The headquarters of the men of letters stood dark and still. Dust motes rested on tomes of untold power and knowledge. Cursed relics, scrolls soaked with blood and knowledge capable of destroying the world ten times over slept peacefully, unmindful of the passage of time as they awaited the return of their masters. Much as in the day when the Men of Letters abandoned this tomb, a deep melancholia permeated the stale air. Whether this emanated from the lonely books themselves or some supernatural entity, no one could say.
The stagnation of this mausoleum was suddenly rent in twain by a shuddering, rippling swell of magic that burst violently through an inner door with a thunderous splintering of antiquated wood. The remains of the door to a janitorial closet swung pathetically on its hinges as a gorgeous redhead, too good for this world, stepped through the recently created magic portal.
Charlie stumbled slightly, taking a moment to regain her equilibrium. She glanced behind her as the portal winked out of existence, leaving only the remains of a door which would forever remain shut: the door leading to Dorothy and pain and heartache, now closed forever.
It was only through the skin of her teeth that Charlie had been able to avoid the crazy last ditch split-yourself-in-half plan and managed to rally the Ozian rebels and win the day. It was everything that had happened after their victory that had made her glad to leave Oz in furtherance of one final mission. A mission she needed some intrepid hunters to help her with. She looked around, noting the distinct lack of noise.
"Bitches?" she called softly, hoping nothing dangerous lurked in the shadows. While she was no longer the mousy young innocent she had been when she left, the creatures she fought in Oz were vastly different from the ones in this realm. She was both ill equipped and out of practice, so she made her way through the dark passageways with caution.
Charlie placed her hand surreptitiously into the pocket of her super-cool-and-suspiciously-stylish-for-having-just-come-from-Oz leather jacket, loosely grasping the enchanted knife she kept on her person at all times. She swept the room with eyes expertly trained to seek out danger, finding nothing but mothballs and aged dust. With the skill of an woman who had spent several months stalking a yellow brick road in magical high heels, she silently crept through the empty halls in her black leather boots of sexyness.
The farther she walked, the more certain she was that she was alone, and the more unnerved she became by the stillness. She couldn't have explained it, but the air tasted stale, as though it hadn't been cycled through human lungs in quite some time. Suddenly, she heard a soft stirring coming form the direction of the boys' rooms. She moved towards it swiftly and silently, mentally trying to prepare herself for any possible situation. When she was before the door to Dean's room, where the source of the quiet noise had originated, she paused and readied herself. She heard a soft sigh from inside and without further hesitation kicked open the door and rushed inside with her knife drawn.
The source of the noise was sexily-if listlessly-sprawled across Dean's bed, staring up at the ceiling. The only reaction to her presence was a weary roll of his head towards the door. Charlie frowned in confusion. "Who the hell are you, and where are Dean and Sam?" She demanded. The man squinted at her and frowned. "My name is Castiel. Dean and Sam are no longer in this world."
Charlie blinked at the forlorn tone. She kept her distance, not coming further into the room, and examined the man. He was disheveled and greasy-looking, like he had lain down and not moved for days. He was wearing a dirty white t-shirt and jeans and clutching a flannel shirt in his left hand. Underneath the strangely rugged filth Charlie discerned the countenance of a sad, puppy-like man who seemed so pathetic it was hard to think of him as posing any sort of threat. She lowered the knife minutely as she scanned the room for latent threats.
"Castiel? As in the angel?" she asked hesitantly, glad to have finally remembered where she had heard that name. Although in her mind it was still tinged with Dean's daydreamy, pretending-not-to-be-totally-over-the-moon-in-forever-truly-as-you-wish-love voice of gruffness. Castiel let out a deep sigh.
"I am Castiel. But I am no longer an angel." Charlie blinked.
"Oh. Um. Sorry. I didn't know that was possible."
Castiel stared blankly up at the ceiling and shrugged.
"It's not the most common occurrence. Most angels would prefer a clean death to losing their grace and becoming human, only to endure a slow, humiliating crawl towards death."
An uncomfortable silence descended as Charlie processed this statement. It allowed Castiel's maudlin thoughts to drift unerringly back to the moment at the reconciliation counsel which had precipitated his current predicament. Gabriel had been his same annoying, enigmatic self and announced in no uncertain terms that the only way for the rebel faction and the angels of order to reach an agreement was for Castiel to remove himself from the picture.
"Listen, Cas," Gabriel had said to Castiel, "as long as you're skirting the edge of these political negotiations, neither side can truly trust the other, or believe that the conflict is over. I mean, hell, you've been hand picked by Dad as worthy of resurrection. On numerous occasions. Is it any wonder you make people nervous?"
"But-" Castiel had started to argue.
"Face it, Cas, you rock the boat. Always have always will. If you truly wish for a heaven united, you need to take yourself out of the equation."
Castiel had considered his words. And he had to admit, Gabriel had a point. No matter how he tried to do good, to do the right thing, he invariably sowed the seeds of discord and chaos, whatever his endeavor. It made sense that the orderly angels of heaven would refuse to allow access to the rebels still loyal to him. He had tried to wrest power before; logic dictated he would try again.
"What would you have me do?" he asked wearily. Gabriel had smiled smugly, in that irritating way of his that made you feel everything up to this point was mere preamble to capitulation.
"Simple bro. Give up your grace."
The uproar which had followed that statement was lost to Castiel. He was too shocked to respond. Eventually he managed to choke out an answer that managed to perfectly encapsulate his incredulity and horror:
"What?"
Gabriel swung an arm around his shoulders.
"Listen, Cas," he said, turning Castiel away from the now furiously arguing assembly, "nothing less than a permanent solution will suffice. You're too symbolically important at this point. If you run, they'll chase you. If you hide, they'll seek you out. If you're killed, you become a martyr and it all starts up again. If you make yourself powerless, die slowly as a human, it shows the establishment you're no longer a threat, and it shows the rebels your dedication to reconciliation. And hey," he added with a sarcastic pat on the back, "It's not like this world has anything you want. Anymore."
Castiel glared at Gabriel, even as he pondered these words. True, Gabriel was a trickster, and likely there was a hidden agenda behind his sudden appearance and seemingly perfect logic. His apparent knowledge of Dean's absence was also highly suspicious. But he had also aided the Winchesters, at great threat to his own life, upon their last encounter. He had nearly died fighting Lucifer. Surely that meant he was trustworthy?
Castiel was drawn from his hesitation by the sound of the table cracking. He had looked up to see Ermiel breaking the table in half with a particularly aggressive gesture. Looking around the room, it was suddenly brought home with startling clarity that the negotiations had broken down, and once more, his brothers were about to shed familial blood. For his sake.
Suddenly Castiel couldn't take it anymore. Every poor decision, every failed attempt to make things right, all the blood on his hands. All of it came down on his shoulders. And it crushed him. Crushed his tiny little angel soul all to bits.
He didn't notice Gabriel's triumphant smirk as he stepped forward purposefully and held his angel blade aloft. With a crack of thunder he spread his wings, commanding the attention of the entire room.
As Castiel lay on Dean's bed, surrounded by the scent of his lost human, he turned his thoughts away from the the memory of excruciating, self-inflicted pain that followed.
"Huh." Charlie said with an adorable little chuckle. "Dean always said you were serious." She paused, frowning cutely, "he never said you were so...emo."
Castiel cast a lazy glare in her direction, but otherwise did not respond. Charlie coughed.
"Ok, so, anyway...you said Dean wasn't here. Do you know where he is?"
Castiel's gaze turned wary.
"What do you want with Dean?" he asked, eyeing her knife suspiciously. Charlie followed his gaze and quickly put the weapon away.
"Oh, hey, no, don't even!" she said quickly. "I'm like, totally on team Winchester. They even made me an official woman of letters. Maybe they mentioned me? I'm Charlie." Castiel's eyes lit with recognition.
"Ah, yes. Dean spoke of you. He said you were brave and smart."
Charlie felt a huge grin spread across her face.
"Really?" She gushed. Castiel nodded.
"He said you were the toughest nerd he'd ever met."
Charlie's smile dimmed minutely.
"Oh."
"And what I said was, Dean is no longer in this world."
For a horrifying split second, Charlie's sparkly red heart plummeted into her stomach.
"To be precise, he is no longer in this universe. Fearing the power of the mark, he and Sam fled to a realm without magic, cut off from heaven's power."
Charlie heaved a deep sigh of relief.
"Oh, ok. Whooo! You had me going there, dude," she said with a relieved laugh. He frowned at her, apparently puzzled by her antics. She ignored his look as she considered this new information.
Dean and Sam were gone. That meant they wouldn't be able to help her complete her mission. Disappointing, but not insurmountable. She looked back into the hallway, towards the library.
"Mmmm...ok. I'm guessing they won't be back anytime soon..." she trailed off thinking. Castiel ignored her in favor of staring at the ceiling some more.
Charlie looked back at Castiel thoughtfully and took a tentative step towards him.
"So um, hey, Cas. Do you know how to find your way around this place?"
Cas shrugged once again.
"I assisted in research on occasion. I have a general sense of the organization of this place."
"That's great! Because I need your help."
"My help? With what?"
Charlie smiled in that mysterious, sexy way of hers.
"A locater spell."