(no subject)
Charlie throws caution out the window of her little yellow car. She speeds past every car on the highway. If she matters, even minimally, to Meg, she knows exactly where to go.
It’s the shittiest motel by far, but it is the last place Meg has gone with her, and perhaps the only place that Meg didn’t hate to be. All the dive bars, cafes, motel rooms, everything before this place Meg has hated.
She searches the motel parking lot for some sort of sign, a trace of Meg anywhere. She parks in the same spot, takes the same steps. Perhaps, if she’s lucky, everything will be the same.
Her head still hurts; the motion from the car has her mind screaming. Everything is fuzzy, with a blurry haze warping her perspective. She can taste the iron in her mouth from before. She can feel the pressure in her muscles as she pushes them to move her as fast as possible.
She should have died. Being thrown through wooden doors and across parking lots would end anyone, but Meg didn’t let her die. Meg brought her into a neighboring room and treated her wounds. She stayed until Charlie was okay, or at least functional enough to fall asleep. Charlie must matter. Something about her matters to Meg.
She wraps her fingers around the door knob, searching for the courage to open the door. She closes her fist as tight, as if the door knob is her life line. Her fist isn’t as firm as it should be but now isn’t the time for strength. She has never relied on it anyway. The door opens slowly, and the anticipation nearly kills her.
“Charlie,” Meg says, it apprehensive and cold but Charlie knows she isn’t closed off.
“What happened to Toto?” Charlie jokes, its desperate in her throat, her laughter could easily turn to tears. They both know what will happen next. In that moment they are fully aware of each other.
“I- you really need to go,” Meg warns, it’s hollow, a warning with no threat. She stays where she is, doesn’t advance towards Charlie, and doesn’t play her usual games. These words are the most sincere words she will ever speak, though every cell in her body rebels against them.
“Do we have a case?” Charlie avoids, dodges the incoming blow with ease. The dance is so familiar now, it tightens her muscles, and her heart beats fast against the anxiety.
“You know-I was with her Charlie, standing next to her,” Meg holds Charlie as stands with poor balance. The excitement is gone now. It leaves them both vulnerable.
“But you can’t be with the bad guys-you’re better than that,” Charlie begs, every part of her is on fire with an ache she can’t comprehend. Her cheeks, the palms of her hands, every part of her skin; they are sensitive to the rejection, slowly setting her on fire.
“I’m not,” Meg has no words; her eyes look away from Charlie every chance they meet.
“Yes you are!” Charlie yells, it escapes so easily, scarring her throat.
“Because I don’t own my life, I lingered on borrowed time and now I have nothing. Is that good enough? I would if I could but I can’t,” Meg retaliates, her words fall, her face deflates. The sharpness, the cold exterior, it all is meant for someone else. For Abaddon and her kingdom, for the work Meg doesn’t want to do.
Abaddon pulls the strings; she brings the powerful back to life to serve at her side. Abaddon is the destroyer, she knows nothing of mercy only cruelty. Meg resents that. She had no problem being dead, but weeks of living leave her desperate under Abaddon thumb.
“So we kill Abaddon, or we keep running.”
“She’s not killable, at least to us, now stop being so stubborn, I’m no good for you. Just realize that we aren’t meant to be BFF’s, or hunters for life. We weren’t mean to be anything,” Meg shouts, the possibility of keeping Charlie locked up in various motel rooms and cars terrifies her.
“Fine,” Charlie’s voice is loud as she storms out of the room. The door slams behind her, leaving Meg all alone.
Charlie follows her footsteps back to the car. “Don’t cry,” She begs, “Did Sam cry when Frodo…” She trails off, lost in her own head. Her stance is broken, and she survives on the fact that her car is a few feet away.
She fights the choking feeling in her throat, holding it all under the surface. Meg has numbed her out, teaching her to hide her emotions in hidden channels under the surface. But Meg is a powerful force, the creation that comes out of centuries of torture, and Charlie does not have the cruelty for herself or others to mimic Meg.
“Just get to the car,” Charlie mutters, her legs buckle under the added emotional weight. Meg may be impenetrable but Charlie is resilient, and if she is going to be rejected she will parade to her car with pride. Then cry like it is the series finale.
The hand that covers her mouth takes her off guard. She kicks the attacker, digs her nails into their hand. She doesn’t have the energy to fight.
“Meg- get the hell off me,” Charlie screams are muffled by her attackers hand as she struggles against them. The figure is bigger than Meg though, and weaker. She can feel the blood trickle from her nose. It smears all over her face as she fights. Something relaxes her, as if she is falling asleep. It makes the slice of clarity feel morphed, and a sense of dread fills her stomach.
Something in the back of her brain screams, kicking her body back into action. She slams her body against her attacker, creating distance. She reaches for her side arm, walking back towards her car as her fallen attacker panics on the ground.
“Why are you following me!” Charlie screams with her gun on the man. His clothes are simple but behind the calm front there is a danger that lingers in this man.
The man does not answer, or move. He stays in a defensive position on the floor.
“Christo,” Charlie tries, she has enough sense to know that the demons are behind something.
His eyes turn black, and Charlie fires a warning shot as he attempts to sit up. “The necklace,” The demon admits, encouraged by the threat of violence
Charlie stares at him, waiting for more information, “What do you want with it?”
“It’s powerful magic, it shouldn’t be wasted on the silly affairs of humans,” The demon hisses, earning another well placed warning shot.
“What greater purpose do you have for it?”
“Summoning something greater than all of us.”
“Well you can’t have it,” Charlie states, firing a shot to rid her of any further trouble. She is at an advantage, holding the enemies key to success around her neck. Although that has put a price on her neck that she couldn’t afford. It’s a give and take.
She heads to the nearest safe house, but settles on a park bench twenty miles down the road. She scatters the few crime scenes she has pictures for, trying to find clues on the bigger picture. Charlie scans the pictures for the clue that would bring everything together, to connect her cases to the bigger picture; it would be easier to know Meg actively betrayed her. There is no link, and the weight of the unknown hangs on her.
There is a bit of lore on portals, especially the kind that are powered by the human soul. Charlie scans her own necklace, searching for something to show its apparent power. If it is powerful enough to transport her between worlds Abaddon could find use for it.
“Don’t try to solve the mystery love,” The brunette woman stands above Charlie, casting a shadow on Charlie’s research.
“That’s why you’re here, you want to know how this works just as much as I do,” Charlie holds her necklace close to her body, distancing herself from the woman.
“You’re obviously very -strong, and- intelligent, but that just doesn’t cut it. Unlike Meg, I deliver, no matter how good the sex is,” The woman laughs as Charlie fights against her. It’s easy to take an unarmed hunter; it’s pathetic to have to knock an injured one to the dirt.
“I’m sure you’re very successful,” Charlie kicks on the ground, searching for a weapon in the confusion.
“Meg may have gathered the horseman’s rings, but I got the girl who broke the barrier in the first place, so yes I’d like to say I get things done,” The woman overpowers Charlie with little fight. “When they ask about the men of letters they’ll say that Bela Talbot killed the only member that had any real worth,” Bela mocks as she forces all her weight on Charlie, making it impossible to move.
“I’m not just going to let-,” Charlie is swept into a blur of movement that she can’t follow. Bela carries her to an unknown location, and ignores her protests as she teleports to various locations. She is searching for something, and Charlie hopes she can handle whatever danger comes her way.
Part of her wants to find Sam, but that means facing Abaddon. Or facing whatever she has planned for Sam. Charlie hates to admit defeat, but she has no plan up her sleeve this time.
Bela drops Charlie on a hard wood floor, leaving her on the floor as she settles in. Charlie studies her surroundings, trying to find a clear way out before everything gets out of hand.
“You shouldn’t underestimate her,” Meg states from across the room, distancing herself from the situation.
“I’m nothing like you- I know business from pleasure,” The word roll of her tongue, stinging the wound that has not had time to heal.
“Oh shut up Miss Mercenary,” Meg meets Bela’s playful smile with a cold glare, but neither woman watches Charlie.
“At least I’m getting paid, we both know Abaddon is going to rip-“
Abaddon enters, triggering instant silence. Charlie attempts to hide behind furniture, to shrink herself and become undetectable. Abaddon’s intense stare lands on her, and the sincerity of her smile startles Charlie. “And who caught up with her?”
“I did,” Bela starts.
“Why has no one informed me? Let’s start the real fun, places ladies,” Abaddon pulls a handful of Charlie’s hair as she speaks, tossing her in the direction of the door.
“I’d appreciate that not happening again.”
“You won’t really appreciate what’s next either,” Abaddon threatens, placing her foot on Charlie’s back.
“Abaddon,” Meg interrupts, getting only a smile from Abaddon.
“I barely touched her,” Abaddon scoffs, and continues, “Now get started, I’ll be back with my prize and then the real fun starts.” Abaddon stands over Charlie, and with a flick of her fingers Charlie is stuck. She floats into a dreamlike consciousness as her body is carried away to another location.
Bela drags Charlie down the stairs, with her eyes covered. Her injuries remind her that she can’t fight back, she’s been kicked down too many times to fight back now. Bela holds her up straight, keeping a steady force on the back of her neck.
“I’ve read about you-you aren’t evil, just very sad,” Charlie starts.
“Years of horrible torture change that.”
“Well you don’t like Lucifer, or Lilith-the pay isn’t that great,” Charlie tries, kicking her feet to slow everything down.
“Are you trying to talk me down? Thanks to all those pretty little rings we found, Lucifer is rising, and this time I’m on the right team.”
Charlie bites her tongue, and has nothing to say. She tries to pear through the blindfold, hoping for small clues in her location.
“Let’s get this started,” Bela begins, forcing Charlie down on a cold, hard surface. She secures Charlie to the surface, and returns to a large book at the end of the altar.
Her wrists are chained to a stone altar; these are the first restraints she fights. They are heavy cuffs made of steel weighing down on her wrist even when she is still. The restraints on her ankles are a makeshift kind, made of rope, loosely connected to the base of the altar. She can't lift her legs. She can barely wiggle her toes. Something is very wrong.
The church is large and ancient. Charlie can't look over her feet but she can tell how many people are here by the sounds of chanting. Bela chants latin words, following the lines of the thick book. The only words Charlie can pin point are "Lucifer", with "Sacrifice" following.
"Sacrifice for Lucifer," Charlie mumbles, squirming on the altar. She does not panic. She must avoid attention. The word "blood" shatters her. There is only one possibility now.
“Dean, Meg, Sam? Anybody,” Charlie says to the ceiling. It says nothing back, and fails to give her a sign.
She searches the church for any changes, squirming more intensely. The chanting stops. All eyes are on her.
“Today we are here to raise our father, to bring him back to us,” Bela chants. The group is fanatic at this. She continues, “We offer this sacrifice to raise him with the very tools that put him there.”
Charlie regrets ever wanting an adventure. The thrill of battle, the rush of adventure. Especially ones that involve pretty demons.
The priest places three rings at the foot of the altar. “The carnage of a hunter,” she pauses caressing the ring of war, then continues, “the hunger for love, or adventure”
She kicks at the rings, at her chains; everything that is in her way.
“Castiel!” the name comes to her like a discovery, like a secret up her sleeve. Bela attempts to continue, but Charlie is defiant.
“Castiel, I need help! Bring Dean, bring Sam, bring everyone,” Charlie prays she will not die without a fight.
“And lastly, the sickness of a head injury,” Bela has a sacrificial blade; the crowd is wild with anticipation.
The one time she needs to be saved (ok this was actually the third time, but Dick Roman was only successful at besting her because he had an empire, the other times were because she was alone or foolish enough to confuse momentary courage with recklessness) and no one is there.
“I’m totally going to kick your ass as a ghost” Charlie threatens. If Bobby could break her arm by accident then Charlie would have no problem breaking all their bones on purpose.
“No need,” the voice is familiar; the whole church shakes with the presence. Bela stands over her, once ready to take her life, and stands motionless now at the end of a blade that sticks out through the robes that adorned him. The wound stains the surrounding fabric with blood. Bela grunts, distancing herself from the pain. Bela is a mess of profanity as she inspects the seriousness of her wound.
“Miss me” Meg asks. There is blood caked on the angel blade. She took no prisoners on her rescue mission.
“Thought you’d missed the party,” Charlie says bitterly.
Meg frowns as she attempts to free Charlie in the chaos of the church. “I told you, borrowed time. Who do you think collected these stupid rings” Meg explains, helpful leaving out all details.
“That’s not enough,” Charlie demands.
“Just know that I liked- who am I kidding it was the best fucking month of my life, and I would do anything to get us more time-“ Meg confesses, and the church shakes with the motion of her one hand. “Now please stop looking for confessions and start fleeing.”
“Love you too,” Charlie deadpans, but the words leave a weight of sincerity. The flap of large wings interrupts them.
“Dean is coming. We need to leave,” Castiel demands, his angel blade in his hand, prepared for battle. His wings are tattered enough to fly, but not to carry more than one person at a time.
“You need to take her,” Meg commands, letting Charlie’s weight lean on her.
“I can only take one person, my powers aren’t-they don’t work like they should,” Castiel explains, and he has his eyes on the Winchesters.
“Charlie will die,” The blade in Meg’s hand says otherwise, she stands strong before the altar, and waits.
“It’s fine, get Sam out first, then worry about me. I can still run,” Charlie starts.
“I’ll do what I can,” Castiel disappears, searching, leaving Charlie with few options.
Charlie looks to Meg, who is too focused on the upcoming battle. Charlie has only read of Meg’s battles, but Abaddon is destruction. Charlie watches Meg as she waits for her opponent.
Meg’s fingers dig into the handle, the intensity of the battle weighs on her before Abaddon arrives, but she has no other choice. “You need to leave,” Meg turns towards Charlie, her words are fierce as her stance strengthens
“But we can’t kill her.”
“I don’t need to kill her, just slow her down,” Meg pauses, giving Charlie a brief smile before she shouts, “Now go.”
The screaming of the patrons does not cease. Charlie searches for the nearest exit amongst the chaos.
The doors of the church swing open and all is lost. Abaddon holds Sam against her; he is not much trouble with the life beat out of him. He shuffles, unable to hold himself up as he walks. Abaddon radiates victory, her smile decorates her face, she is the only trace of light in the chaos and her soul is darker than the pits of hell.
“Enough,” Abaddon commands, the patrons obediently quiet, “I’m assuming none of you need introductions?”
Castiel returns with a crashing sound, “It’s a trap. We are surrounded by demons,” Castiel says, his angel blade in his hand, he is prepared for battle though his wings are too frayed, his powers are too weak to kill a knight of hell without a fight.
“What’s the point,” Meg shouts, she creates a space between Abaddon and Charlie, though she is far away, Meg knows Abaddon has no problem destroying Charlie in an instant.
“I want to be queen, the Queen. I want the destruction of humanity, of my enemies, and the only one standing in my way is Daddy himself, and I’ve got Daddy’s skin right here,” Abaddon holds Sam up by his hair, “I doubt his legs even work anymore, he won’t be much of a fight.”
“You’re crazy! Lucifer hates demons, and he’ll kill you for scheming,” Meg screams, she knows from experience that Lucifer is not a father. He does not care about demons -- even when she put herself on the line for him and his cause, he never planned on keeping her around. Meg has no problem marching Abaddon to her death, but not at the risk of her friends. She refuses to watch her friends suffer through it. Abbadon’s crazy dream isn’t worth Charlie, or Castiel, or even the Winchesters.
“If he doesn’t I will,” Sam attempts.
“Oh I hope you’ll try.”
“Sam,” Dean bursts through the door, the corrupted knife his life line as he makes his way towards Abaddon.
“Dean,” The words ring from wall to wall. Dean charges towards Abaddon, with the first blade in hand. Dean aims for Abaddon, but Sam is too close.
Abaddon protects herself from certain death, using Sam as a shield. The sound of a blade piercing through Sam’s skin is rips through them, demands attention. The first blade sticks out of Sam’s stomach, he crawls through the pain in confusion. [E2]
“Did I do that?” Abaddon mocks Dean, turning into air with ease. The church shakes like the ground is opening, Sam’s blood does not pool, it follows the familiar path of Lilith’s blood.
A chorus of “Go” breaks out, with no clear recipient, but it moves everyone into action. Charlie heads for the door as Meg distracts Abaddon with the promise of a fight.
“You son of a bitch!” Dean screams. He fights against Castiel as he holds Dean against him. Castiel takes advantage of the chaos, before any of it sinks in they are in the bunker.
Abaddon is full of lines but she is not just talk. Meg’s experience helps her move, and avoid, but Abaddon is stronger in breed. And strength is all that matters.
“Meg,” Charlie shouts as Meg’s blade is turned against her. It doesn’t end her, but the sound she makes fills Charlie with an overwhelming panic.
“Go,” Meg looks at her with longing, placing a single hand on her forehead.
Charlie lands in the middle of nowhere, away from the destruction. She calls out every name she can think of. She sits in the dirt and waits. She can’t even be the hero in her one tale, everyone else is dying around her and she has no backup plan. She thought her case meant something, but it is all just a way to lure her in, like bait in a trap.
She looks down at the necklace that started this mess. It doesn’t look magical, but there is a warmth to it she can’t comprehend. “What if I?” She says to herself, cracking the necklace in her hand. The shards of glass sting in her hand, but the wind stops against her, like she is somewhere else entirely.
Her feet were no longer on the ground, as if the pendant allowed her to move without boundaries. She does not know what Dorothy did, but the magic is strong enough to get her home.
“Soul magic,” A whisper faintly says in the wind, “like my favorite red slippers.”
Charlie can feel a presence with her, but the second she thinks of home, and the bunker, the world around her changes and she can hear the world around her. She can hear Dean’s voice pleading, and the hard floor beneath her.
“Charlie?” Castiel carries Meg in his arms, but she does not move. Blood stains Castiel’s trench coat as he holds her against him.
“Is she?” Charlie asks, but she isn’t prepared for the answer.
“I did my best,” Castiel starts, but he doesn’t find the right words.
Sam is laid out on the table. He is weak; it is hard to stay conscious without healing. Dean forces everyone out, but Castiel stays behind.
Charlie sits outside, on the last step of the staircase. The house is full of death; she knows nothing good will happen. Meg sits with her head on Charlie’s lap; Charlie is still too weak to hold herself up, but Meg does not say a word. Her long blonde hair is stained by blood, her face red with forming bruises. There is a deep wound under her shirt, staining through the layers of clothing. The shock of it all is still there, Charlie can’t take it in.
“Maybe we aren’t meant for a happy ending,” Charlie says, running her fingers over Meg’s injuries.
“Maybe,” Meg agrees as she pulls back, the slightest touch causing her pain.
Charlie can hear Sam’s last words, urging Dean to let him die, that he doesn’t want to go through the apocalypse again. He sounds content with death, like he has accepted it long ago. Dean begs him to be alive, his guilt ways on him. “I can’t be the one to kill you Sam-I can’t,” Dean begs, and it fills the whole house with sorrow.
“We can be brothers again,” Sam says in his deliriousness. It’s a promise, a pact for a pact.
She can hear how hurt Dean is, how desperate he is to convince Sam to live. Those words help, they mend previous pain just enough to make it bearable.
“I don’t know if-,” Meg begins, about the words too heavy. Death is not a reality until she accepts it.
It is here, where the fires of her impromptu adventure burn out like the paling skin of her companion, showing only the ashes of her home.