Better safe than sorry. We're gonna bury the sucker."

He got out of the car, and without a sign of hesitation, she was scrambling to follow. "I wanna come with you."

"You sure?"

Dean grabbed his attention quickly. "Hey, hey, hey. We'll stay here, you go make your move." Sam scoffed, partially distracted by the fact that Charlie was rather clumsily climbing over the seat to steal his spot. And Dean was letting her, despite the potential of damage to his precious Impala. "Sam," the elder Winchester insisted, "I'm serious."

Successfully fighting off the urge to role his eyes, Sam shut the door and started up the front steps with the brunette, stopping a moment later to turn back and glare when the car radio was turned on to blast a love song. At Dean's nonchalant shrug, he gestured for the music to be turned off. It was, albeit reluctantly, and the couple finally made it back into the house without any additional jabs.

Charlie propped her chin on the length of Dean's outstretched arm to watch them, seeming not to notice how close it moved her face to his. With his other hand, he began to brush stray hair from her cheek, drawing her attention back to him. And the front door slammed shut.

The front door was solid before, but as Dean slammed his shoulder into the wood, it occurred to him that there was no discernible give at all now.

"Dean! Hey! Is that you?" Sam's voice was muffled from inside the house, but they could still barely make it out.

"Yeah, you all right?" For a moment, there was no answer, muffled or not, then Dean's phone rang. He skipped a customary greeting, instead barking, "Tell me you slammed the front door."

"No, it wasn't me. I think it was the little girl."

Charlie's face told him that she didn't understand either. "The girl? What girl?"

"Yeah, she's out of the painting. I think it might have been her all along."

Dean made a face, concentrating. "Wasn't the dad lookin' down at her? Maybe he was tryin' to warn 'em."

"Hey, hey, hey, let's recap later, all right? Just get us out of here."

Dean bent down at the key hole again. "Well, I'm trying to pick the lock, but the door won't budge."

"Well, then, break it down."

"Okay, genius, let me grab my battering ram." Distracted by Dean's sarcasm, neither brother noticed Charlie's actions until she slammed her jacket-wrapped elbow into the window with enough force to shatter anything short of bullet-proof glass. Dean grabbed at her immediately, patting down her arm to check for anything broken as the other three stared blankly at the unmarred window. Whimpering as his hand hit an emerging bruise, Charlie made no effort to resist when he pulled her into his side.

"I appreciate the thought, Charlie," Sam yelled, "but Dean, the damn thing is comin'!"

"Well, you're gonna have to hold it off until I figure somethin' out. Get some salt or iron."

The two trapped inside took off as Dean pulled Charlie behind him, handed her his phone, and continued his efforts at the front door in sheer desperation. Sam and Sarah yelled back and forth, searching for anything to protect them, discovering an iron fireplace poker just in time to drive off the Merchant daughter's first attack.

"Sammy, you okay?" Dean reclaimed his phone, Charlie hovering anxiously at his side.

"Yeah, for now."

"How we gonna waste her?"

"I don't know. She was already cremated. There's nothing left to burn."

While the brothers continued, Sarah pulled at a thought just barely at the edge of her consciousness. "Sam, wait. We used to handle antique dolls at the auction."

"Well, that's fascinating, Sarah, but important right now?"

She scowled at him, continuing. "Well, back then, they used to make the dolls in the kid's image. I mean, everything, like they would use the kid's real hair."

"Dean? Sarah says the doll might have the girl's hair. Human remain - same as bones." There was a momentary pause before both Winchesters announced as one, "The mausoleum."

Dean hung up his phone and grabbed Charlie, pulling her with him to the Impala. The cemetery was a solid twenty-five minutes away, but they made it there in less than half that, not bothering to even slow as the car barreled through the closed gate and across the grass.

The couple rushed into the musty mausoleum, focused on destroying the doll. It took more work than either expected, however, Dean slamming the butt of his gun into the glass repeatedly until his actions dawned on him. Drawing Charlie to stand behind him, he used one hand to keep her snug against his back and the other to shoot at the case, finally breaking through. He handed off the doll to his companion, who took it reluctantly, holding it out as he struck his lighter beneath it. Again and again, as the flint refused to spark. Finally, just when the pair was about to panic, a flame ignited, immediately beginning to catch the doll's hair. They made sure it was burning, rotating the toy to burn in several spots, then Dean motioned for her to drop it as he pulled his cell phone back from his pocket.

There was another anxious several seconds, as they listened to the ringing and silently begged Sam to answer. Finally, he did. "Sam, you good?"

There was a slight pause, as Sam took in the mess around him. "Not bad."

Not bad at all.

Author's Note (#2) : Like I said. No excuse for how long this chapter took to get out. I'm not even sure I particularly like how it turned out (I know I hate the ending, but we agreed to disagree so I could attempt to move on). I'm not gonna make any promises about how long it will take the next chapter to show, but I'm already working on it, so here's to hopin', right?

Destiny's Darkness
6-24-2010