Strange Angels -- Chapter Ten: Here Comes the Flood (Part One)
Chapter Ten: Here Comes the Flood
This is set sometime after the end of Season 1. While it doesn't break canon to my knowledge, it is definitely AU. Outgunned and exhausted, the boys get ready to break Madison Pond Children's Home wide open and finish the job - but first they need to figure out what the hell they're actually fighting. That little girl Dean's supposed to save is so screwed.
Disclaimer: The Winchester boys aren't mine. The Colt isn't mine. Wish the car was mine. But I can only blame myself for the Circle of Enoch.
Word Count: 11248
Pairings (Overall): Dean/OFCs (HET)
Rating (Overall): PG - R (This chapter: PG-13 - Everyone swears. Adult themes regarding abuse. Steaming cups of angst. Mild gore. And whumpage.)
Feedback: Absolutely!
Summary: Careful what you wish for.
Miscellaneous: As always, this would not have been possible without the brilliance of JMM0001, who rightly pointed out the double meaning in "going commando" (and I wasn't ready to go there). Much thanks to wenchpixie, who not only squeed in all the right parts but helped me channel my Inner Dean - and she's got the Impala ready for my quick getaway. Both acted as my betas for this chapter, and will always get to choose the tunes when they're riding shotgun with me. The good parts are because of them. The bad parts are all me.
Story Links: Strange Angels / Beneath the Hollow
Note: Stories listed in chronological order.
Chapter Links: Prologue / One / Two / Three / Four / Five / Six / Seven / Eight / Nine / Ten / Eleven / Twelve / Epilogue
The Winchesters survived by turning everything into a weapon.
It was John Winchester's first lesson - that anything could be used in self-defense. Consider the broken chair, Sam. Sam could name every component which demonstrated that a broken chair was not destined for the scrap heap. A sharp-edged piece was an excellent substitute for a stake. A blunt leg piece, on the other hand, was exceptionally useful as an improvisational mace.
If there was a goddamn dining room chair in the front seat of the Impala, Sam would be throwing it into the dashboard and clubbing some sense into his older brother's head.
Between dinner the night before and the meeting at Betty's, Dean had changed personalities faster than a schizophrenic. Sam was used to Dean's moods; they had both learned the art of dysfunction from John Winchester - and his older brother was an apt pupil. The only person who could slide into Grade A Winchester Asshole mode faster than Dean was their father. It was bad enough when Dean did it with Sam; he was used to it. But Charlotte hadn't done anything to deserve it despite Dean's fucked-up attempt to protect her.
It started out innocently; it always did. Dean was genuinely concerned about her, how the Circle was probably looking for her as much as they were looking for Sam. They both knew Charlotte couldn't defend herself and Dean's argument was compelling. There was no way Charlotte Webb could take care of herself if the Circle showed up at the motel room. Hell, Sam could barely take on Alex Masters - and he'd been training with weapons since his father gave him that old plastic lightsaber when he was a kid. Charlotte needed their help as much as they needed hers. Unlike Dean, Sam never doubted that she was an innocent after that first night.
There was something about watching a girl call down the power of God to help your brother that clarified which side she was on, especially with a demon screaming inside him when the Ziv Zakai filled the room.
And she was good. Charlotte didn't want to be a Hunter - and, with those reflexes, that was probably good for everyone - but she was sharp; someone had taught her how to observe her surroundings and she knew how to read a person. No one could argue with her research skills. For all that she claimed otherwise, Charlotte was gutsy; Sam almost hugged her when he realized that Charlotte was handing them stolen Circle archives. Even Dad would be impressed by that.
But her teacher still hadn't made her hard enough to travel almost two weeks with the Winchesters. You needed a thick skin to deal with Dean for longer than a couple of days, and it wasn't lost on Sam that Charlotte had been sitting in the backseat of Dean's car almost as long as his older brother had been dating Cassie Robinson.
Dean's screwed-up sense of responsibility kicked in somewhere back in Missouri, on the day that Dean decided Charlotte needed her pajamas replaced. The look on Dean's face when he was trying to push the pajamas with the yellow ducks on the girl was the moment Sam realized Dean felt responsible for her; when some guy came barreling down an aisle towards her, Dean automatically put himself between them. It was inevitable. When Dean felt responsible for someone, he turned into an over-protective lunatic; Sam couldn't even count the number of after-school fights Dean started just because someone looked at his little brother funny.
And it got old.
Dean was Sam's protector; it was the first truth - that Dean carried Sam out of a burning house. In grade school, it was cool having Dean swoop onto the playground and start whumping the boys who teased Sam because he read too much or answered all the hard questions in class. But by the time Sam reached junior high, he'd been able to hold his own in sparring matches and didn't need his older brother to take care of bullies for him anymore. Dean still tried. Even tried to use the Older Brother Rule - I'm right because I'm the oldest, Sammy - to keep Sam out of what Dean considered harm's way. Like an after-school fight was something Sam needed to worry about after years of hand-to-hand training.
It was even worse when Sam started hunting. Dean and their father had developed some weird Force-like rapport while Sam was studying in the library at school; neither of them gave Sam the opportunity to do the job without advice or criticism. Dean was always dogging his steps when not responding to looks or grunts from Dad; they didn't even speak in words half the time. And Dad never seemed to mind that Dean continued to treat Sam like he was in grade school, telling him what not to do on hunts. Sam expected that Dad would support Dean's delusions about being Sam's personal hero, like it was his job since Dean was four. The only thing worse than Dean getting pissy about a mistake was when Dad caught it - because Dean was downright nice after a conversation where Dad told you how disappointed he was in you.
Mistakes were never forgiven.
But Charlotte wasn't a Winchester, and didn't realize the second truth - that words were the most potent weapon of all. How many nights had Dean or Sam stood in front of their father, head hung in shame, as John Winchester quietly dissected every failure - from small mistakes to the faults that caused wounds - with a cold look in his eyes? Sam got it from both barrels, an urgent hiss in his father's voice that was echoed by the look on Dean's face whenever they hunted. And Winchesters could let loose with a clipped comment that knocked anyone to the floor; words were the weapons Winchesters used when the cost of fighting became too high, when lives were at stake - when you were worried as all hell but too much of a Winchester to admit it.
That didn't make it easier watching them tear each other apart. The looks were even worse than the words; when it was obvious Charlotte wasn't backing down, Dean slipped into the same cold anger Sam recognized as their father's secondary line of defense - glaring at her when he thought she wasn't looking. But Sam had to give her credit. Most people would have jumped out of the Impala once Dean sent one withering stare into the backseat, that angry glance into the rearview mirror. Charlotte sat there defiantly - chewing her thumbnail, but still in control - and returned the glare whenever Dean's head shifted to look at her.
But it wasn't getting them anywhere.
Sam sighed, eyes never leaving the trees on the side of the road. "Look - " he began.
"Don't." Dean's voice was barely a hiss. "You don't know what the hell is going on, little brother." He glanced once more at Charlotte, mouth a grim line on his face.
Sam rolled his eyes. Here it comes again. Dean was the oldest - which, in Dean's twisted mind, meant that his older brother was always right. Even when he's wrong. Sam frowned. "None of us know what the hell is going on, Dean. We're going into this orphanage thing blind. We need a plan."
Dean snorted. "You came up with that all by yourself?"
"Maybe," Sam returned, turning to look at Charlotte dubiously. She was sitting hunched over, gray eyes so dark that Dean was lucky her gift was empathy the way that Charlotte was staring at the back of his head.
"I'll just drive the car." Dean shook his head. "You two smart kids figure out what the hell you want to do."
"And you'll do whatever the hell you want because you're always right?" Sam demanded. Jesus, Dean. Sam didn't think it was possible for his brother to be a bigger jerk than he usually was, but they had discovered new depths to Dean Winchester's ability to be an ass now that Charlotte was sitting in the back of the car.
"Something like that," his older brother said with a smirk. "The big plans are why we sent you to college."
"You didn't send me to college," Sam snapped. "That was all me." He shook his head. "Besides, the plan is simple. Charlotte and I will go talk to Smiley because there's no way in hell I'm leaving her alone with you. Just amuse yourself for awhile by picking lice out of your chest hair." Dean's eyes widened, and he looked like he thought Sam was crazy, but Charlotte actually snorted - followed by a soft little laugh that almost sounded normal.
"Your plan sucks, Sammy." Dean's knuckles were almost white on the steering wheel. "We should be scouting the grounds, seeing if we can figure out where the hell that thing is going to hurt the little girl."
"Sounds to me like that's a job for Ape Man," Sam returned.
"Why does she have to go with you?" Dean's eyes flickered in the rearview mirror. "She'll only - "
"Get in the way?" Charlotte retorted. "That means a lot coming from the man whose crack investigative skills include screwing waitresses in alleys." Sam stifled a grin; Dean had earned that blow. In spades. "Besides, I need to be there for Sam," she added, her voice much softer. What the hell?
"Nothing even hap - " Dean shook his head and sighed. Looking at him from the side, Dean almost appeared resigned, like he was giving up on the round. "Whatever, Charlie."
"Focus on the job, Dean," the redhead returned. "You just passed the exit." Sam didn't even have to turn around to hear the gleeful smile in her voice.
Dean whipped the steering wheel around and the Impala swerved onto the other side of the highway. His older brother was muttering something under his breath. Sam shook his head. Dean was getting sloppy. So much for always being right because you're the oldest.
The road to the orphanage had trees on either side, meeting each other like an arch over the road - something right out of The Lord of the Rings. Whatever money the county gave Madison Pond - and Sam was guessing it wasn't much - didn't pay for the upkeep of the road. As the battered gate came into view, along with Sam's first glimpse of the ramshackle manor house inside, it was obvious nothing the county paid made it as far as the upkeep of the orphanage.
Dean whistled. It looked more like an abandoned hospital than an orphanage, and Sam felt a sharp twist in his stomach. Come on Sam, that gun's filled with rock salt! It's not going to kill me.
"It's a hell hole," Dean said as he pulled the car into the small parking lot.
Charlotte's voice was soft. "I can't believe they let children live here."
Dean nodded. "Makes living out of the Impala half the time seem downright palatial." He glanced back at Charlotte, and his expression was almost natural until their eyes met and Dean was suddenly frowning.
Idiot. The least Dean could do was apologize to her. Sam shook his head. "So do we want to go in as reporters?" He twisted in his seat to look at Charlotte. She nodded. "This is usually where Dean and I come up with aliases. We could use the ones we used in town, but I think we've worn out Duran Duran's welcome." That earned Sam Charlotte's shy smile.
"You know Charlie's out of here once we rescue the kid, right?" Dean asked.
"Maybe Charlotte and I are going to leave you behind once we rescue the kid," Sam retorted. His older brother was the world's biggest prick. "Ever think about that?"
Dean's face turned white. "That'll be a long-lived partnership. You can scare the demons with your hair, and she'll get them to sit down for a nice girly chat." He whipped open the door. "Call me when you're done." Dean had one leg out of the car. "Fuck."
"Looking for this?" Charlotte asked, whipping Dean's cell phone at him. His older brother caught it before it smacked him in the face. Dean shoved it into his pocket and slunk out of the Impala, slamming the door behind him; he didn't even look back - disappearing into the trees. Charlotte leaned forward on the seat, her head on her arms. "I don't feel well," she said.
"Dean's an asshole." Sam placed a hand on her arm.
"I know that," she returned. "But this place..." Charlotte's voice trailed off as she raised her head. "Let's just get this over with, Sam."
"The sooner we're done, the sooner you can leave, right?" Sam didn't even wait for her answer. Charlotte unlocked the back door and stepped outside, flexing her hands before she shut the door. She looked as white around the eyes as Dean had when he left the Impala, locking the door and slamming it shut. She's just as fucking stubborn as he is. Sam sighed, joining her outside. "So, do you still want to be Charlotte Angell?"
"No." She shook her head vehemently. "How about Charlotte Cooke?"
Sam shrugged his shoulders. "Works for me. I'll be Sam Ables." Charlotte's shoulders recoiled when Sam gave the name - it was one of their more common aliases. "Do you want to work for the Atlanta Journal-Constitution?"
"I think we need to," Charlotte replied. "If the administrator does some checking, he'll think something's up if we use a different newspaper." Sam grinned; Charlotte Webb really was clever. She glanced once back towards the trees where Dean had disappeared, her face softening just a little with a sigh, before she turned towards the main doors of the orphanage.
They found a cobblestone walkway that lead to the steps. Charlotte frowned when she grabbed hold of the rickety railing, but pulled herself up quickly behind Sam. As they passed through the front doors, Sam noticed a group of kids playing to their right. At least, he thought they were playing. Some were sitting around a table, coloring listlessly. Others were sitting slack-jawed in front of a television playing an old Disney movie; sounded like Alice in Wonderland. They weren't acting like kids at all.
He nudged Charlotte on the arm. "Can you check it out?" When Sam got her attention, he pointed through the open double-doors into the playroom. Charlotte didn't even stop to ask what he meant, just looked past him into the room; her gray eyes widened for a moment, a look of concentration on her face, and then Charlotte stumbled, grabbing onto his arm. "Are you okay?" he asked. She looked sick to her stomach.
"No," Charlotte whispered. She tightened her grip on his arm, pulling him back towards her. Charlotte leaned forward and spoke softly in his ear. "This is bad, Sam. All of those children - something is connected to them." Charlotte swallowed. "It almost looks like..." Her eyes narrowed. "Like someone using an empathic gift, but I can only touch one person like that. Maybe two. There shouldn't be an empath out there that powerful without the Circle knowing about it."
"Can you tell what it's doing?" Sam swallowed. I hate it when this crap happens to kids. It never seemed fair. Winchesters knew the price children paid better than most, but it still hurt whenever it happened to someone else. Charlotte staggered again, her eyes unfocused as she shook her head. "What's wrong?" Sam asked.
"Just got a little dizzy," she returned. Charlotte raised an eyebrow, smiling a little as he steadied her by the arms. "Thanks." She shook her head sharply. "I don't know what it's doing. I can see the connections, and sometimes they pulse - like something is moving through it." She gulped for air, a quiet wheeze. "I've never seen anything like this before, Sam."
"So we go in keeping our eyes open," Sam returned. Charlotte looked exhausted. She stayed up helping Dean last night. He kept a hand on her elbow, and steered her towards the receptionist's desk.
The receptionist looked bored. She was chewing on her gum like it was the only thing keeping her awake - but, occasionally, she would look at her keyboard and peck something out slowly on it. Blue eyes looked up at both of them underneath her heavy make-up, and her blonde hair was so bleached that the air from a fan would break it if it hit her the right way. There was a nametag on her desk - an old metallic one that read 'Joyce.'
"Good afternoon," Sam said, hand outstretched to the receptionist. "My name is Sam Ables, and this is my colleague, Charlotte Cooke." The woman said nothing, just turned to glare at him with her watery blue eyes. "We'd like to speak with Mr. Smiley, if there's an opening in his schedule." Sam put his hand back down lamely at his side.
The woman snorted. "Do you have an appointment?"
"No," Charlotte replied, an ingratiating smile crossing her lips. Her head tilted - the same thing she had done earlier at breakfast before Dean started going ballistic. The receptionist stared at her, and then returned her smile; face creaking like it was something she didn't normally do. "But we're hoping that you can get us in to see him, Joyce."
"It's important," Sam added. "We're here from the Atlanta Constitution-Journal."
The receptionist's eyes widened. "I'll let him know that you're here." She gestured towards some musty-looking chairs sitting underneath old Disney prints. "You can wait in the reception area."
Sam followed Charlotte, who sat down in the nearest chair. She was staring at her feet - the floor had more scuff marks on the linoleum than she had on her remaining boot. The paint on the walls, a dingy blue, looked like it was just a breath away from peeling off the plaster. Dean was right - the place was a hell hole. Goddamn Dean. Sam sighed. "My brother's a prick."
"You're preaching to the choir, Sam."
He frowned. "You won't get Dean yet, Charlotte. I grew up with him and some days I don't even get him." Her gray eyes settled on his face, and she looked completely defenseless; all the layers she had placed around herself when Dean was still with them were gone. "I think he's feels responsible for you, and the job got a lot harder when those flying things turned out to not be gargoyles."
"I know that."
"You never grew up Winchester, so you don't have the benefit of seeing Dean in all his glory," Sam continued. Both of their voices were low, and occasionally Charlotte would glance at the receptionist; Joyce was furtively whispering into the mouthpiece of her headset, her blue eyes blinking furiously. "He never questions our Dad. Did you know that? Dad would ream him for hours if he made a mistake, but even Dean didn't know how many secrets Dad was keeping from us. I know Dad knew about the whole Beata thing; Dean thinks I'm the bad son because I question Dad's motives. Dean thinks I've forgotten why we do the job." If it weren't for pictures I wouldn't even know what Mom looks like.
Charlotte didn't say anything, just looked at him with gray eyes that seemed to sink inside of him, like someone was really listening to him for the first time in his life. Sam swallowed. "Dean was four when our mom died but Jess died last year. I found her, Charlotte. I saw her die. I've lived the reason why we're fighting." He shook his head. "And he always pulls this whole 'I carried you out of a burning building' routine as a way to keep me in line. He didn't do squat. Dad handed me to him and told him to run. That's not rescuing me. That's just following orders." Like a good little soldier.
"Your brother would die for you." Charlotte said it matter-of-factly, voice soft all the same. "Are you alright, Sam?"
"How the hell can you defend him after what he said to you about your dad?" Sam demanded. He knew he shouldn't be staring at her open-mouthed, that it would call Joyce's attention to them in a way they did not need, and he consciously worked to lower his voice. "And I'm fine!" he snapped. "Just figuring out a few things."
"I know what he said, but that still doesn't change the fact that he'd die for you." There was sadness in her voice that Sam did not expect. "And you need someone who will, Sam."
"I don't think you should leave after we save the girl." Sam lowered his eyes. "Well, I don't think you should leave me. We would do just fine on our own." When he said it, Sam knew he was seeing clearly for the first time. Dean's mood swings didn't help the job. Dean hadn't kept the demon from rumbling in Sam's belly. It slithered inside, some dark greasy thing against his hip bones. "You're the one teaching me what I need to know to Awaken. Dean can't help with that."
"No, but he can help keep you alive!" Charlotte's brow furrowed, and she looked like she had swallowed something nasty. "You're not ready for what's coming, Sam. I know you feel special. You're the Chosen one in two prophecies, the key to the success of both sides." She frowned, looking down at her shoes. "But until you Awaken, you're just a boy getting visions you don't understand with a monster inside that you can't control," Charlotte added. "At least I'm trained to use my gift."
"I'm keeping it together," Sam retorted. "And you're training me."
"I'm not a teacher." Charlotte's entire body stiffened. "Sam, you can barely meditate properly. You're keeping it together because you've got help. And Dean loves you."
"In a dysfunctional Winchester way," he returned. His shoulders slumped. Who the hell was she anyway? Sam grimaced - a shooting itch flickered across his back, and he shifted against the top edge of the chair to try and scratch it. Charlotte was looking away from him, her cheeks flushed. "Can you give me a hand?" Sam asked, voice so hard that Charlotte shivered in her chair. "I need you to scratch my back," he added when Charlotte focused on him.
He turned his back to her. Charlotte's hand brushed against his back, lightly touching him. Sam heard her take a breath, and then felt the pressure of her nails against his back as she leaned into it. She managed to find the exact spot without prompting. When footsteps came towards them from down the hall, Charlotte pulled her hand away.
"Where are they?" The man's voice was terse. Sam turned towards the voice. An older man - somewhere between late thirties and early forties - walked towards them briskly, dressed in a nicer suit than Sam would have expected. The man was frowning as Sam and Charlotte stood up to greet him. "Isn't it proper procedure for reporters to make appointments instead of barging in on people unannounced during their work day?"
Charlotte and Sam exchanged glances. "It is," Sam said, pulling out his best smile, "But we felt that it we needed to speak with you immediately to get your side of the story, Mr. Smiley."
"You know why we are here," Charlotte said. "The children are important to us." Even Sam was startled by the sincerity in her voice.
John Smiley's eyes widened, and his shoulders slumped. "Fair enough. Why don't you both follow me to my office?" He turned on his heel, and Sam smiled at Charlotte - one eyebrow raised. He was betting she'd get the question. Charlotte frowned, and shook her head. So he's not the one connected to the children. Sam shrugged at her and followed John Smiley down the hall.
The man said nothing until they were sitting across from him at his desk and the door to his office was closed. John Smiley's office was immaculate - except for his desk; it was covered with a stack of file folders. He rubbed one eye with his hand, and sighed deeply. "Thank you for speaking with us," Sam said when the administrator looked him full in the eyes. The man's green eyes were bloodshot. "I'm Sam. Sam Ables." Sam gestured towards Charlotte. "And this is my colleague, Charlotte Cooke."
"I know what you're here to talk about," the administrator said. He patted the file folders on his desk. "Is this on the record?"
Sam shook his had. "That's your call."
"Off the record, then." John Smiley frowned. He waited until Charlotte set her pencil down on her notepad before continuing. "Look, I understand both of you think you're doing your job but these kids..." The administrator lowered his eyes, staring at the files on his desk. "About nine kids came forward in the initial complaint, and the only connection I've seen between them is that priest." He sighed. "He spoke with all of them as part of his 'investigation' but I believed the priest was covering his tracks. He went crazy, you know; even tried to kill himself. That was proof enough of his guilt for me."
Charlotte didn't even flinch, but Sam felt his body jolt. "You're talking about Father Patrick O'Connor, aren't you?" he asked.
The administrator nodded. "Half of the stories he 'identified' in speaking with the children occurred weeks before I was assigned here. But - " John Smiley swallowed.
"You thought it was his fault." Sam stated it matter-of-factly. "That's why you wanted to keep Father Caldwell outside of the orphanage."
"The Church likes to clean up its own mistakes, and with all the press these days regarding molestation cases, I believed Father Caldwell was brought in to keep the authorities out of the picture." John shrugged his shoulders, and he looked so weary that Sam knew the man was innocent. Charlotte was frowning, a pensive expression on her face. "But I stopped knowing what to think when the social worker was hospitalized. And this morning? A little girl went straight to Dr. Howell this morning about nightmares she's been having," the administrator added with a sigh.
"Nightmares?" Sam asked.
Charlotte's eyes widened. "A little girl?"
"She came to the orphanage a week ago, transferred here from Atlanta." John Smiley's eyes were resolute. "Horrible background. Her mother was a crack addict who died when a trick turned bad. Ellie ended up in the foster care system, but she was sent here when her last foster family complained about her having nightmares." He shook his head. "The monster she described is the same as the one outlined in Father O'Connor's complaint. How is that even possible if they never met? I checked her files."
Sam didn't even know how to answer the question, but it deserved one - the administrator was desperate. He looked at Charlotte, hoping she would think of something, and saw her eyes unfocus. She was staring at a point above his shoulder. Oh, shit. Not again. But Charlotte didn't begin speaking in a sing-song voice, talking about the storm that was coming. The redhead keeled over in her chair, her head smacking sharply into the desk. Just like Dean did back at the store.
Shemhezai was exultant, chortling its litany of Ascension, deep within Sam's chest. Sam Winchester had never felt so hollow inside as he did watching Charlotte's red hair pool around her - listening to the demon in his belly singing softly in its delight.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Charlotte was on a hospital bed. She didn't even have to look. The hard mattress. The cold roughness of sheets against her arms, the lumps in the pillow. Her head hurt like hell, and there was a horrible itch on her left thigh. She scratched it fiercely before opening one eye weakly; the light from the overhead fixture bore its way into her head. She covered her eyes with one hand and rolled onto her side, curling up into a fetal position. Her chest muscles ached, and the movement kicked in nausea that was thunder against her spine.
She forced herself to open her eyes, grit her teeth. It hurt. Her goddamn thigh was burning. Focus. Pain could be channeled - lessons learned from years of feeling her own pain, from years of having other people's pain shoot randomly through her head. Charlotte took a breath. It was still there, the insistent pressure, but it no longer cracked.
Charlotte couldn't see Sam, but he was standing nearby - a thin layer of stubbornness barely containing the rage threatening to unleash itself every time Sam Winchester got cocky. He wasn't ready. He was nowhere close to being ready, but like a goddamn Winchester, Sam believed he was invincible.
Just like a goddamn Winchester, Sam believed he didn't need anybody's help. That he knew what he was doing, and what he was doing was the right thing - even when he was so close to breaking and losing it all.
Just like Dean.
How the hell can you defend him after what he said to you about your dad?
Dean Winchester was a walking wound, bludgeoning her with words - overwhelming her with guilt and a self-hatred even larger than her own. Wrapped up in a sly little grin and dancing eyes that had tears standing in them, when you looked hard enough.
And Dean was beginning to feel.
Charlotte remembered Dean trembling when she sat next to him at the booth at Betty's. Dean actually jumped when she got the first flash from Tony, how the man was going to hurt her. She hadn't even had a chance to teach him anything, how to protect himself. The man she was Called for, and Charlotte had left him dangling like an unprotected flag in the wind; ripped to shreds by an awakening gift, so many emotions bombarding him as he spiraled into himself. And the secret.
A secret she tried to deny. Charlotte was too goddamn scared to tell Dean Winchester the truth - that she had never known of an empath who could see another person's feelings, like she had the night the succubus ripped open a conduit that forced Charlotte to see Dean's emotions as clearly as she felt them deep inside. Angry words covering good intentions. A twin-bladed knife - if she could feel him, then he could feel her. A knife that cut both ways. And as much as his words pushed her away, Dean's feelings told her something else.
She wasn't strong enough to heed the Call in spite of what he felt. Dean Winchester's words hurt; and Charlotte Webb was the scarred little girl who spent an entire lifetime being marked by sharp-tongued truths spoken by people who used words as scorn - to show how little she had become.
Charlotte winced, managing to sit up when she heard footsteps enter the room. She opened her eyes, focusing on the heavy-set feet in comfortable walking shoes approaching her, as a voice clucked, "Poor dearie. Are you feeling better now?" So much power, so much revelation in pain. Every shield slammed up at the sound of that voice, invisible to even one who was trained.
It was instinct.
Fighting the urge to tremble, Charlotte brought her eyes up the woman's body, saw the kindly-looking face of an old woman. A woman dressed in a nurse's uniform. A woman with a swirling mass of pulsing tendrils sitting right where her heart should be. Sam's eyes above the nurse's left shoulder, face full of concern.
A feast of hearts. It was the woman's voice, the one in her head. The hearts devoured.
She stumbled off the bed, falling to her knees - but Charlotte had already started vomiting before her hands hit the floor.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Dean kept to the trees, skirting the edge of the actual grounds. Like the main building and the small gardening shed he had seen on the outskirts of what was supposed to be a playground, the yard showed no sign of real care. The grass was overgrown. There might have been a garden once but all Dean saw as he passed were overgrown rose bushes. Everywhere he looked, it was deserted; even the battered swing set on the playground was deserted - not one little girl swinging, not one little boy sliding into the sand.
Where are the kids?
The walls circling the grounds were crumbling due to lack of upkeep - Dean had found a space large enough for a person to bypass the security cameras at the front gate. So much for keeping the kids safe. Whatever was hurting the kids might not even be at the orphanage; it could be sneaking inside the same way Dean planned to sneak back onto the grounds with Sam when it got dark - after they dropped Charlie off at the motel.
Women complicated the hell out of the job.
The moment he woke up in Wisconsin, Dean should have pulled on his clothes and found the nearest bar - because then he could have screwed that night in the back of the Impala out of his system. The succubitch was almost two weeks dead, and Dean could still smell strawberries whenever he was near Charlie. It was too late.
And it didn't help that he could still feel Charlie's fingers brushing the scar on his hand, the way her eyes softened when she realized that other people had scars - or the way she shuddered when that asshole wanted to hurt her. And it was screwed no matter how he looked at it. The girl was clumsy as all get-out and she talked too much - but when Charlotte Webb smiled, Dean Winchester forgot that she couldn't sing worth a damn; that little off-key warble of hers had more hope in it than the Winchesters had known in a long time, like Charlie knew the darkness didn't stand a chance.
Fuck.
Charlie wasn't anyone's one night stand. Not even his. A girl like Charlie deserved someone who would stay with her and put her first above everything else, someone who would hold her when her gray eyes filled with so much pain she would burst. It's not like Dean could talk to her anyway; the goddamn woman took everything he said - even when he was being nice - and scrambled it up until it meant something else. And Charlie was leaving as soon as the gig was done. So nothing changed.
Dean was always the one left behind.
When Sam came back, Dean knew Sam would leave him again. Just like Dad. They always left - Sam to Stanford, Dad to wherever the hell he went last year. Just like Mom, except she left with a scream that still echoed deep inside. So Dean pushed when he needed to push. It's the middle of the night! Hey, I'm taking off. I will leave your ass, you hear me? He and Sam would never be the way they were before because Dean always fucking broke things - broke them all to hell.
He stumbled out of a stand of trees, spying a cleft in the small hill behind the orphanage. There was a trail leading to the cleft - scuffed with footsteps - and it had been used recently. The trail led back to the ramshackle main building. Dean knelt by the side of the trail. Adult-sized. Whatever made them had been carrying something - Dean could tell that by the way the foot pressed into the earth, the splay of it towards the ball of the foot.
Dean pulled out the penlight he kept in his jacket, wishing he had thought about the possibility of caves - and the need for a bigger flashlight. He stepped lightly onto the trail, hoping whatever was using the caves wouldn't recognize an additional footprint on the path, and entered the fissure. It smelled dank, and he heard the drip of water in the distance. Air was moving from somewhere, the same rotting stench he remembered from his vision.
His stomach clenched, muscles contracting involuntarily at the memory. She was so tiny, the girl in his vision. Dean shook his head, scratching absent-mindedly at his chest; it itched - a burning itch that got worse the more he scratched it. Dean gritted his teeth, ignoring the pain as the stench grew stronger. He slid down an incline, coming to a short drop which he easily managed with a short jump. No way Charlie's coming down here.
Dean used the right-hand rule - following the right side of the passage - and found a large cavern, scattered with bones; on the floor in piles, even in natural niches on the walls. It smelled like animals and something else, but looked nothing like the room from his vision. But the smell was the same, the stench in the air that marked Death as a thing come for children. He swallowed. Across the room, a stone table - nothing more than a hollowed out rock with candles on it.
It could only be an altar.
It ends here tonight. It was a man's voice, with some kind of hillbilly accent. A man's voice in his head. Dean started to shake. One chance, Dean. Not much time, now. You need to be ready. Stark terror filled him, a burning in his chest. Can't sleep, but you need food in your belly. Sammy's body, crumpled in front of the white altar. A stone altar. To ground yourself, Dean. His father's face with yellow eyes, blood pouring from Dean's chest as the demon taunted him deep inside. Your family needs you. And the blood was never going to stop.
You know, you fight and you fight for this family, but the truth is...they don't need you. Not like you need them. Sam - he's clearly John's favorite. Even when they fight. It's more concern than he's ever shown you.
A scream in his head. Dean dropped to his knees, scuttling towards the side of the cavern. A maelstrom slammed into his spine, and then he was throwing up.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Charlotte was lying down in the backseat of the Impala. Sam guessed that would piss off Dean, having the redhead in his precious car without Dean even being there, but his older brother hadn't seen the look in her eyes. Charlotte was going to run if Sam hadn't gotten her out of the orphanage. So he unlocked the door, made Charlotte get in the backseat, and called his brother. Dean had sounded disoriented, but told Sam he'd meet them by the car.
Dean ended the conversation with a curt, "Stay right there."
Sam snorted. Where the hell was he supposed to go with Charlotte dry heaving in the backseat and Dean tracking who knew what in the middle of the woods? They were sitting in a parking lot, in broad daylight, with a trunk full of weapons and Dean was going all psycho about Sam staying near the car. Doofus.
Sam was still shaking his head when Dean emerged from the tree line, one quick glance to see if anyone was nearby before he started walking towards the car. Dean looked just as sick around the eyes as Charlotte had when she saw Agnes Bennett for the first time. The nurse had done her best to give Charlotte water and calm her down before Sam took her out of the infirmary, but Charlotte was adamant that she just needed some air. Didn't even tell Sam what made her so anxious.
Dean didn't say anything, just grunted and slid into the front seat - half-twisting as his hazel eyes took in Charlotte leaning against the window behind him. The look she flashed him shut Dean's mouth before he got out a word. "Smiley's clean," Sam said, shutting his door.
"You figured that out in one conversation?" Dean snorted.
Sam nodded. "I'm not an idiot, Dean. We have the same goddamn father. He taught me how to read people the same as he taught you." He glanced back at Charlotte. "Besides, I had an ace in the hole."
"Couldn't resist using your Gift?" Dean asked. "That why you look like you're getting ready to puke?" He leaned forward, a nasty grin on his face. "You throw up back there, Charlie, and I'll kick you out on your ass."
"Don't you think we should be leaving?" Charlotte asked suddenly, rolling her eyes. "People might get suspicious if we sit here having a chat in the parking lot."
Dean sighed. "We do need to eat." He shook his head, and started driving. "But Sam and I are coming back after we drop you off at the motel. This thing's going down tonight."
"You drop me off and I'll come back in a cab," Charlotte retorted.
"Don't argue with me, Charlie."
"Then stop being a dick, Dean." She snorted.
Sam's eyes widened. Charlotte Webb, the girl so polite she used the term 'freshen up' to excuse herself from the table before going to the rest room, had just called his older brother a dick. He would have laughed out loud if Dean didn't look like he was getting ready to hit the steering wheel. "Dude, calm down. She'll be okay," Sam said, but he didn't believe it, either. She threw up when she saw a nurse.
"You need all the help you can get," Charlotte added. "I think you're dealing with the Cordi Peredo."
Sam frowned. "I devour hearts?" What the hell?
"It's a literal translation for a demon that sustains itself using people's emotions. In Latin, cor refers to the seat of one's emotions - the 'heart' of a person." Her voice was soft. "And it's strong - strong enough to feed on multiple victims at once, and clever enough to use that energy to connect to more victims." Charlotte lowered her head. "All those kids, connected to its 'heart.' Feeding it." She swallowed. "All connected to the nurse," she added.
"The nurse?" Sam yelped. He hadn't seen that one coming. "Why the nurse?"
"I saw the tendrils in her chest. The moment I heard her voice, all I wanted to do was hide from it - so it couldn't see me. Dean and I are a smorgasbord compared to those kids."
"Which is another reason why you need to stay at the motel," Dean hissed. "At least I can defend myself."
"From a demon that eats emotions? You're not even trained!" Charlotte's arms were back around her stomach. "What little I touched of its mind before I raised my shields made me throw up, Dean." And her voice was rough, like she was having a problem actually admitting that to him. "You can hunt, but you sure as hell can't do jack as an empath," she snapped.
Sam saw Dean's mouth twist, and something flashed in his brother's eyes as his head jerked. Oh, fuck. Dean was going to let loose with both barrels on her. "I threw up, too," his older brother said softly, eyes looking at her in the rearview mirror.
Charlotte looked like she had the night before, when she was sitting next to Dean on the bed and he was talking about the little girl. One hand inched forward, and Sam was sure that if she just followed through and touched Dean's shoulder, things might turn normal. But she shook her head angrily, pulled her hand back with a sharp frown.
Dean's shoulders slumped. "I got lucky, too."
"What did you find?" Sam asked.
"Back entrance. Stupid bastards don't even keep the walls maintained, so any jackass can sneak onto the grounds." Dean grimaced, tapping the steering wheel lightly with this thumbs. "And a cave that smelled like the room in my vision. Only..." His voice trailed off. "It didn't look like my vision."
"Some visions are allegorical," Charlotte said softly.
Dean snorted. "Makes them good for a fucking clue." He didn't wait for Charlotte's retort. She sat back down against the window, air deflating from her lungs. "But I found an altar, and it had been used for something," he added.
"What?" Sam felt his stomach drop. "Calling Dreamlings?"
"Not sure," Dean replied, shrugging his shoulders. "But if you ate emotions, and you could tap into the Dreamlings, seems to me like a good way to get a fix." Charlotte made a noise in her throat, and she had a look on her face like the thought should have occurred to her earlier; the whole 'I'm Circle-trained' routine was almost as old as Dean being an over-protective jerk. "What?" Dean asked with another cocky grin. "You upset you're not the only one in the car with a working brain, Charlie?"
"Dean..." Sam was going to say more, but his eyes unfocused - he pitched forward, bracing himself with his hands on the dashboard.
"Sammy?" Dean's voice was anxious. "You okay, little brother?"
"Back off, Dean. I just got a little dizzy," Sam snapped, bringing himself back up into a sitting position. "I'm hungry."
"Well screw me for caring about my little brother, Sam," Dean replied. Great. Dean had hunched his shoulders, staring right at the road with eyes that shone. Charlotte sat up like she was going to say something, and then thought better of it. "What we all need is a good night's sleep, but food will have to do," Dean added. He gestured with his head towards a restaurant on the outskirts of Madison. It looked like every chain restaurant the Winchesters had eaten at across the country, and Sam knew it was full of kitschy pictures on the walls and was staffed with waiters who wore 'flash' on their suspenders - without even opening the door.
"I hope they have soup," Charlotte said softly as Dean pulled into the parking lot. "And some crackers," she added. The redhead was just as white as she had been in the infirmary.
"If you're going in, you need to eat more than soup and crackers," Dean retorted, driving the Impala into a parking space.
"Whatever," she muttered, unlocking her door the moment Dean stopped the car. Charlotte walked ahead of them, wrapping her sweater around her, without waiting for either of them to catch up with her.
The moment she was in the door, Dean exhaled. "I suck," he said softly, and quickened his step towards the front door of the place. Sam agreed, but chose not to say anything - just followed his brother. Dean jammed his hands in his pockets as he walked, head staring at his feet.
Charlotte was talking to the hostess. "Five minutes," the perky blonde said with a smile. Sam was right. The waiters wore buttons on their suspenders. Charlotte smiled and sat down on the nearby bench.
Sam sat down next to her as she stretched out her legs. She was humming along with the song being played over the speakers. Dean grunted, and grinned at Sam - his older brother's way of saying 'Muzak sucks' without words. "The actors gone, there's only you and me, and if we break before the dawn, they'll use up what we used to be," Charlotte said softly. Sam looked at her. She smiled, a little sadly. "Peter Gabriel," she said.
Dean opened his mouth to say something, but the hostess came up to them with three menus in her hand. "Hey there, sweetheart," Dean said as she came into earshot. "Those for us?" The hostess giggled as Dean's grin widened, and Sam was sure his older brother was going to start flirting with her - except Dean tried to offer his hand to Charlotte, who waved it off and pushed herself up off the bench.
They didn't say anything while they followed the hostess, but Sam saw Charlotte and Dean glancing at each other - and Dean automatically sat down next to her in the booth once they were seated. Dean actually smiled when Charlotte ordered a soup and sandwich combo plate, but they still weren't talking to each other. Not that Charlotte was any better - just as stubborn as goddamn Dean.
Sitting there in silence while they waited for their food was one long ache. Sam was glad he wasn't an empath because there was no way in hell he wanted to know what either of them were feeling. Sam tried to start a conversation three times - the only answer he received was a curt response - but when the waitress finally brought their food, Sam had to ask the question that had been nagging him since they left the orphanage.
"Why the hell did we leave, Dean?" Sam's stomach growled, belying the question, but he continued. Dean's plans were always half-assed. "We should be getting set up back near that place you found to sneak in."
"We haven't eaten anything all day, Sam. We need the food for energy." Dean swallowed, pushing a mouthful of meatloaf across his plate with his fork. "To ground ourselves," he added. Charlotte started.
"What do you know about grounding yourself, Dean?" Sam asked with a snort.
"Got a little vision," Dean returned, his face turning red. "A man told me we needed to ground ourselves."
"That's just great, Dean. We're eating dinner because you're hearing fucking voices in your head." Sam took another bite of his hamburger. Dean was an idiot. But that didn't stop Sam from shivering when Shemhezai chuckled, another slither deep within his chest.
Charlotte covered her mouth with her hand, exhaling past her fingers. "That's exactly what I was talking about earlier, Sam. Food is one of the fastest ways to ground yourself. You don't know as much about this as you think you do."
"Watch it, Charlie." Dean's voice was hard. "That's my little brother you're reprimanding." He snorted. "Sam's been through more crap in a month than you've lived in your entire life."
"So what's your point, Dean?" Charlotte demanded, nostrils flaring.
"My point is that Sam's experienced, sweetheart. And you're not."
"Only in Winchester," Charlotte retorted. "Sam might be able to fire a gun but he's barely keeping Shemhezai under control. What happens when that thing rips out of your brother in the middle of a fight?"
"That won't happen." Dean's jaw clenched. "I'll be there to help him."
"Like you were there to help me keep Jess from getting killed?" Sam returned. He rolled his eyes. "Hell, where were you the night I killed the succubus?"
"What is your fucking problem, Sammy?" Dean jerked his thumb towards Charlotte. "I was rescuing the goddamn girl like you told me to. Remember?"
"That had nothing to do with me." Sam leaned forward, arms folded in front of him. "You helped Charlotte because that's your MO. How many times have you said it, Dean? Girls get horny when you rescue them. You wanted to fuck her in the back of your car, just like every other goddamn chick you pick up." Sam grinned. "And just like every other goddamn chick, you want to drop her faster than a hot potato now because you've already screwed her."
The color drained from Dean's face. "Shut the fuck up, Sammy." Dean glanced over at Charlotte; she barely managed to swallow her spoonful of soup before the spoon fell from her hand. "Before I..." His older brother's voice trailed off, and Dean clenched his hands into fists.
"Before you what? Threaten to take me outside and kick my ass for me." Sam sipped his tea, staring Dean right in the eyes. When his older brother looked away, Sam added, "I'm all grown up, Dean. You can't push me around anymore." He felt the strength filling him, the cry from deep within him as it welled forth to confront Dean without making apologies. A strength so pure that Sam was able to ignore the part of him that wondered what in the hell he was saying to Dean.
Dean suddenly whipped his head towards Charlotte. "What game are you playing, Charlie? What the fuck are you doing to my little brother?"
"Nothing," she returned. "Being a cocky bastard is a Winchester trait." Charlotte's gray eyes narrowed. "And that's why he's so dangerous. Shemhezai can use that."
"I wish Sam had never shoved you into the back of my car," Dean whispered, fingers clutching his scalp. "This is your fault, Charlie." His voice cracked. "Before you, we were fine. Didn't hurt."
"Didn't feel," Charlotte snapped. "And your brother was going to Awaken with or without me, Dean Winchester. At least I was there to help." She sat back in the booth. "But what the hell do I know? I'm just the girl you wanted to fuck in the back of your crap car."
"And we were never fine," Sam added. "Winchesters are broken, Dean." How many nights had he and Dean sat there, listening to Dad's lectures? Sam never cried past the age of six when his father was around. Hell, Dean never cried. Period. Clarity, when it hit, was like a baseball bat to the back of his skull - but it brought with it a certain remnant of peace. "You know what?" Two sets of eyes looked at him, and he smiled. "I don't need either of you."
"What?" Charlotte and Dean said it in unison, as though they had planned it.
"I don't need some fucked up Emo Girl telling me to control my emotions when she can barely control her own," Sam said. The truth brought calm. The truth brought lucidity. "And I never needed a brother like you, Dean."
Charlotte's head snapped back as though she'd been slapped. "So what are you saying, Sammy?" Dean asked, his voice sounding like a little boy's.
"This is our last job, Dean. We save the girl, and then we're going our separate ways." Sam took a deep breath, exhaled.
"All three of us," Charlotte added, glaring at her bowl of soup. "You can try and save the world by yourself, Sam Winchester."
"While you hide underneath a rock?" Dean snapped.
"Hey, your brother's the boss. He knows what he's doing." Charlotte shrugged her shoulders. "Besides, you've already fucked me. Why the hell would you want me around? I'm in the way."
There was a cough at Sam's elbow. Three angry pairs of eyes focused on their waitress, who was standing next to Sam with a pitcher of iced tea in her right hand. "More tea?" she asked softly, swallowing.
"No," Dean said sharply, glaring at Charlotte before turning a pleading eye towards his little brother. "Just the freaking bill." The waitress nodded, once, and scurried away.
Shemhezai was singing, a soft language that Sam dimly recognized. A song of triumph, a song of dominion. He squared his jaw. No fucking way you win, you slithering freak!
But the damn thing kept singing.
I'm not sure I'm actually blaming this on a boy who can kill me with his brain but...the chapter continues here.