"So you travel around the country with those guys and hunt monsters."
"Uh-huh." Emma was sitting at a vanity table in Charlie's bedroom, watching her pack. Sam was in the dining room going over plans on his computer and Dean had gone out to pick up supplies, presumably taking the flask and Bobby's ghost with him. The teenager resisted the urge to chuckle, imagining Charlie's reaction if she found out the Winchesters traveled with their own personal poltergeist.
Overall, Charlie Bradbury was handling the knowledge of the supernatural really well, Emma thought. She'd kept up a stream of complaints as she selected items to stuff in her bag, but Emma could understand her need to vent. In a few hours she'd gone from having a normal life to preparing for life on the run from the Leviathans.
"So I guess your mother is out of the picture, huh?" Charlie asked as she opened a dresser drawer and sifted through the contents.
"Yeah."
"That's tough," Charlie said, sympathetic.
"Mm," Emma murmured, noncommittal. There really wasn't much to say about her mother, not without venturing into forbidden territory. In a way, though, Charlie reminded Emma of her mom. She was probably only a few years older than Lydia, and even bore a superficial resemblance to her. Slender, pale-skinned, though Lydia's hair had been the same strawberry-blonde color as Emma's. Emma couldn't hold back a giggle at the thought of her mother sporting Charlie's vivid shade of red. Lydia would not have approved.
Her mother wouldn't approve of Charlie's taste in decor, either, Emma thought. Posters, stuffed animals, figurines… Things Emma's upbringing with the tribe had taught her were frivolous, reserved for little children. Idly, she tapped a bobblehead on Charlie's vanity, making the head wobble back and forth. An assortment of makeup was scattered across the top of the little dressing table along with the collection of figures.
"You can use it, if you want," Charlie offered, noticing Emma's interest in the compacts. "I won't be taking that stuff. Got to travel light," she said philosophically.
Emma laughed ruefully.
"I wouldn't know what to do with it," she confessed. Lydia had worn makeup, Emma remembered, but she'd been five when she'd left her mother's house, too young even for lip gloss. And during her training as an initiate of the tribe there'd been no time for vanity, even if the matrons would have allowed it.
"Come on, you're what, sixteen? You're allowed. Your dad's not ultra-religious or something, is he?"
"Um, no, not really." She had to stifle a louder laugh at that. Her dad had been to heaven. Hell, too. Dean had once counted an angel as his best friend, but Emma didn't think any of that made him particularly religious.
"Want me to show you how?" At the teenager's hesitant nod Charlie approached and pulled up a small upholstered storage cube. Taking a seat on it, she selected a tube of lipstick and handed it to Emma.
"Try that."
Emma peered into the mirror, frowning as she inexpertly dabbed the color onto her lips. She caught Charlie's eye in the reflection and the hacker chuckled at her serious expression.
"You're doing fine. Pucker up, like this," Charlie advised, demonstrating. "It's not supposed to induce angst. And we're not buying into that mainstream media impossible beauty ideal crap, okay? Makeup is just, you know, fun."
She reached for a brush and a compact. Emma let her apply blush to her cheeks, reasoning that Charlie could probably use a break from thinking about Dick Roman and his Leviathans. And it was fun, spending time with a woman for a change, doing something overtly feminine. The makeup lesson was like something a mother would offer. Or an older sister, Emma corrected herself, mentally shying away from any more thoughts of Lydia.
"Do you ever get scared?" Charlie asked her quietly as she worked on her eye makeup. "I mean, monsters must be commonplace for you, huh?"
Emma's eyes were closed, but she could picture the redhead's expression. She could picture the first Leviathan she'd ever seen, too. That gaping maw filled with razor-sharp fangs and obscene, wriggling tongues. The first demon she'd ever seen. Its death throes as her dad stabbed it. The shining black eyes of the demon she'd fought. The crumpled, broken body of the innocent victim the demon had possessed.
"No, I do get scared, sometimes. We all do," admitted, cautiously opening her eyes to look at Charlie. "But it's our job, so we get it done. Focus on the ones you save," she told her solemnly, repeating her dad's advice.
"Yeah." Charlie nodded, decisive. "I just have to get the job done."
"Come on, Emma. You're riding with me."
Emma felt a weight of disappointment press down on her at her father's words. There could only be one reason for not letting her ride along in the cargo van with Sam. Her dad must be planning to drop her off somewhere. Somewhere safe, she thought bitterly. It seemed he would never trust her with anything important. With an effort, she kept her expression neutral.
"So, what, I'm on babysitting detail?" she asked quietly.
"Yeah. I need you and Bobby to sit this one out." Dean took out the old, leather-bound flask and handed it to her. Suppressing a sigh, she pocketed it. Arguing in front of Charlie would just make her look childish. Emma turned to the hacker.
"Good luck. I know you'll be great," she told her, forcing a smile.
"Thanks." To Emma's surprise, Charlie flung her arms around her, giving her a quick, impulsive hug. Then she followed Sam to the cargo van. Emma slid into the passenger seat of her father's car, riding quietly until they reached an intersection and the two vehicles went their separate ways.
"How is this meeting me halfway?" she demanded, throwing his words from their last argument back at him.
"Look, if this goes as planned, it'll be a couple of boring hours sitting in the van doing nothing," Dean retorted. "You won't be missing out on much."
"And if things go south? What then?"
"Then you get away. Call Garth-"
"I know! Call Garth!" Emma broke in. "I know the escape plan, Dad! I want to know what you're going to do if Charlie gets caught. You can't go in after her," she pointed out. The Leviathans all knew Dean and Sam Winchester. They wouldn't make it past the lobby.
"She won't get caught."
"But if she does?" Emma prompted, stubborn.
"If she does, Sam and I will go in after her," Dean said gruffly, equally stubborn.
And they would, too, Emma knew, even knowing it was hopeless. They'd die trying to save an innocent woman. She huffed out a sigh, shooting her father an exasperated look.
"I could help-"
"Emma Jo, there is only one thing you can do to help tonight," he growled, "and that's obey orders!"
Emma fell silent. It was the same old argument, one she could never win. The tribe had demanded obedience too, but she'd rebelled. That wasn't an option with her father. She didn't have the knowledge or the experience to strike out and fight the Leviathans on her own. And anyway, she'd made her dad a promise. Even if he didn't believe she'd be able to keep her word.
"You don't have to worry, Dad. I know how to obey orders."
It wasn't until Emma had flopped down across the bed in the airport hotel room, resigned to a night of boredom and worry, that she realized the flask wasn't in her pocket.
"Son of a bitch, Bobby," she muttered. Even the ghost had ditched her.
The buzz of her cell phone woke her a couple of hours later. Embarrassed, Emma realized she'd dozed off in spite of everything.
"Meet me in the lobby in five." Her father's voice was calm, but Emma immediately tensed. Had there been a change in the plan? Had something gone wrong?
"I'll be right down," she said, already heading for the door.
Emma didn't bother to wait for the elevator. She took the stairs three and four at a time, arriving in the lobby with three minutes to spare. Her father strode in carrying a bulky gray plastic case.
"This is what that Dick's been digging for," he said with a humorless smirk, passing the case to her.
"What is it?" Emma breathed.
"No idea, but if he wants it so bad-"
"No way he's getting his hands on it," she said firmly, clutching the handle tightly.
"That's my girl." This time, Dean's smile was fleeting but genuine. "If things go bad…" he paused, engaging in a brief, internal struggle. He reached out a hand and clasped her shoulder.
"You know what to do."
At least he hadn't felt the need to repeat the familiar instructions.
"I know what to do," Emma reassured him. She remembered Charlie's impulsive hug from earlier, and for a moment Emma was tempted to wrap her arms around him. The moment passed and her dad stepped back. A few seconds later, he was gone.
Emma carried the case up to the rented room. Fingers poised on the latches, she hesitated. Her father hadn't said anything about opening it. He'd never said not to open it, either, she reasoned. She raised the lid, pulled back the cloth wrapping, and frowned in puzzlement at the featureless lump of… Cement? Clay? It didn't look important at all.
Whatever it was, Emma hoped it was worth it. The Winchesters could use a break for a change.