Any Chance Collision - Part Two: I move with the movement
Part Two: I move with the movement
Word Count: 8755
Overall Pairings: Dean/OFC (HET)
Overall Rating: NC-17 (This Chapter - R - Language, Non-graphic Sex, Angst)
Feedback: Absolutely. Concrit is always welcome.
Disclaimer: The Winchester boys aren't mine, but I'd make Dean wear boots all the time if they were.
Spoilers/Warnings: None for the show, but the the story is unabashedly AU.
A/N: This is a remix of Always Falling.
Beta(s): embroiderama went above and beyond the call of duty, as always. She even put up with random spammage and my inevitable freakout about pacing. quirkies provided additional commentary on plot and inspired me to refer, at least in part, back to one of the more critical scenes in the original story. The good parts are all them. The mistakes? Those are all me.
Summary: Georgetown was the next step in her plan but her father was always telling her that life could turn on a dime. If the trick was learning how to dance, she had really screwed it up by tripping over that boy who bussed tables in the New South Dorm cafeteria.
Story Sections:
Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five / Author's Notes
Her daddy had promised to take her to Europe for Christmas - just the two of them walking through London and Paris and Florence, stopping at every bookstore they passed and listening to jazz in old clubs along the Seine. It was their perfect Christmas, the bedtime story he would tell when she was laying in her hospital bed and listening to the soft cadence of his voice making promises of ‘someday’ just to get through the night.
He had even purchased the tickets, hiding them in her suitcase while Charlotte was saying goodbye to Alma over blueberry pancakes. She didn’t find them until she unpacked the Monday after Thanksgiving, looking up from her name as Dean’s snore ripped through her room. Charlotte put the tickets into her desk drawer as quietly as she could before she stretched out next to him on the bed. Dean shifted in his sleep when her arm snaked around his waist, his mouth half-open and his architecture book laying flat across his chest.
Charlotte knew that she had to tell him.
She just didn’t know how.
Jimmy thought it wasn’t a problem, rolling his eyes because the answer was obvious. He was going to Italy with his family and his boyfriend was coming along with them but there was no way in hell that she would ever convince her daddy to bring anyone on the trip that they had planned together for twelve years - he scowled every time Charlotte had mentioned the name ‘Dean Winchester’ over Thanksgiving, his eyes full of old admonitions.
Maggie thought it wasn’t a problem, either - asking Charlotte if Dean had ever said ‘I love you’ or introduced Charlotte to anyone as his girlfriend, like the words were more important than the way Dean still fed her cold pot stickers every Sunday night or rocked her to sleep with a hand splayed open on her belly. He would sigh something she couldn’t make out into the curve of her neck every time her fingers interlaced with his, pulling her in tight to his hips.
The only advice that Alma would give was that things happened for a reason.
She found out from a news feed on MTV that Charlotte’s Webb had announced they would be joining “The Masters of Metal” line-up in the spring and that the band was preparing for it by playing informal shows at smaller venues in Europe through mid-February. Charlotte was on the phone with her daddy’s tour manager fifteen minutes later, trying to keep her voice from cracking while she asked if it was true. She hung up as soon as Evan said ‘yes’ and started dialing her daddy’s hotel.
Some vapid moron named ‘Roberta’ answered the phone in a pinched voice that made Charlotte’s jaw clench. When Charlotte identified herself and demanded to speak with her father, Roberta giggled like they were old friends and told Charlotte that they were going to have ‘so much fun together’ in Milan over Christmas - just two girls loose in the fashion district with Aaron Webb’s credit card.
Charlotte’s hand clamped around the handset so tightly that her joints went numb and empty words spilled into the receiver, a joke about cardigans and combat boots and beat-up old glasses being good enough for girls from Georgia. Her daddy interrupted her, voice overflowing with an apology that made her body vibrate like a live wire.
I didn’t mean for you to find out this way, baby girl.
Charlotte didn’t know if he was talking about the tour or the girlfriend or the broken promise but she crumpled up her tickets and tossed them into the wastebasket. Alma would have stayed with her instead of going to Louisiana but Charlotte wasn’t about to ask Alma to change her plans, especially with her sister Sadie being sick, and it wouldn’t be the first time Charlotte wandered around the house by herself.
Dean didn’t say much when she finally told him about the tour but his eyes darkened when Charlotte admitted that she was staying home alone - just a big old white farmhouse and a girl reading all of her favorite books.
She managed to make him grin by sliding off his boxer shorts, whispering about everything they could do together on the phone before pulling him into her mouth. Dean’s hands twisted in her hair while her head bobbed along his length. Dean growled the faster she worked him and his hips jerked, so close to spilling over with the way he was bunching her comforter in his hands that he surprised her by yanking her head up long enough to kiss her and rip off her old tank top.
Charlotte had all but forgotten the conversation when they were walking out of the campus theater three days later, their breath a white mist underneath the lights. People milled around them still talking about Saving Private Ryan but they shuffled down along the sidewalk in silence, hands jammed into their pockets, and their arms bumped together when Charlotte stepped out of someone’s way.
“You want to come to my house for Christmas?” Dean asked the question like he was wondering if they should go out for pizza. “Mom and Dad said you could stay for the whole winter break. You'd even meet Geek Boy.”
“I’d love to,” she said, slowing down to stand on the tips of her toes and kiss Dean’s cheek.
The way he smiled made her so dizzy that Charlotte slipped her arm through his just to keep from falling down.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Charlotte packed her suitcases three days before they were supposed to leave but they didn’t fit in the trunk with all of their presents and the gift sets she had purchased from Hickory Farms.
They sat on the sidewalk, along with Dean’s duffel bag, while Dean moved cheese wheels and joked about the shindig they could host in his parents’ basement. He finally shrugged his shoulders and shoved their bags into the back seat of the car, chuckling when Charlotte pulled the travel directions she had printed off of MapQuest out of her book bag and slipped them into the glove compartment.
She turned bright red when she saw the maps that were already nestled inside, poking Dean on the arm while his cackle echoed down the empty street. He could have told her that he already had maps instead of hooting like a lunatic.
“Let’s go,” she snapped, slamming the door. Her jaw clenched when their eyes met. “We can get four hours of driving in before it starts to get dark.”
“No one’s going to yell at us if we’re not pulling into Lawrence by 5:00 PM on Tuesday.” Dean’s voice was soft. He grinned when she clicked her seatbelt closed, arms folding across her lap. “And it’s not like we’re going to run out of supplies any time soon if there’s a blizzard or something,” he added, turning the key in the ignition. Dean waggled his eyebrows. “Even got ways to stay warm if we careen into a ditch.”
Charlotte leaned her elbow on the window ledge when Dean chuckled and watched the trees go by, their snow-covered branches acting as a backdrop to every accident she could conjure - so much blood on jagged glass as Dean’s body lay broken, pitched forward through the front window.
“Why do you turn everything into a joke, Dean?”
He slipped a cassette tape into the stereo and the music was low enough to hear the tires on the road. “Because it sure beats acting like everything is the end of the world,” Dean said.
Charlotte didn’t say anything, blowing on the window and tracing the lines of a tree across the glass, and Dean turned up the volume. Iron Maiden was arcing through the back of her head, the drum beat keeping time with the muscles throbbing behind her eyes, and she rubbed her temples.
You watch the world exploding every single night,
Dancing in the sun - a newborn in the light.
Brothers and their father joining hands and make a chain;
The shadow of the Wicker Man is rising up again.
“You…want me to turn around?” Dean asked finally.
“No.”
The cold seeped into her knuckles and Charlotte pulled her hands up past the edge of her sleeves, feeling the elastic catch around her fingertips. Dean swallowed, getting onto the highway. He tapped his thumbs on the steering wheel in time to the music, speeding up to match the other cars on the road. It was snowing, puffy white flakes falling onto the windshield before they were wiped away by the rhythmic slap of plastic moving across glass.
“I don’t like getting laughed at,” Charlotte said softly, biting her thumbnail. “And I just…” Her breath came out in a huff. “I just want to make a good impression. So your family will like me.”
“They’ll like you just fine.” He snorted. “I like you, even when you’re fucking emo.”
“That’s because your taste sucks, Dean.” Charlotte curled her legs up beside her and scooted across the front seat to lean into his shoulder, looking up at him with a grin. There was a small smile on his face when she slipped underneath his arm, resting her head on his chest. “You know there are only two people left in the world who even listen to Iron Maiden.”
“Two, huh?”
“Just you and a beer-guzzling idiot named Bubba who’s always scratching his crotch.”
“This is so on,” he retorted, turning up the stereo loud enough to rattle the windows.
Dean spent the rest of the afternoon choosing music from a decrepit shoebox full of cassette tapes. Most of them had been played so much that the labels had worn off and some of the plastic cases were cracked. Her daddy had always told her to never underestimate the power of the classics and it was true. All that was holding Dean’s copy of Houses of the Holy together was hope; Robert Plant sounded like he was singing in a wind tunnel through most of “Dancing Days.”
Charlotte’s revenge was to sing right along with the music.
The counteroffensive was a chorus of moans in the dark, set off by squeaky mattress springs and someone pounding on the walls between their rooms, but being hoarse didn’t keep Charlotte from belting out the words right along with every cassette Dean pushed into the stereo the next day. By the time the Impala crossed the state line into Kansas, Creedence was blaring through the car and both of them were bellowing “Up Around the Bend” at the top of their lungs.
When they turned the corner onto Hernn Lane, the door to a green house swung open and a lanky figure ran to the curb. Sam Winchester was ganglier than his pictures made him out to be, with his loose-fitting sweatshirt and shaggy hair falling to his shoulders. Charlotte’s throat hurt when she realized Sam was limping while he ran, listing to the left until he stood next to the passenger door.
Charlotte opened the door and stumbled out, neither of them saying a word while they stared at each other. Dean hovered at Sam’s elbow and she kept waiting for him to do something beyond stuff his hands into his pockets and grin while she and Sam circled each other like scared cats.
Sam’s mouth twisted.
“Do you like Shakespeare?” he asked.
Charlotte nodded.
“Would you like to go see Shakespeare in Love with me? It’s an R-rated movie and I can’t get my parents or any of my friends from school to go and I really want to see it in the theaters.” Sam managed not to strangle the words in his rush to get them out, taking another breath. “And there’s no way Dean’ll take me. He doesn’t do chick flicks. And I’m pretty sure the movie’s a chick flick, because it’s a love story and Dean doesn’t do love stories, either. Says they’re sappy.”
Sam looked so earnest that there was no way to say ‘no,’ even with his older brother scowling over Sam’s shoulder. Charlotte laughed, throwing her arms loosely around Sam’s neck, and both of them trembled before they settled into the hug. “I can’t think of anyone I’d rather go see the movie with, Sam Winchester,” she replied. “And I’ll even make Dean go see it with us.”
“Cool,” Sam whispered, letting go of her.
It was the calm before the storm.
Dean’s parents were standing in the doorway, both of them smiling at her. Sam rambled about the presents they had moved to the back of the car that morning, his voice so excited that she wanted to hug him all over again, but Dean headed up the walk. Charlotte followed him, doing her best to smile and meet the Winchesters’ eyes without turning bright red. It didn’t work - but Dean’s father pulled her through the front door anyway with a ‘Mr. and Mrs. Winchester are my parents’ and a grin that matched the one Dean used when he was blowing raspberries on her belly.
She turned around to find Dean. He was hugging his mother, arms tight around her shoulders, and he looked so startled when Mary Winchester kissed his cheek and whispered something into his ear that all Charlotte could do was follow John Winchester up the stairs. It was a side of Dean that she had never seen before, a private moment between a mother and her son that brought a catch to her throat. Charlotte focused on his father’s deep voice, laying ground rules about her visit while showing her the guest room where she would be sleeping.
Before she had even unpacked, Charlotte was elbow deep in the sink. She passed peeled potatoes to Sam so that he could cut them up into chunks and stick them in a pot with milk, whole cloves of garlic, onions and lots of butter. John Winchester was marinating steaks to barbecue outside despite the snow that had started falling, cracking jokes with Mrs. Win - Charlotte shook her head sharply - with Mary while she made a salad with Dean.
Dean pinched Charlotte’s rear-end when he threw left-over celery stalks into the garbage disposal, breathing a hot ‘you thought they wouldn’t like you’ against the hairs rising up on her neck.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Dean tried to be subtle by dumping enough flour in a mixing bowl to raise a cloud. He snuck down to kiss her when Sam was busy pulling a bag of chocolate chips out of the freezer but there weren’t enough baking supplies in the world to hide their stupid grins whenever they looked at each other, her ‘that’s why I love you’ tangled up with his ‘I fucking want you’ and the bruise on her back from being pushed into the Impala’s steering wheel.
Even Sam had probably figured out what they were doing in the car after breakfast.
You know what really sucks? Being in love with a girl who talks so much, you can't get her mouth to slow down long enough to kiss her.
Charlotte blushed, remembering the way her hips rolled when Dean’s fingers danced inside of her, but she grabbed the back of his t-shirt with both fists and slowed down long enough to kiss him hard. Sam made gagging noises while Mary laughed and folded flour slowly into the eggs, butter, and sugar they had already mixed together. Dean called her a walking chick flick with nothing better to do than get flour all over his shirt but he squeezed her arms when Charlotte’s hands tightened. She stood on the tips of her toes, holding on until her fingers ached.
Sam got louder the longer they kissed.
It was the strangled sucking noise that made Charlotte laugh, resting her forehead on Dean’s chest.
“That’s it,” Dean muttered, launching himself at his brother and rubbing his knuckles across Sam’s hair.
The screams were loud enough for John Winchester to poke his head into the kitchen, grinning at Mary from across the room as he popped the cap off of his beer bottle.
“The way you boys carry on, Charlotte’s going to think we didn’t teach you any manners.” John’s voice was gruff but his eyes lit up when Mary smiled back at him. Charlotte lowered her head; it was like listening to her daddy sing old songs about her mother, standing behind the screen door with Alma’s arm around her shoulders while his voice cracked.
“She’s seen Dean eat, Dad.” Sam rolled his eyes. “And he’s his own species.”
“To be fair, Sam, the boots hide his sixth toe,” Charlotte said.
Sam snorted, doubling over and holding his stomach.
“That’s real cute coming from the girl who sings like Mickey Mouse gargling with glass.” Dean grabbed Charlotte’s hand when she poked him in the stomach. “And poking me with your bony finger isn’t going to change that.”
“Dean!” But John sounded more amused than angry.
“He’s definitely your son, John.” Mary laughed when John shook his head. “And we turned out just fine after you stopped pulling my pigtails.” She flashed another smile before John engulfed her in his arms, muscles flexing underneath his shirt as he pulled her into a kiss.
“Am I the only one who isn’t going to suck face in the kitchen?” Sam groaned.
“That depends, Samantha,” Dean shot back. “You still carrying around that little mirror you chicks use when you’re practicing French kissing?”
Sam ignored him, pouring chocolate chips into the bowl. “Are you guys going to the Fullers’ wine and cheese party tonight?” He didn’t wait for his parents to answer, glancing slyly at Dean. “Because if you are, I thought Charlotte and I could go see Shakespeare in Love instead of watching Dean belch his way through A Charlie Brown Christmas.”
“It’s not belching.” Dean grinned.
Sam grinned back, stirring the chocolate chips into the dough. No one said anything when Charlotte took a spoonful for herself, listening to Dean and Sam argue about whether or not it was really belching if you did it in time to Snoopy’s theme song. Sam made noises in the back of his throat every time Dean came up with a new argument, both of them playing an old game of one-upmanship to see who could make her laugh the hardest.
Charlotte was still giggling when they said goodbye to John and Mary, pulling on their boots and winter coats before trudging out to the car. Dean tugged her hat down using the pom-poms before she waddled down the driveway next to Sam. Her foot slipped on one patch of ice and Charlotte fell backwards with a loud ‘whoops’ that had her cheeks burning despite the lightly falling snow. Dean’s hands slipped underneath her shoulders, steadying her before Charlotte hit the concrete.
He was always catching her when she fell.
Dean slid into to driver’s seat, unlocking the passenger door and holding it open for her. Sam sat in the back, leaning on the front seat between their shoulders, and grunted when Dean slipped Back in Black into the cassette player.
“You know, Mother Goose wrote more mature rhymes than these guys,” Sam said. “And we’re talking about poems with ‘hickory dickory dock’ in them, Dean.”
Dean rolled his eyes, turning up the stereo, but the light reflecting off the window couldn’t hide the way he smiled.
People weren’t just milling around in front of the movie theater when they walked up from the parking light; they were surging against each other, fighting to get into the line underneath the sizzling crackle of heat lamps. Charlotte followed Dean, inching their way through the mass of bodies towards the box office, and she curled her fingers around his wrist. Sam’s breath was sharp, a tiny ‘oh shit’ in her ear when he grabbed onto Charlotte’s arm before stumbling into her; both of them getting pushed up against Dean.
They managed to get inside the building unscathed.
She ended up sitting with Sam, squished together on a bench near one set of doors into the theater. They shared it with three other people, all of them waiting for the clean-up crew to pick up discarded popcorn and candy boxes. Dean waved at them like a moron from the snack line, not stopping until Sam grimaced in his direction and Charlotte raised her hand.
A blonde girl in a snowflake-covered sweater walked by, talking animatedly with her friends. Sam sat up straight - his chest puffing out like he was a bird getting ready to show off - but his smile faded when the girl passed them and didn’t even look in his direction. His mouth quirked up when he noticed Charlotte was watching him. “That’s Angie,” Sam said when their eyes met.
“She’s cute.”
“Yeah.” Sam shook his head sharply. “She ignores me unless I’m helping her with algebra. Because I’m a gimp. My leg is always giving out on me when I’m running in gym.” Sam lowered his eyes, fists clenching on his thighs. “I’m not wearing the brace anymore…so I have to go to physical therapy.” His voice was soft. “I don’t want to be a gimp all of my life.”
“My legs give out on me when I’m walking down the street,” Charlotte answered, tapping his foot gently with her shoe. “And you’re not a gimp, Sam. Physical therapy takes time.”
“That’s what Dean is always saying.” Sam’s knuckles were white. “But it’s hard.” Charlotte’s throat ached, watching the pain flicker across his face, and she let her hand slip down to one of his fists. His entire body shivered when her fingers brushed against his knuckles. “He used to go with me during the summer,” Sam added. “And he still calls me every night after I have a session, two times a week.”
It didn’t surprise her.
Charlotte closed her eyes, hearing Dean’s whisper in the dark - how nothing in the world would keep him from setting things right after Sammy ended up bleeding on the asphalt, that there was nothing he wouldn’t do to keep Sam from getting hurt like that again. She would never forget his voice, the way it growled to the moon, and his nails had left marks on her hips; small half circles that Dean noticed the next morning in the shower. He had traced them with his fingers, his eyes overflowing with an apology, until Charlotte grabbed his wrist and moved his hand lower; head already tilting back as she braced her other hand around his neck.
Another promise washing the fear away down the shower drain.
“Your brother is pretty damn amazing,” she said gently. Charlotte stretched her legs, waiting for the burn in her calves before letting her feet drop back to the floor. She kept brushing Sam’s knuckles as lightly as she could, listening to him breathe.
“I wish Dean didn’t have to go back to school so soon.”
“He would - ” She lowered her head and the words poured out, the truth Charlotte had always known. “He would stay if you asked him.”
“Yeah.” He swallowed. “But it’s not his fault that Dad’s…hard.” Sam dropped his voice down into its lowest register. “It’s not working if it doesn’t hurt, son.” Sam’s eyes darkened as he stared down at the floor. “Dad even yells at me about getting a haircut.”
Sam bent over, lifting up the scruff of his hair. There was a pale stripe as wide as her thumb on the back of his head; Charlotte couldn’t tell if it was from a surgery or from the two-by-four in the fight and she wasn’t about to ask. “Like I’m getting a crew-cut just to show the whole school how ugly I am.” He sat back up and glared at her like she was the girl who only saw Sam Winchester when he helped her with algebra.
“I’m pretty ugly, too.” Charlotte lifted up the hem of her sweater, stopping when the skin around Sam’s eyes turned as white as the scars. “I’ve just been hiding longer.” She tipped her head, resting it on Sam’s shoulder. “But your brother won’t let me hide anymore. For a girl like me, that’s…everything, Sam.”
“He must have knocked you down pretty hard,” Sam said. His hair tickled her nose when he chuckled.
“Maybe all heroes knock down chicks so they can rescue them.” She glanced at him with a grin. “The next time Angie walks by, you should trip her and then pick up her books.”
“That’ll score me points.” Sam snorted.
“Just don’t take her out for crappy nachos.”
“Those crappy nachos worked, didn’t they?” Dean demanded. He stood in front of them with an overloaded drink carrier and more snacks stuffed into his jacket than the three of them would ever be able to eat after Mary Winchester’s Christmas ham. He started passing out food, handing a basket of nachos to Charlotte. “Girls just don’t understand my true genius, Sammy.”
“I think you’re overestimating yourself by calling it genius,” Sam retorted. He grabbed a box of popcorn out from underneath Dean’s arm. “If the popcorn tastes like your armpit, I’m making you get us more.”
“Did you forget who’s taking you out to see a movie with real tits in it, Geek Boy?”
Even the people sitting on the bench with them couldn’t keep a straight face when Dean asked the question.
“I’ve seen breasts before,” Sam shot back. “You gave me your Jugs collection when you went back to school.” He rolled his eyes. “But I’m still trying to figure out why you left me sticky notes on the pictures about crap like nipple density. It’s not like you’re a breast expert.”
The doors to the theater opened and Charlotte wobbled to her feet. “Because your brother is a real macho pervert,” she said, shoving a nacho into her mouth to keep from laughing. Dean squared his shoulders and swaggered inside. “Nipple density?” she managed, poking Dean’s back with a giggle that she couldn’t stop.
“Laugh all you want, sweetheart, but there are things Sam needs to learn about boobs.” Dean stopped and smirked at her over his shoulder. “And I don’t ever hear you complaining about my expertise.”
Charlotte blushed when other people laughed but she stepped in close enough to brush her lips against his.
“Jesus Christ,” Sam hissed. “Now you’re sucking face in public.” He scooted past both of them to get into the theater.
He was waiting for them at the bottom of the steps, eyes tracking a blonde girl who was making her way up the other side of the theater. Sam took a deep breath and started up the steps, walking across the row to meet Angie halfway and ignoring Dean’s fist pump as Angie looked up at Sam with a smile. Dean bellowed ‘go for it, Sammy’ when Angie gestured at the chair next to hers and Charlotte grabbed Dean by the wrist.
She pulled him up the stairs before he said something about Sam offering Angie some popcorn.
Charlotte picked a row that was far enough away to keep Dean from whispering tips during the movie but he still tried to say something during the previews, coughing ‘hold her hand’ into his fist loud enough for people sitting near them to turn their heads and stare. Sam ignored him completely, body bent towards Angie’s while they whispered through the dancing candy and singing sodas marching their way across the screen.
She balanced the nachos on her lap and grabbed the collar of Dean’s flannel shirt, tugging his mouth to hers. “You’re the world’s best brother,” Charlotte murmured.
“And you’re the world’s hinkiest chick.” Dean snorted when she raised her chin. “But I still fucking want you - especially when you taste like Cheez Whiz.”
Dean swallowed up her laugh before anyone could hear it.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
It was supposed to be a couple of Dean’s friends drinking beer and watching movies on New Year’s Eve but the living room was a riot of noise, alcohol and smoke.
Dean sat on the stairway looking into the room, trying to carry on a conversation that kept getting interrupted by a steady stream of boys who punched Dean on the shoulder and girls who smiled at him from underneath their eyelashes. Every time one of those girls walked away, Dean rolled his eyes and said something to Chris McDonald that made both of them laugh easy.
Chris had been introduced as Dean’s best friend since the age of six but Dean had just called her Charlotte. She was the one always telling Maggie that the words weren’t important, so it shouldn’t have bothered her. Charlotte didn’t need a public declaration but there had to have been some way he could have introduced her that didn’t involve people staring at her like she was a freak of nature, the girl who walked into a party with Dean Winchester wearing an ankle-length skirt and a cardigan sweater.
And it hadn’t helped overhearing three different girls talking about how they were going to be leaving in Dean Winchester’s big black car. The blonde in the tight black dress didn’t care that her voice carried, sneering at Charlotte with a red mouth splashed across her face like a scar when their eyes met.
Did you see that prissy bitch he walked in with? He’ll have to unlock her knees just to remove the stick.
At that point, she would have been happy being a friend of Sam’s.
Charlotte scowled, staring into her red plastic cup, and choked it down. It tasted awful, flooding her head with every reason why she had only gone to one party in high school - cheap beer was disgusting, the music sucked and everyone screamed at each other when they weren’t making out in dark corners.
If it were up to her, they would have left before she resorted to alcohol.
But Dean’s smile every time their eyes met was full of home and it wasn’t fair to steal that from him just because she hated parties. She kept guzzling down beer, refilling her cup whenever she needed more, and smiled back.
A warm glow spread through her belly, taking the sting out of being called ‘a frigid cunt’ or ‘Dean’s charity case’ - and the haze in her brain dulled the ache behind her eyes, let her keep a smile on her face while she watched a giggling parade of girls march past Dean. Charlotte could even swallow old pretzels that burst into dust when she chewed, ignoring the way her stomach hurt every time that blonde girl smirked at her.
She was on her third handful when a goth girl wearing a Miranda Sex Garden t-shirt sat down next to her on the couch. The girl looked just as miserable as Charlotte felt, picking at her plaid miniskirt with chipped black nails.
Charlotte sucked in a breath. “Cool band,” she said, gesturing at the girl’s t-shirt with her cup. The girl looked at Charlotte like she was a two-headed alien
“You heard of them?”
Charlotte didn’t realize she was holding her breath until she exhaled. “I like th’ Medieval Baebes, too.”
“I’m Tina.” The goth girl’s mouth twisted into a grin. “Tina McDonald.”
“Charlotte Webb,” she answered, automatically holding out her hand. Tina stared at it with one raised eyebrow before Charlotte set it back on her lap and looked down at her shoes.
Even when she was drunk, she was the world’s biggest dork.
“So who would have thought that Dean Winchester would waltz into a party with a girl who listens to the Baebes?” Tina chuckled. She cocked her head in Dean’s direction. “Bet you weren’t expecting a reunion of Dean’s closest high school buddies when he sweet talked you into coming to a New Year’s Eve party?”
“I was expectin’ Holy Grail.” Charlotte’s face thawed just enough for a real smile. “Or Mel Brooks.”
“Spaceballs was my suggestion.” Tina snorted. “But Chris decided that Dean needed an old school blow out. Like they’re going to need to relive their Glory Days before they turn twenty.” Her eyes narrowed when the blonde in the black dress sidled up to Dean. “Amy Clark’s been waiting for a week just to get her claws back into Dean.”
Amy Clark’s smile was softened by the blush on her cheeks when she wrapped long fingers around Dean’s forearm. Charlotte’s belly lurched - there was something unearthly in that smile. Temptation and bright enchantments wrapped up with a pretty French manicure, clothes that hugged every curve and high heels that would have had Charlotte on the floor in ten seconds.
“She’s kinda pretty,” Charlotte managed, watching perfect teeth bite into Amy’s lower lip.
“She’s as pretty as a piranha once she rips your balls off.”
Amy’s hand clamped around Dean’s arm and she tugged at it with a laugh. Dean frowned, standing up and saying something that turned Amy’s smile into a snarl, and Charlotte’s jaw clenched.
Charlotte Anne Webb was sick to death of watching.
“It was nice talkin’ t’ you,” she said to Tina, pushing herself into a stand.
Charlotte tripped across the floor as gracefully as she could with the walls spinning around her. Sharp laughs pierced through her head and the bass line shuddered up her legs but the only thing she had to do was stay upright long enough to pitch forward onto Dean’s chest.
Amy Clark was still holding onto Dean’s arm when Charlotte tilted her head up and slammed her mouth against his, flannel bunched into her hands to keep herself steady.
“What the fuck!” Amy’s voice was a screech above the music. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
“Th’ prissy bitch goin’ home wi’ Dean Winchester.” Charlotte glared over her shoulder. Amy’s entire face turned red, twisting into another sneer when Charlotte slipped an arm around Dean’s neck. “You’re just lucky I don’ like makin’ a scene. I wanna pull out my stick and lay the smackdown on you.”
Amy let go of Dean and started mouthing words that Charlotte couldn’t hear over the screaming silence that slashed across the empty spaces between them. The ringing in her ears followed the heat roaring underneath her skin and a flush spread from the top of her head down to her toes. The walls stopped spinning long enough for the white spots dancing in her peripheral vision to turn into people’s faces.
She was the center of everyone’s attention and she didn’t fucking care.
Not even when the walls sped up and her legs turned to jelly and the only thing keeping her upright when her knees buckled out from underneath her were two arms tight around her waist. She was tucked against Dean, all earth and leather and safe. The music stretched into a throb that matched the beat of her pulse, fingers tangling in his hair as she pulled his mouth down onto hers.
She sank onto her heels, catching her breath as the music snapped back into real-time, and touched his lips with one hand.
“I want t’ leave now,” she said.
Charlotte grabbed him by the wrist and stumbled towards the front hallway, jerking Dean forward every time her boots caught on the hem of her skirt. He leaned her up against the wall and she managed not to fall down while Dean rummaged through the closet, handing coats to Chris. When Dean pulled her hat down over her ears, he didn’t even smile.
Chris McDonald held the door open for them.
A gust of wind whipped hair into her face while Charlotte slipped her hands into her mittens. “Thank you for invitin’ me,” she said, holding out her hand. “It was nice meetin’ you, Chris.”
“Uh…” Chris stared down at her hand and flashed another surprised look over her shoulder at Dean, some obscure message that she didn’t understand, before Chris sucked in a breath. “It was nice meeting you, too,” he added, shaking her hand.
Charlotte shook when Chris let go, her stomach spinning counterclockwise.
“That’s our cue, dude.” Dean slipped an arm across her shoulders. “Tell your folks ‘Happy New Year’ for me.”
“You, too.”
Chris closed the door and Charlotte blinked. The porch light refracted off of her glasses and pushed right into the back of her skull. She shivered when they made it to the sidewalk, leaning against Dean as she trudged through a small drift. Her boots crunched in the snow and it was so cold that her lungs hurt, like some monster was cracking open her rib cage and replacing every gasp of air with ice crystals.
She listened to Dean’s footsteps while they walked to his car.
“Hey,” he said finally, making her stop underneath a street lamp. “I should have...” Dean’s voice trailed off as Charlotte twisted to face him. “I mean, after Thanksgiving…”
“It wasn’ just her, Dean.” The words spilled out before she could stop them and Charlotte had to look away from his face because her entire chest was going to burst open if she kept watching him, the way his eyes tore a hole right through her with an apology that was never his to make. “People said I was your charity case.” She rubbed underneath her glasses, wiping tear drops away before he could see them fall. “Said I was a frigid cu - ”
He pulled her in close and she started gasping like a dying fish against his chest, breathing in Dean along with the frozen air. Her legs trembled as another shiver trailed up her spine and Charlotte pushed away from him as soon as her stomach muscles started contracting, falling to her knees in the snow.
But she still managed to get vomit on his shoes.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
She threw up two more times on the way back to the Winchesters’ house, leaning out the door of the Impala while Dean rubbed circles on her back.
Dean snuck her into the house through the back door, avoiding the walk of shame through the living room where Sam and ten of his closest friends were watching Star Wars movies. They were hollering and laughing and quoting dialogue at each other, loud enough to give her a headache, and John was whooping it up right along with them.
He never got any of the quotes wrong.
Mary was in the kitchen, pouring a bag of Doritos into a bowl, when Charlotte tripped to the sink behind Dean. She didn’t look up immediately, humming to herself while Dean handed Charlotte glasses of water - but when her eyes focused on Charlotte’s stringy hair and pink face, Mary gave Dean the bowl.
She led Charlotte up the stairs to her room. Charlotte collapsed on the bed, waiting for Mary to yell or get angry or call her a bad girl for coming home drunk with her son, but Mary’s voice was soft when she murmured ‘it’s alright’ and took Charlotte into her arms.
It wasn’t the same as being held by Alma, who believed in hugs the same way she believed in moonshine, but Mary Winchester made Charlotte feel like she was sitting on the big swing out on the front porch listening to the cicadas.
It was enough space to breathe.
“Mrs. Winchester? ‘m sorry,” she whispered into Mary’s shoulder. “Didn’ mean t’ embarrass Dean. Brings me home for Christmas and his mama has t’ take care of me ‘cause I drank beer.” Her cheeks flushed. “An’ I puked on his shoes.”
Mary’s arms tightened and she gave a small laugh. “How many times do I have to tell you that Mrs. Winchester is my mother-in-law?” She brushed Charlotte’s hair with one hand. “Why don’t you go clean yourself up? I’ll go make you some chamomile tea.”
Charlotte nodded, squeezing Mary as hard as she could before leaning down to untie her boots. Her throat hurt when Mary stopped at the door to look back at her with Dean’s eyes - another Winchester picking her up when she fell.
She trudged down the hall to the bathroom, a robe hanging over her arm and her toiletry kit in her hand. The walls were spinning slower than a merry-go-round, twirling to the “March of the Imperial Stormtroopers” while her stomach roiled to a crawl - but every scream from downstairs blasted through her head with a ricochet that made the space behind her eyes throb.
Even her teeth ached.
And she had vomit in her hair.
Charlotte grimaced at herself in the mirror, brushing her teeth as hard as she could before following it up with three chasers of mouthwash. She brushed her teeth a second time, cold fingers curled around her toothbrush, until her mouth didn’t taste like it was full of beer and pretzels and bile.
Two more glasses of water, sipped slowly while Charlotte closed her eyes, made her feel human.
The walls had stopped spinning when she slipped out of her clothes and stepped into the tub.
The water from the shower chased away the chill in her toes, swirling down the drain along with the shampoo that was rinsing out of her hair, but it couldn’t do much with the memory of Amy Clark’s sneer. Charlotte swallowed, pressing her palms against the warm tiles. When she closed her eyes, she could smell Dean - could hear him grumbling about how it was impossible for such a scrawny chick to have so much hair when she worked the conditioner through the strands.
The guest room was empty when she shut the door behind her, a chorus of boys’ voices reading off the beginning of The Empire Strikes Back together while a laugh that sounded like Dean’s roared over them all.
There was a sharp knock on her door.
“Come in,” Charlotte said softly, sitting on the edge of her bed. Her toes were pink against the carpet and she couldn’t even raise her head to look at Mary Winchester when the smell of chamomile wafted slowly through the room. She was too embarrassed, between bawling into Mary’s shoulder and covering Dean’s mother with the vomit in her hair.
At least there wouldn’t have been anyone at home to smell her if she had decided to sneak into her daddy’s liquor cabinet.
Charlotte lifted her eyes when she heard the click of the lock.
Dean grinned at her with a mug of tea in his hands. “Mom said I have to make you drink this,” he said, handing her the cup. “And I’m not supposed to leave until you’re done.”
“It’s not warm anymore.”
“That’s because you washed your hair. And I bet you even used conditioner.”
Her hands were freezing. Dean sat down next to her but the heat in her belly as the mattress dipped from his weight didn’t spread to her fingers. Charlotte listened to him breathe as she took a sip from the mug; cold liquid slid down her throat but there wasn’t a rumble in her belly as it settled into her stomach.
“Dean?”
“Yeah?”
“The party.” She sucked in a breath. “I didn’ mean t’ embarrass you by bein' a jerk.” Charlotte glanced at him, waiting for him to say something, but all he did was watch her. “Or puke on your shoes.”
“It was bound to happen eventually,” he returned lightly. “I mean, between the salsa, sweet and sour sauce, hot chocolate, pizza and Coke.” Dean ticked them off on his fingers, bumping her shoulder with his when she actually laughed. The mug tipped in her hands, tea pouring right onto his lap.
“Oh, God.” Charlotte started rubbing at the spill with the edge of her robe while Dean set the mug on the night stand. “I’m sorry.”
“I look like a baby pissed on my lap.” Dean snorted. “Aren’t you going to help me out of my jeans right here and now, Charlotte Webb?” He stood up, chuckling when her eyes widened, and shucked out of his boxers along with his jeans. “Might as well fix my shirt, too, before you drool on it or something,” Dean added, pulling his t-shirt up over his head.
“But your dad said…we’re supposed t’ stay in our own rooms.”
It didn’t even keep his socks from ending up on top of his jeans.
“My dad also said to not to drink at Chris’ party but that didn’t keep you from downing your body weight in Budweiser.” He lifted her face to his, a hand on her chin, and smiled. “You’re just lucky that my mom likes you. She’s going to kick my ass if I don’t bring you downstairs for breakfast.” Dean’s smile widened into a grin. “We’re having lots of greasy bacon and we’re going to eat it out of dirty ashtrays and - ” Her toes connected with his shin. “Hey!”
“You’re th’ world’s biggest prick.” Charlotte traced a finger down his cock, staring right into his eyes as his breath came out in a hiss. “An' you’re just lucky I don’ have a headache.”
“You brush your teeth?”
“Twice,” she murmured, her entire body blushing when Dean laughed.
Dean untied her robe, watching it fall down her arms and pool around her hands before easing her backwards against the mattress; his thighs settled on either side of hers and his hands suddenly clutched the comforter along with her hair. He studied her with eyes that tore another hole through her chest, both of them swirling in a phantom wind blowing as cold as the one underneath the street light.
“Charlotte?”
“Yes?”
“You’re not…” Dean swallowed. “You’re not anything they said…”
When his mouth brushed against her collarbone, tongue flicking out against the pulse at the base of her neck, she believed him.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
He didn’t want a big production, protesting when Charlotte scratched his belly and sang ‘happy birthday’ with an off-key warble that made Dean whine about his eardrums bursting from the pressure, but he didn’t complain when she rolled him onto his back. Her mouth trailed down his chest and Dean shivered when the tracks of her hair followed in its wake. His breath hitched when she got to ‘dear Dean’ and licked the hollow where his hip curved into his thigh, hands fisted in her hair when she finished with one tiny kiss and a ‘to you’ tacked onto the end.
She didn’t complain, either, when Dean’s hand followed one white scar between her thighs. Charlotte’s back arched as his fingers flicked against her clit. “Happy birthday to me,” he murmured into her neck. She wanted to stay tangled with him, warm underneath her comforter - pulse to pulse while they rocked together and tiny little moans bubbled out of her with every thrust, sweat-slick skin sliding across goose bumps while her fingers scratched down his back and he whispered ‘Charlotte’ like she was a holy thing.
But Rich and everyone else in Dean’s kick-boxing club had their own plans.
And she was an accomplice.
Dean thought they were going to Rich and Andrea’s apartment for a dinner party, goddamn fancy food that they were all too freaking young to eat. Dinner was actually five different kinds of pizza - every single flavor was something that Dean said was his favorite - and enough snacks to feed a small army. The party was Rich’s collection of Sleepaway Camp and presents sitting off to the side of the couch, wrapped in everything from brown paper bags to left-over Christmas wrapping paper.
His friends popped out from behind chairs and couches and other rooms in the apartment the moment Rich led them into the living room, a cacophony of voices and happy faces.
“Surprise!”
“I’m taking each one of you out,” Dean mumbled, scratching underneath his ear.
Rich snorted. “You can put your money where your mouth is tomorrow, Winchester.” He picked up a can of soda out of an ice bucket and tossed it towards Dean. “Now shut up and sit down.”
Dean snatched the can in mid-air before he pulled Charlotte down to the floor next to him, both of them leaning up against the couch while he slipped an arm around her shoulders. He chuckled when Jinks, Rich’s scruffy tabby cat, took up residence on Charlotte’s lap and kneaded her belly with a purr that vibrated through both of them. The cat hissed and ran across the room when Dean flipped open the tab on his soda and Dr. Pepper sprayed all three of them.
“Shit.” Dean wiped his hand on his jeans, watching soda drip down the can. “You okay?”
“Turnabout is fair play, right?” Charlotte giggled when Dean’s mouth quirked up. “The way I see it, we’re not even until you vom - ” He started kissing her, tongue darting past her lips, and she entangled her fingers in his hair despite the slow burn creeping up her cheeks when popcorn started pelting her arms. “Just make sure they’re not the purple boots,” she whispered against his lips. “Jimmy gave me those for Christmas.”
“Are you two going to watch the movie or not?” Vic demanded.
“Don’t get your panties in a bunch,” Dean retorted. “It’s my goddamn birthday, dude.” He swallowed what was left of his Dr. Pepper, burping as he threw the can into a nearby garbage can. “Where the hell is the remote?”
Charlotte spent most of the movie staring through her fingers, jumping whenever someone died and burying her head in Dean’s chest. “You’re such a chick,” he murmured, tightening his arm during the end credits. “Can’t even watch one horror movie without cringing and you made me sit through that Shakespeare crap with my eyes wide open. Twice.”
She laughed, blinking and stretching her arms when Andrea walked into the room with a brightly lit birthday cake. Charlotte mouthed the words until Dean poked her in the stomach and not one person cared that Charlotte sounded like she was strangling Jinks while she sang.
Presents were passed out along with pieces of chocolate cake and Dean snorted when he ripped newspaper off of the latest copy of Jugs and Charlotte poked him in the stomach with a crack about nipple density. She loved watching him open presents because the smallest things lit up his face, an old tape from a used music store or a t-shirt with funny slogans on it.
Charlotte saved her present for last.
His mouth twitched when Charlotte handed him an envelope. Dean ripped it open, pulling out two shiny tickets with The Masters of Metal printed in gold relief on them. His eyes widened when he realized what the gold letters meant, fingers brushing against the ‘Backstage Pass’ at the bottom of the ticket. Dean gently put them back into what was left of the envelope, setting it on top of his pile of presents, but he wouldn’t look at her.
Crap.
“Is it okay?” Charlotte worked her lip with her teeth. She should have waited until they were alone because Dean didn’t need her daddy thrown into his face while his friends ate cake. She was an idiot. Charlotte swallowed, placing a hand on his arm. “I know how much you like Metallica and there are other bands there from your shoebox and…I think it’s the only way you’re going to ever meet my daddy.”
“Okay? You got me fucking backstage passes to a Metallica concert and you’re worried about it being okay?” Dean finally looked at her like she was crazy. “Jesus Christ, Charlotte. You’re the coolest - ” He slammed his mouth down on top of hers and Charlotte wrapped her arms around his neck, locking them tight at the elbow.
They didn’t stop kissing, even when someone dumped an entire bowl of popcorn over their heads.
Move on to Part Three.
A/N:
MapQuest has been an online presence since 1996. As this story takes place in 1998, it is entirely feasible that our anal-retentive heroine would have, in fact, prepared a travel map in advance.
The quote in the scene where Dean and Charlotte drive to Lawrence is Iron Maiden’s “The Wicker Man.” I modified the song lyrics just a teensy bit to make it reference the Winchesters (brothers and their father) instead of the original “brothers and their fathers.”
I did attempt to research the actual street on which the Winchesters lived while in Lawrence and came up with nothing. While I was sorely tempted to use the irrepressible quellefromage’s suggestion of Hotass Avenue, it wasn’t as authentic as I wanted the name to sound - resulting in my use of a street on which my husband used to live because it wasn’t boring. Besides, I couldn’t resist using a name that referenced Herne the Hunter.
If you’ve never listened to Miranda Sex Garden or The Medieval Baebes, you really should.
Chris McDonald was originally going to be Chris Kane…but it occurred to me that Chris Kane was a real person and would have broken some of the flow of the story. I felt odd making Lindsey McDonald one of Dean’s friends from high school and, since I didn’t want to tag the story with cross-over on top of everything else, Chris McDonald was my compromise.
Being the research geek that I am, I actually found a calendar for January 1999 and discovered that Dean’s 20th birthday takes place on a Sunday. Not only was it cute for Charlotte to wake Dean up with sex and a song, it was also canon based on what I established in The time I like is the rush hour. Do it with me: \0/
The Sleepaway Camp series are some of the silliest horror movies I have even been forced to watch and the over-the-top ending for the first movie still makes me snort whenever I hear the phrase “She’s a he!”