"Dean!" Charlie yelled, leaving the boutique and running down the sidewalk; her speed reduced by the pantsuit flapping against her thighs and her bag bouncing against her side.
Charlie growled her frustration.
"Seriously?" she asked no one in particular, trying to readjust her load while dodging other shoppers as she raced to catch up with the classic Chevy that was thankfully still easing out of traffic in the downtown area and was not yet on the open road.
Seconds passed.
Charlie ran.
The Impala rolled on.
"Dean..." Charlie called again when she was finally parallel with the black muscle car.
Dean braked and looked at her through the open driver's window; the window having already been rolled down like he had known he would need to hear her.
Charlie swallowed, slightly out of breath from her brisk jog.
Because she was a gamer, not a runner.
Give her a break.
Charlie swallowed again, preparing to speak even if she was still panting.
But some jackass in a Toyota behind the Impala honked.
Charlie frowned, cutting her eyes at the impatient driver. "Rude," she scolded, doing her best Bon Qui Qui impression; nailing the voice and the expression.
The jackass honked again.
Charlie's frown deepened as she looked back at Dean.
Was he believing this guy?
Dean clenched his jaw, his grip tightening around the Impala's steering wheel. "Get in the car," he told her.
Charlie blinked, realizing that if the jackass behind him honked one more time, Dean would probably create a scene in the middle of the street...and if she didn't move her ass, Dean would give no second chances to hitch a ride.
And it was a loooong walk back to the Batcave.
"Charlie..."
"Coming..." she immediately responded to Dean's warning tone; squeezing through the tight space of the other cars parked along the street and crossing around the Impala's trunk before pausing to glare at the jackass as he watched her through his windshield.
Charlie held his gaze, 100% hardcore bitch and intimidating as shit, thank-you-very-much.
You want a piece of me, pal?
Bring it.
Come at me, bro.
I will mess you up.
I will –
"Charlie!"
Charlie blinked at the sound of Dean's voice yelling at her.
"I'm coming..." Charlie assureed, defiantly lifting her chin at the jackass and then crossing to the passenger side of the Impala; opening the door and practically falling into the front seat as Dean began pulling forward again.
"Wait! The door..."
"Close it."
Well, duh.
Charlie pulled a face.
"Close it," Dean repeated, still driving forward.
Charlie grunted as she leaned to reach for the handle – and after one missed grab, finally shut the passenger door.
"Dude..." she commented, breathless and incredulous at what had just happened.
Dean didn't respond.
Charlie scowled but decided not to push her luck.
She sighed.
They drove on in silence.
Dean watched his rearview, glaring at the jackass in the Toyota who followed them for two blocks before turning left.
Charlie shifted on the bench seat, her pantsuit a wadded mess in her lap; her bag resting on top of her feet, most of its contents spilled in the floorboard.
That was nice.
Good times.
She sighed again.
There was more silence; the rumble of the Impala's engine and the hum of her tires on the road the only sounds between them.
"Try Sam again..." Dean ordered, digging his own phone from his pocket.
Charlie blinked. "But I thought we were going back to – "
" – we are," Dean confirmed.
Because the Batcave was definitely their next stop...and would probably be their only stop for the rest of the day.
"But call him anyway," Dean told Charlie, doing the same with his phone; having already dialed the number with one touch and lifted it to his ear.
Charlie nodded, briefly searching for her phone in her bag – not even remembering that she had thrown it in there during her hasty retreat from the boutique – and then placed the call to Sam after Dean had ended his own call without an answer.
The hollow ring tone buzzed in Charlie's ear.
Seconds passed.
Sam didn't pick up on the other end.
His voicemail did.
Charlie shook her head as she ended her call as well. "He's not answering. Sorry..."
"Dammit..." Dean growled, tossing his phone in the seat and checking his rearview before refocusing on the road ahead. "Where the hell are you, Sammy?"
Charlie twitched a smile; her heart always doing a strange flip whenever Dean called his brother that.
It was such a small thing – but it was definitely a big brother, little brother thing...and it was incredibly sweet.
Even if Dean didn't realize how sweet; had no clue how endearing that nickname was when he said it...which somehow made it even better.
Sammy.
Sammy-Sam-Sam...
Charlie sighed.
These guys...
She glanced at Dean, his jaw still clenched; his skin stretched tight over his knuckles from how firmly he was gripping the steering wheel.
The big brother not saying a word but still practically vibrating with worry and barely contained panic.
Because for those keeping count at home, Dean had called Sam at least a dozen times now...and Sam hadn't answered once.
Charlie wrinkled her nose, realizing this didn't look good but...
"I'm sure he's still there," Charlie assured Dean about Sam being right where they had left him – at the table in the Batcave.
After all, it wasn't like Sam could exactly walk very far by himself these days...or at least, that's how it had seemed in the few hours Charlie had seen him earlier.
She inwardly cringed at the memory of Sam's chair screeching across the floor as he had stood up...and then had almost fell right back down.
Thank god for quick reflexes and sturdy furniture.
Charlie sighed. "I'm sure he's fine."
Dean arched an eyebrow at her confident prediction, clearly not eager to jump on Charlie's "Don't Worry, Be Happy" bandwagon.
"Then why isn't he answering his phone?" Dean countered, momentarily pinning Charlie with one of those stares that looked – and felt – like he could see your soul.
Charlie swallowed.
"Why isn't he answering his phone?" Dean repeated, glancing back at the road and sounding more pissed – more worried – than the first time he had said it.
Charlie swallowed again.
Because it was a good question.
It was a concerning question.
"I don't know," she admitted quietly, fidgeting with the phone now resting in her lap with the pantsuit.
Silence settled again.
Seconds passed.
Then minutes...
Charlie sighed, knowing that Dean was preoccupied with whatever was going on with Sam, but she still hated the tension between them.
"So..." she began.
Dean glanced at her; his expression warning against anything stupid that might come out of her mouth.
Because he had no patience for that now; had no patience for off-beat comments or quirky observations – not when he was worried about Sam.
Charlie nodded; message received and understood. "I'm sure he's fine," she attempted to soothe once again.
Because Sam was tall and strong and...tall...which meant he had to be fine.
The logic somehow made sense to Charlie.
Plus, she had read the books about the Winchesters – more obsessively than she would ever admit – and it seemed thus far that Sam could survive damn near anything.
"He's fine," Charlie repeated, not sounding as confident this time.
Because everyone's story had to end eventually; everyone met their match one day...and that was it.
Game over.
What if these trials were the final level for Sam?
What if it was game over for him?
The thought made Charlie's chest ache.
Dean sighed. "I hope so," he responded about Sam being fine, though his tone reflected his doubt. "But he should answer his damn phone..."
Charlie nodded, hearing Dean's worry underneath his gruff tone. "Well, yes..." she agreed. "But maybe he didn't answer because he doesn't have his phone with him."
Dean shook his head. "Sam always has his phone with him."
It was one of their rules – to have your phone with you at all times in case the other brother needed you...or you needed him.
"Okay..." Charlie allowed. "Maybe he didn't recognize the number. I mean...you were calling from my phone earlier."
Dean shook his head again. "Your number is in Sam's phone," he told her. "Sam would be more likely to answer a call from you than a call from me right now."
"Oh..." Charlie replied, because that made sense given how frustrated Sam had seemed earlier about Dean grounding him.
Was that the real reason why Dean had asked to use her phone?
There was silence as the Impala rolled down the highway.
"Well..." Charlie began, her mind buzzing with other possibilities to give them both a sliver of peace. "Maybe he's in the bathroom..."
...which was not necessarily comforting since Sam being in the bathroom this long would probably not be a good sign.
"Or maybe he fell asleep..." she offered.
...which again wasn't very comforting if Sam was so deeply out of it that he had slept through his phone ringing a gazillion times.
Charlie swallowed. "Or maybe he's not even there...maybe he...I don't know...stole my car and is out working the case or something..."
She laughed nervously at the thought because 1) stealing her car would not be cool, Sam Winchester; and 2) Dean's brother was in no condition to be out by himself working a case.
So, that possibility wasn't comforting, either, Charlie. Thanks.
Plus, Dean said that Sam always had his phone regardless of where he was, so...
Charlie sighed, running out of options. "Or maybe – "
" – maybe he's on the floor coughing up blood," Dean interrupted, revealing the image that was on a constant loop in his mind, and then shook his head; annoyed with himself that he had confessed that aloud.
Charlie blinked at the unexpected theory about their unanswered phone calls to Sam and then frowned. "Why..." She paused. "Why would you say something like that?"
Because that was some intense shit.
And yeah, Charlie had noticed that Sam looked pale and weak when she had first arrived at the Batcave...and then of course had noticed him almost faceplanting when he had stood from the table earlier...and now knew about the trials he was going through.
But coughing up blood?
What the hell?
Charlie swallowed, further unnerved by Dean's silence and his refusal to look at her.
"Dean. Why would you say that?"
Because Dean had said it with an intensity that implied that Sam coughing up blood wasn't just a fear...it was a reality.
Charlie suddenly had no doubt that Dean had seen Sam coughing up blood.
And that's why Dean was in overdrive with his protective big brother tendencies.
That's why Dean had insisted Sam stay home.
That's why Dean had called Sam to check on him even though they had left the Batcave barely an hour ago.
That's why Dean was being a mother hen.
Because Sam was sick – really sick, scary sick – and Dean was worried.
Even worse, Dean was scared.
And Dean wasn't scared of anything, so...
Charlie blinked as the realization became clearer that this was bad – really, really bad...Sam-might-die bad.
Her heart hammered in her chest. "Dean. Why would Sam be on the floor coughing up blood? Why would you say that?"
Dean sighed, his gaze flickering from the Impala's rearview to the windshield. "Because that's part of this...part of these trials," he finally told Charlie. "It's been happening since Sam completed the first one."
"He coughs up blood?" Charlie clarified, hearing the shock in her voice and feeling her heart beginning to beat even faster.
Because now she was scared; now she was concerned; now she wanted to get back to the Batcave and lay eyes on Sam...and then kick his ass for not answering his phone if he was okay.
"Yeah," Dean confirmed about the blood. "It was just a little at first..."
Like that made it better...
"And now..." Dean shook his head.
Charlie stared at him. "Now it's a lot," she finished, based on Dean's expression.
"It's too much," Dean corrected and then paused. "He can't keep going like that, Charlie."
Charlie swallowed, not sure what to say.
Because Dean was right – a person couldn't just continue to cough up blood several times a day and expect to be okay.
Eventually, the maximum level would be reached.
And then...game over.
Oh, god...
Charlie blinked. "This is some really bad shit."
Dean snorted and huffed a humorless laugh as he glanced across the bench seat. "Yeah," he agreed.
There was silence.
"And I shouldn't have left him alone..."
Charlie turned to look at Dean as he once again refused to look at her; his gaze fixed on the road.
But Charlie still knew – knew that that was Dean's true fear.
That Sam was in serious trouble and was alone.
That he had left Sam by himself even though he knew his brother was weak.
That he had abandoned his sick kid...and now his sick kid was paying the price.
That his little brother could be calling for Dean in this very second...and Dean wasn't there.
That was Dean's fear.
That was what Dean was afraid of.
That was what scared Dean – something bad happening to Sam because Dean wasn't there.
Just like Dean wasn't there at the Batcave now...and Sam wasn't answering his phone.
...which meant what?
Charlie sighed.
She didn't know...but she didn't have a good feeling about it.
And she knew that Dean definitely sensed trouble back home...which was why they were currently flying down the highway well over the speed limit.
God forbid they got stopped by a cop...
Charlie inwardly cringed at the thought and chewed on her bottom lip.
There was silence.
Silence.
Silence.
And then...
"It's going to be okay," Charlie announced, forcing confidence and optimism in her voice and reached across the bench seat, squeezing Dean's arm in silent support.
Because yeah, she wasn't Dean's sister...and she wasn't Sam's sister, either. But she loved them both like they were her brothers. And she was in this with them for as long as they would have her.
"It's going to be okay," Charlie repeated, still staring straight at Dean.
Dean clenched his jaw but said nothing.
Because he often said that, too; would practically chant that to Sam when the kid was doubled-over or on his knees coughing up blood; one paper towel after another soaked with red.
It's okay.
It's okay.
It's going to be okay.
But Dean didn't believe that anymore.
Because according to Castiel, Sam was damaged in ways even the angel couldn't heal...and nothing about that seemed okay.
Dean released a shaky breath, pulling himself together as they neared the Batcave; thankful that Charlie was keeping quiet...but was also keeping her hand on his arm.
Charlie smiled, knowing without being told, and directed her attention straight ahead as they rode.
Minutes passed with miles.
The path that led to the Batcave came into view on the horizon.
Dean's bicep tensed beneath Charlie's hand.
Because this was it – ready or not, they were about to discover whether Sam wasn't answering his phone because he was being a pouty little bitch...or because he was...
Charlie shook her head, refusing to think about any other possibilities right now, and focused instead on the only outcome she would accept – that Sam was here...at least, she assumed he was since her car was still there, not stolen...and he was fine.
Charlie nodded and patted Dean's arm before releasing her supportive grip. "He's okay," she stated confidently about Sam.
Dean cut his eyes at her, 30-some years of big brother experience telling him otherwise. "And if he's not...?" he challenged.
Charlie didn't even blink. "Then you'll take care of him."
She had never been so sure of anything else in her life.
Because if Sam was sicker now than when they had left him...if they indeed found him on the floor coughing up blood...then Dean would handle it; Dean would take care of his brother; Dean would somehow make it better.
And it was all going to be okay.
Charlie nodded, willing that to be true even as she felt dread twist her stomach as the Impala pulled up to the door of the Batcave.
"Bunker sweet bunker..." she commented and smiled as she glanced at Dean, trying to lighten the moment.
But Dean said nothing, instead grabbing his phone from the seat, opening the driver's side door, and climbing out of the Impala; crossing around the front of the classic Chevy and heading straight to the stairs.
Charlie did the same, leaving her pantsuit and phone and bag in the front seat as she exited the passenger side of the black muscle car and followed Dean inside.
TBC