Outside in the street, the breeze is lifting. It whips dust up into the air around them, and as their feet crunch across unfinished pavement, a low rumble of thunder rolls in from the horizon.

Dean looks to the sky. The first few drops of rain are cool against his skin.

A few paces ahead of him, Charlie picks up her pace, heading toward her car.

It stands out in the parking lot; a bright yellow beacon in a sea of gray, and Dean is struck by just how fitting that is.

She's a breath of fresh air, he thinks, and maybe it's just the fact that he's tired, or maybe it's because out of the very short list of friends that he has, she's the only one not currently MIA, but he decides he doesn't much like the idea of her leaving after they've finished hunting down Chuck's other books.

"So," he says, slowing to veer off to where he parked on the other side of the lot, "where's this motel you're staying at?"

Charlie stops and turns to face him, her shoulders sinking as she sighs.

"Dean, I thought we'd gotten past that. Sam isn't going to—"

"Whoa, Charlie, " he holds up his hands, "I know. We're still going."

The rain is starting to pick up, and Charlie wipes the drops from her forehead as she looks up at him, fixing him with what he thinks is meant to be a stern glare.

"Damn right we are," she says.

Dean's pretty sure he's seen a cat look more threatening. He suppresses his smirk.

"I was just thinking, if you're gonna be staying in town, you're more than welcome to crash at the bunker until you know what you want to do," he shrugs, glancing toward the Impala, "You know. If you want. Up to you."

"What?"

He shrugs again like it's no big deal. She doesn't need to know that he wants her there; that he's pretty sure the whole track-down-the-books-to-track-down-Cas thing isn't going to lead anywhere but Disappointment City, and that he could use some company beyond an increasingly under-the-weather brother that he honestly doesn't know how totake care of.

"I mean, it's not the ritz," he says, "but there's plenty of room and it's better than you forking out all your hard-pilfered cash for a shitty room in some fleabag motel every night."

"Shouldn't you run it past Sam first?"

Scoffing, Dean shakes his head.

"Are you kidding? He'll be psyched. Besides, I'm the oldest. Pretty sure that makes me the one with veto privileges."

Charlie chews on the inside of her lip, looking back toward her car, deliberating. After a moment she looks back and points east.

"It's a couple blocks over," she says, "on Robertson. Sunflower Motel. Big yellow sign. Can't miss it."

"Alright. I'll meet you there in a few."

She grins wide, and Dean can't help but return it as she adjusts the backpack on her shoulders.

"Deal."

As she walks away, heading for her car, Dean shakes his keys in his hand and pulls out his cell. She has a point, afterall—it's probably a good idea to at least let Sam know they'll be having company.

Besides, he figures this way he won't have to deal with Sam's soul-searching eyes over all this Castiel stuff. It'll be like a band-aid, he tells himself. One pull. Right off.

The phone rings six times before Sam picks up, and he's coughing.

"You sound like crap," Dean says in place of a greeting, and Sam half-laughs before it turns into another wet cough, followed closely by an awful hawking sound that he really could have done without hearing.

"Ugh," he croaks, "understatement. But it'll pass. What's up? You still at the store?"

Dean rolls his eyes; Sam knows damn well he wasn't at the store.

"No," he says, "I was with Charlie. But you knew that already."

"Uh, yeah..."

"So, uh..." Dean's mouth is going dry already, and he presses his fingers against his eyes, tries to let the sound of rain hitting the roof calm him the way it used to when he was a just a kid, half-asleep in the back seat on a long drive, Sam snoring against his shoulder, "she told me what you said about... about me and Cas."

"Oh," Sam says, and Dean exhales again before he goes on.

"Let's just... let's not make a whole big thing of it, okay? Literally nothing has changed. He's still gone, and even if he wasn't I don't know—"

"Dean."

"—what I'd even say to him. Probably nothing. I mean it's just—"

"Dean."

"Yeah?"

"What happened to not making a whole big thing of it?"

"Wow, thanks. Real nice. It's not like I'm basically coming out to you here or anything."

"You just said—!" Sam sighs on the other end of the line, and Dean can hear him shaking his head in irritation, "forget it. I'm just saying, it's fine. Like you said, nothing's changed. Thanks for telling me though."

He pauses, and Dean waits for him to go on.

"Just... I'm here if you do need to talk about stuff. I know you hate to ask for help, but talking it out can make a difference."

Dean almost points out that that's exactly what he was just doing when Sam cut him off, but he figures it's not worth the argument.

"Thanks, Sammy," he says, instead.

"Don't mention it," Sam says, and there's the distinct sound of the fridge opening in the background, "but uh... while you're out, we're out of pretty much everything. So if you get a chance to actually go to the store...?"

"Yeah, no problem, we're heading back in a few."

"We?"

"Oh... yeah. That's what I was actually calling for. I kind of invited Charlie to move in for a while."

"Okay?"

"That cool with you?"

"Yeah. I'll start clearing out one of the other rooms."

Even as he says it, he starts coughing again, and Dean starts the engine.

"Right, because you're in great shape for heavy lifting. Just leave it. We'll take care of the room when we get back. Just... watch TV or something."

"Yeah, good plan."

Dean ends the call as he pulls out of the parking lot.

He follows the road to the end of the block, then heads east until he hits Robertson. It takes less than five minutes, and Charlie's leaning against the trunk of her car, cell phone in hand. She looks up as Dean parks beside her and pushes off, heading back toward her room.

"My car's kinda low on space," she calls over her shoulder, "the rest'll fit in the back of the Batmobile though."

There's only two boxes left, but they're heavy as hell, and Dean hefts the first one up with a grunt.

"Jesus. What's in these?"

"DVD's," she says, picking up the second box, "and books, mainly. A few comics, but most of those are in my car."

They all fit in the back seat. Once everything's loaded, Dean cracks his knuckles.

"Right," he says, "you go on ahead. Sam's expecting you. I need to stop for a few things, but I won't be far behind."

For a brief moment, she eyes him suspiciously, and as he pulls open the driver's side door, Dean rolls his eyes.

"Food, Charlie. I need to buy food. I'm not going to bail with all your crap in my car."

"You'd better not," she says, climbing into her own car and pointing at him for emphasis, "there's a first edition Wonder Woman in there."

As he drives away, he thinks how easy it was to ask Charlie to stay, and wishes he'd been able to ask Castiel when he'd had the chance.