Any Chance Collision - Part Three: I'm waiting for ignition
Part Three: I'm waiting for ignition
Word Count: 9928
Overall Pairings: Dean/OFC (HET)
Overall Rating: NC-17 (This Chapter: NC-17 - Language, 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 provided much squee. 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
Somewhere between making chocolate chip cookies and Shakespeare in Love, Charlotte had become Sam Winchester’s secret key to a heart-shaped box.
He called her one night when Dean was at kick-boxing practice, overflowing with questions about Angie Delucca that Charlotte couldn’t answer.
She couldn’t tell Sam that she had never been that normal girl, the one who needed help with algebra and giggled over chocolate pudding at lunch. Sam didn’t know that Charlotte was the girl who hid in libraries, eating sandwiches stuffed with so much strawberry jam that she spent most afternoons wearing her uniform sweater just to cover up the stains.
It was too late to stop the conversation when Dean came back early, falling down onto her bed and pulling Charlotte into the crook of his arm.
The only thing harder than talking to Sam about girls was the way Dean’s body jerked when he heard Sam on the other end of the line but his arms relaxed and Dean chuckled into her hair when Charlotte mentioned her paper on the philosophy of John Lennon.
Everything would have been okay if she was a normal girl, a girl who could give the right answer instead of saying something stupid.
Charlotte swallowed past the ache when Sam started screaming about how being Dean Winchester’s younger brother sucked loud enough for his older brother to make out the words. Sam didn’t stop, yelling about how he was sick of proving himself to the younger sisters of all the girls Dean screwed in high school. When Dean’s entire body tensed against her back, Charlotte ducked off of the bed before he ripped the handset right out of her hands.
The phone line was too small to contain each sentence that Sam hurled at her, roaring about promises and rings and the bimbos that Dean would fuck instead of real girls, a truth that made Charlotte’s heart pound even when the words ‘not every girl needs a ring to make a promise’ dropped from her lips like stones.
It was Maggie’s refrain all over again, spilling out of the mouth of a shaggy-haired boy in high school.
Words are important, Charlie-bean.
“Sam,” Charlotte said, her voice keeping time with the throbbing at her temples. “It’s not fair that people judge you because of your brother.” Dean’s head whipped in her direction, eyes narrowed into slits. “But - ”
It was another wrong answer, reducing Sam to a shout that was so loud Charlotte couldn’t even make out the words.
Charlotte waited until Sam took a breath and sighed. “It’s hard when people don’t understand you.” She could feel Dean’s eyes scratch into her back while she paced in front of her desk. “But if that girl won’t give you the time of day because of a stupid ring, she’s not worth it,” she added. “And that has nothing to do with your brother.”
Sam slammed down the receiver, his screams replaced by the buzzing dial tone.
Dean smirked at her, hopping off of her bed like it belonged to him. “Well,” he said. “You showed him.”
Did you see that prissy bitch he walked in with? He’ll have to unlock her knees just to remove the stick.
“Don’t even start, Dean!” Charlotte twitched as he put his arms around her, shoulder jerking up into his chin when he tried to nuzzle into her neck.
“What the hell?”
“That party you took me to on New Year’s Eve?” It all made sense with Sam’s words swirling around in her head, all of the looks and every single comment about the librarian girl in her clunky boots and old-fashioned glasses. Maybe none of it mattered and maybe it would hurt even more after she asked the question but she had to know. Charlotte took a deep breath. “How many of those girls did you…”
“Screw in high school?” Dean shrugged his shoulders. “A lot of them.”
“Oh.”
Charlotte started shaking, closing her eyes when Dean flipped up Tina McDonald’s plaid skirt and brought his mouth down on pale white thighs; not one scar peeked through his fingers like crazy latticework when he opened Tina’s thighs and sucked through her white cotton panties. Charlotte swallowed when Dean pulled down the low neckline of Amy Clark’s dress, mouth encircling one of her perfect pink nipples on a perfectly tanned breast while his big hands inched the dress past her perfectly smooth abdomen.
She shook her head sharply.
“It’s not like I kept a scorecard,” Dean snapped, his voice just as sharp as his little brother’s had been right before he hung up on her. There was nothing soft in his eyes or the lines of his face, just a hard crease between his eyebrows from the scowl. “And it’s not like you’re all pure and stuff to be judging me.”
“I’m not - ”
“Yeah?” Dean glared at her, folding his arms across his chest with a twitch in his cheek. “You’re telling me you can answer that same question.”
“Two,” she replied immediately. Dean’s eyes widened like she had slapped him but she had never been the girl that some hot guy screwed in the back of his car for three hours. She had never been a quickie in the bathroom at a party full of idiots drinking and screaming and listening to goddamn classic rock. “Including you.”
And she had never felt more like a freak.
“Oh.” Something like an apology shimmered across his face until their eyes met and his darkened. “And why the hell were you talking with Sam behind my back.”
“Behind your back?” She sounded more like a fishwife the longer Dean glared at her. “You were in the room.”
“Still didn’t give you any right to talk to my little brother.”
“I didn’t know I needed permission to talk to someone. So when your mom calls I should just tell her that you don’t want me talking to anyone in your family and hang up? You’re such a prick!”
“Sounds to me like you were butting in between two brothers.”
“Sam called me, Dean!”
“I don’t know why.” His face contorted into a twisted version of itself and Charlotte’s mouth went dry. “Pushy chick like you? Always giving your opinion about what I should do or how I should act. What the hell does it matter who I screwed in high school? I don’t even remember half of their names!”
It was Miles’ refrain all over again, spilling out of the mouth that had kissed every scar.
I should have just fucked you, Charlotte. No one wants a girlfriend who’s a pushy little bitch.
“Is that what you really think about me?” Charlotte tried to make her voice sound strong, tried to make it sound like he hadn’t just ripped her heart out and stomped on it, but she had never been able to hide anything from Dean. “That I’m pushy?”
“Hell, yeah!”
“Well, you’re just a real catch, aren’t you?”
All those months of pretending he was something else and Dean Winchester turned out to be another Miles Kincaid, another snake shedding his skin right after he bit her. He had no right looking like she had stabbed him in the gut just by turning on her heel. Watching him was like cutting off slow strips of skin just to see if she could still bleed.
“Why do you keep coming back?” Charlotte asked.
“Fuck if I know,” Dean muttered, grabbing his book bag and slamming the door behind him.
Charlotte didn’t even wait for him to stomp down the hall before picking up the picture Mary Winchester had taken of them on New Year’s Day, huddled around each other and a big bowl of popcorn while they watched The Goonies, and whipping it into the wall. The glass fell to pieces along with the frame and she was crying over some idiot, huge sobs pouring out of her because some jerk had made her believe that she was someone she wasn’t - someone who wouldn’t get left behind for a tour, someone who was fucking cute.
Someone who was worth a promise.
“I wish I had never met you, Dean Winchester.”
She could still hear him in the hallway, slow footsteps shuffling on carpet. Alma would chase her through the house with more than a frying pan if Charlotte Anne Webb didn’t tell Dean Winchester exactly where he could go and precisely what he could do to himself once he got there. Charlotte stormed across the room and flung open her door.
There was a hitch in his shoulders that matched her own, heavy and shaky, and Charlotte remembered how to breathe.
There was only one place she wanted him to be.
And there was only one thing she wanted him to do once he got there.
Charlotte grabbed Dean by the arm and pulled him into the room. His book bag fell to the floor when he kicked the door shut. Dean didn’t lock it, just looked over his shoulder to make certain it was closed before he pushed Charlotte backwards onto the bed.
The mattress bounced when she slammed into it. Dean popped open the button on her jeans and the metallic rip of the zipper echoed through the room. Charlotte tried to grab the hem of his sweatshirt but Dean had her jeans and panties hanging off of her knees and she bent backwards like a bow with a tiny ‘fuck’ when his tongue brushed against her clit. He worked the small bead with his lips, thighs quivering as the pulse and rush sped through her pelvis.
Charlotte was already groaning and clutching the comforter when he pushed two fingers inside.
“You like that?” he asked, a low vibration rumbling from between her thighs and into her belly.
He didn’t wait for her answer, just pulled her clit between his full lips with a suck that made her moan. Dean’s fingers were deep, a slip and slide followed by another groan when he replaced them with his tongue and she was soaring - bucking up into his face, her back arching as her eyes rolled up into her head. She overflowed against his mouth, every shattered piece of ‘Charlotte’ put back together where salt met skin.
Dean stood up with a chuckle, staring down at her with a bite to his lip and a shake of his head.
Charlotte smiled up at him. “My turn,” she said, fingers curling into the waistband of his sweats and boxers. Dean’s cock was hard and he was the one groaning when Charlotte drew him into her mouth slow inch by slow inch. Her tongue swirled and her head bobbed and his hands fisted in her hair while he rocked between her lips, a sigh and a shiver until he pushed her down onto the bed.
“I’m going to fuck you now, Charlotte Webb.” Dean knelt between her legs, eyes dark.
“Just try and keep the hell up, Dean Winchester,” she shot back, lifting her hips and opening her legs wide when he thrust inside.
There was nothing to do but hold on as they crashed into each other, throwing her head back as she swelled around him. Charlotte was soaring but it wasn’t enough to fly, want and desire and need burning through her until she begged - ‘harder, fuck you, harder’ and ‘all those girls and you can’t fuck me any faster’ roaring out of her, hips swaying up into his with a rough sob and a spasm. She was shrieking, nails digging into his ass, and Dean pounded into her faster than a jackhammer; shattering her into pieces all over again with a ‘Charlotte’ screamed into her mouth.
Both of her neighbors pounded on the wall in time to his pulse beating inside of her.
“We should fight more often,” he murmured into her neck. “You’re pretty hot when you’re pissed.” Dean chuckled low in his throat. “All those girls and you can’t fuck me any faster?”
Her entire body burned, one long flush filled with the echo of her screams. “It’s not very nice to make fun of me,” Charlotte whispered, hitching up to kiss Dean on the nose.
“Make fun of you? I’ll fight with you every day if I can get fucked like that.” He snorted. “And no girl who taunts me by mentioning all of the other chicks I banged while I’m screwing her has any business telling me I’m not nice.”
“Lucky for you,” she retorted. “I think the odds are good that we’ll fight again if we continue this thing.”
Dean’s eyes widened as soon as Charlotte’s jaw snapped shut.
Crap!
“We just had freaking hot make-up sex,” Dean said softly. Her heart started beating against her rib cage, a rush so loud in her veins that she wondered why Dean couldn’t hear it. “I think that makes this more than a thing,” he added.
“Wait.” The words tumbled around in her brain. “Are you saying you’re my boyfriend?”
“Seems to me that you just said that.” Dean’s hands slipped off her hips and curled around her backside. “Not complaining because you did.”
“Oh.” Charlotte shivered when Dean tightened his hands. “I didn’t have much luck with my other boyfriend.” She wrinkled her nose, waiting for the litany, but Miles Kincaid was no longer giving speeches in her head. “He was a jerk.”
“Worse than me?”
He had replaced everything Miles Kincaid had ever told her with whispers in the dark, with lips and fingers and the way his body surged against hers, but Dean still looked at her like the answer should have been ‘no’ - and that hurt so much that all Charlotte could do was laugh. “You apologize a lot better than he did,” she said.
“Well, the only girlfriend I’ve had apologizes pretty damn good.”
Dean’s mouth quirked up into a shy smile that meant everything - all those girls and Charlotte had been the first in the only way that mattered. Normal girls like Maggie would never understand why Dean Winchester was worth every promise, the beautiful boy who glued a broken girl back together.
Charlotte poked him in the stomach. “I think I’m the only one who knows how cheesy you are underneath that leather jacket, Dean Winchester,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck with a laugh. “But your secret’s safe with me.”
The phone rang when they started making up all over again, Sam’s apology a soft murmur on the answering machine.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Fingers rubbed her temples, cool against the skin, and her eyes fluttered open.
Charlotte stared up at the green ceiling, focusing on the white stars and glow-in-the-dark Saturn stickers that peppered the surface. Ruben, Dean’s roommate, had slapped them up there one night during freshman year and Charlotte might have smiled at the memory of Dean’s cackle when he told the story - but there was a stitch in her side and the room smelled too sweet, like she was rolling a gumdrop in her mouth.
Dean’s back flickered into her peripheral vision, his entire body hunched as he whispered into a phone, and suddenly Maggie’s eyes were looking down into hers. “Oh, Charlie-bean,” she murmured, helping Charlotte sit up. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have…”
Maggie had burst into the cafeteria with a wild look in her eyes, interrupting Jimmy and Charlotte in mid-argument about the Hero’s Quest in Star Wars. Dean showed up from out of nowhere, a wet towel in his hand, when Maggie leaned onto the table.
Your dad was in an accident. I just heard about it on the news but it’s supposed to be pretty bad.
“It’s okay,” Charlotte returned softly but she couldn’t hide the hiccup at the end. She focused on Maggie’s hand rubbing her back, slow circles as Charlotte tried to keep her breathing steady. Jimmy’s arm was around her shoulders, pulling her in close so she could curl into his chest, and she knew that she couldn’t close her eyes.
Charlotte didn’t want to see her daddy’s red car slam into a semi-truck or slide onto the other side of the highway, wheels hanging off the median as cars crashed into it one by one.
Dean turned as soon as he heard Charlotte’s voice, his face just as white as the hand around the phone he was holding. “She’s awake now, sir,” he said, handing Charlotte the headset. “It’s your father.”
She couldn’t keep her hands from shaking, couldn’t keep her stomach from blowing into freefall - especially when Dean touched her cheek and Jimmy rested his head on top of hers. Charlotte swallowed. “Daddy?”
“It’s alright, baby girl.”
Charlotte exhaled when she heard his voice. “The news said it was a bad accident. Are you really okay?”
“I’m fine.” Her daddy laughed, a low chuckle that settled deep in her chest and made Charlotte feel like she was sitting at home in front of the fireplace. “Madeline wrapped my car around a tree. She walked away with some cuts and bruises but the car is totaled, right along with my leg. Broke it in two different places.” He snorted. “We’re going to have to pull out of the tour.”
“What happened to Roberta?”
“We parted ways last month…” His voice trailed off suddenly and he coughed. “This boy of yours. He’s the same one since Thanksgiving, isn’t he? How long has it been?”
“Since September, Daddy.”
“How in the hell did I raise a girl who can hold on to a relationship longer than I can?"
“Because only an idiot wouldn’t hold onto him as long as he lets her,” Charlotte answered. “And I wasn’t raised to be an idiot.” Dean jerked, scratching under his ear and looking at the wall before Jimmy and Maggie could see the slow smile creeping onto his face. “Can I come to the hospital?”
“I’ve already been released.” He sighed. “Maddy and I are heading to France to rest and recuperate. I’d bring you with us but…”
“I’ve got mid-terms.” It came out harder than she intended, every syllable clipped. Charlotte closed her eyes, seeing the ghost in the planes of her daddy’s face - the one that watched her every time Daddy said ‘you look so much like your mother’ before kissing her forehead.
Charlotte heard his jaw clench over the phone line and it didn’t surprise her when he changed the subject.
“I want you and this Dean to have fun at the show,” Daddy said. “I’m setting you both up in a nice place for the weekend and I’m not taking no for an answer.” He sucked in a breath. “You stay happy, baby girl. I’ll call you in a couple of days once we get settled. Love you.”
“Love you, Dad - ”
Charlotte dropped her hand into her lap when she heard dial tone, still clutching the handset. Jimmy looked at Maggie over her head when Dean gently pried Charlotte’s fingers from the plastic, both of them white-faced, but Charlotte was used to the empty spaces where words ached.
“You know, Dean was amazing.” Maggie coughed into her hand, eyes flickering between Charlotte and Dean as she tried to cover up the silence when Dean set the handset back into its cradle and didn’t turn around. “He went down a list of numbers, yelling at whoever answered, until he reached your dad.” Maggie’s hand stopped rubbing her back. “And I think it’s time we make a dignified and subtle exit.”
Jimmy snorted. “Because we couldn’t have just said ‘night’ and walked out the door or anything.” He stood up and reached a hand out to Maggie, pulling her to her feet. “Let’s go, Mistress of Subtle.”
“Screw you, Durante,” Maggie snapped back as they stepped into the hall.
Dean sat down next to her on the bed, hands on either side of his hips, while she stared at the floor. “You okay?” he asked softly.
“No.” Charlotte looked at him through the fall of her hair, brushing it back behind her ear. It was tacky against her fingers. “He loves me, Dean, but there are days when he can’t stand being near me. I remind him of her.” Charlotte’s eyes burned and she looked back down at the floor. “All those songs about fire? Every single one is about my mama, how he died the night she burned.” She blinked and sniffed her hand. It smelled like gumdrops.
“Didn’t they break up?”
“Daddy says that you can’t choose who you love or how much you do any more than you can make her stay with you.” Charlotte sighed. “So he goes through a new girlfriend every couple of months trying to forget her.” Charlotte scooted backwards onto the bed, leaning against the wall and stretching out her legs. “And sometimes you can’t make your daddy want you to stay no matter how much you love him.”
Dean leaned back on his elbow and watched her, the skin too tight around his eyes.
“I…” Dean’s mouth twisted. “Sometimes I think my dad’s glad that I leave.” He shook his head sharply. “Only time he ever acted proud of me in years was when I nearly killed a kid.” Charlotte pulled Dean forward, resting his head on her lap and brushing his hair. “How fucked is that, Charlotte?”
“Don’t you work in the garage every summer?”
“Because of Mom. Not that Dad doesn’t need the help and he’s always telling me I need the discipline.”
“Oh.”
Dean twisted his head to look up at her, shadows in his eyes. Charlotte swallowed - Alma always said that even the best of families had secrets, things hidden underneath the skin that no amount of wishing could ever fix. John Winchester loved his son as much as Aaron Webb loved his daughter but words were harder to ignore when they were paired with disappointed sighs and lost aspirations scratched into hard smiles.
“He’s going to shit when I declare my major. I mean, architecture?” Dean snorted. “Dad thinks I should teach P.E.”
It was another secret whispered in the dark - the way he loved to make things with his hands, feeling the burn in his muscles when he used a hammer and nails to raise a wall or put shingles on a roof. Dean wanted to build something real, to design houses strong enough to protect people from the wind and the weather. Dean wanted to build people homes.
Charlotte loved Dean for that as much as she loved him for being a big brother, as much as she loved him for always wanting her to stay, but he wouldn’t listen to one word - not even from the girl who never wanted him to leave. Dean would just snort and ask the ceiling what he had done wrong to end up with a walking chick flick.
“I…” She swallowed, pushing her glasses back on top of her nose. The only pictures of girls with big breasts and skimpy clothes were on Ruben’s side of the room. “You’ve changed the décor.” Charlotte giggled when his eyes widened. “Ruben’s going to be pissed when he realizes you've taken down the latest Jugs centerfold.”
“That’s because there’s nothing sexier than a girl with lime jello in her hair, especially when her tits stand up to anything they put into Jugs.”
“You are such a jerk sometimes,” she said softly. Charlotte’s cheeks burned, seeing herself face-down in her dessert bowl with her hair spread around her head like a red fan, but she couldn’t stop grinning because Dean thought she was sexy. “Half those girls have breasts bigger than my face.”
“Are you questioning my expertise?” Dean returned her grin and touched her arm. “You know… We don’t have to go to that concert. Your dad was supposed to be there and - ”
“We’re going,” Charlotte snapped. It didn’t matter that Charlotte’s Webb had pulled out, that her daddy would probably never meet Dean the way things were going, but there was no way in hell that Dean wasn’t getting backstage. “Every band you want to see is still on the bill,” she added. “And my hero’s going to meet his even if I break a leg in two places getting him there.”
“Your hero, huh?”
“Only a hero would pull my face out of a bowl of jello,” she retorted.
“Yeah, I’m a real hero.” Dean sucked in a breath, tangling his fingers into her hair. “I saved you from the rampaging jello monster with nothing more than a towel.”
The shine in his eyes made her chest ache - his ‘sometimes I think my dad’s glad that I leave’ rattling inside of her rib cage against Sam’s ‘I wish Dean didn’t have to go back to school so soon.’
Charlotte Anne Webb would break her leg into pieces if it meant that Dean Winchester could spend the summer with her in a white farmhouse - and she’d shatter an arm to get Sam Winchester there.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Sabotage came from the unlikeliest of places.
She expected resistance from their parents, preparing a list of rebuttals for every argument that her daddy could muster.
The Winchesters required more finesse but Chris McDonald was her secret weapon once he got over the initial shock of Charlotte’s voice in his ear. Winchesters are taught to pay their debts, he had told her, to say please and thank you. The best way to thank them for Christmas was to open her home to their sons as easily as they had opened their home to her.
When it was time to ask their parents for permission, the Winchesters were thrilled about the idea and there was no way Daddy could say anything bad about Dean after the accident.
Dean was the one who threw the wooden shoe.
He didn’t think she was serious, joking about her finding a new boyfriend back in Georgia and Charlotte joked back about girls lining up on the sidewalk when they realized Dean was home. It got worse when he started coming up with reasons why their parents would say ‘no’ - making cracks that hid the truth, that it hurt too much to think about three months where he talked about the garage and she mentioned the books she was reading.
It hurt too much to think about three months of waking up alone.
Charlotte had never been more serious about anything in her life but Dean spent most of the drive looking at her like the whole thing was a joke, an invitation that Charlotte was going to take back the minute they crossed the state line into Georgia.
He hadn’t believed her about The Devil’s Stump, either. Dean had laughed when she first told him the name, asking if ‘turn right onto the dirt road at the goddamn stump’ showed up in her Mapquest directions, but his eyes were wide when he saw the two horns sticking up into the air. Not even her daddy knew how long ago the tree had fallen - only that it had collapsed years before her grandpa was born in a white farmhouse.
She held her breath when the eaves of the house peeked over the top of the trees. Charlotte’s Webb was back on “The Masters of Metal” bill the minute her daddy’s doctor took off his cast but there was always the hope, getting smaller every time he mentioned how much he wanted it, that Daddy would have been there to meet Dean.
A slight figure was standing on the porch when the Impala roared to a stop next to the old tractor tire her daddy had turned into a swing. Charlotte tumbled out of the car and tripped up the porch, crying Alma’s name before she had even introduced Dean. Alma was the one part of Charlotte’s life that never changed, wrapped up in pink flowery dresses and the blue eyes that had watched over her the day Charlotte came home from the hospital, and Charlotte held on tight.
When she closed her eyes, Charlotte could smell magnolias.
Slow footsteps followed Charlotte up the porch and Alma pulled away to look in their direction. “So you’re the boy that’s going to be staying with us this summer.” Alma’s voice flowed like sap from a tree, as much a part of home as the garden and the broken tractor in the back field.
“Uh, yeah.” Dean scratched underneath his ear before shaking Alma’s hand slowly. “I’m Dean. Dean Winchester.”
“Named after a rifle,” Alma observed, shaking her head. “What kind of boy you get yourself hooked up with, Charlotte Anne?” Charlotte frowned when Alma’s blue eyes focused on Dean’s chest, searching for a secret to pluck out from underneath his t-shirt.
“A nice boy,” Charlotte said, taking Dean by the hand. She squeezed her own tight, waiting for him to pull away, but he kept holding on - even when Alma stared down at their clasped hands.
“A lost boy,” Alma returned. She whistled right before she smiled. “Ready for dinner?” she asked.
The scent of rabbit stew spilled out onto the porch when Alma opened the door and walked into the house. Charlotte opened her mouth to ask Dean about whether or not he had a problem with bunnies, turning on the doorstep to face him, when his mouth pursed. “Who the hell is Alma?” he whispered.
“She was my nanny when I was little.”
“And now?”
“She’s family.”
Charlotte smiled and brushed his cheek. It was the only way she knew how to explain Alma, even though family was blood calling to blood. It was the reason why Dean would always pull that kid off of Sam. But family was more than that. It was kindred souls recognizing each other in a stranger’s face, shy girls with glasses and shaggy-haired high school students who both played Risk.
“I told you all about Alma.” Charlotte poked Dean in the stomach. “Lots of times.”
“I know, but…” Dean’s voice trailed off. “Aren’t nannies supposed to be hot chicks?” He looked so serious that Charlotte laughed and hugged him to keep herself standing. “And you’re definitely not a kid,” he whispered into her neck, dropping one kiss down beneath her ear and cupping her breasts. Dean chuckled when her nipples strained against her cotton dress, reaching for his palms.
“That boy going to help you set the table, Charlotte Anne?”
Alma was still in the kitchen when she yelled the question but they both jumped apart like she had caught them in the cookie jar.
“I haven’t set a table since Sammy turned eight.” He groaned. “Bad enough I’m doing chores but kiddie chores?” Dean snorted when she ignored him and started walking down the hall. “You do know you’re making this up to me, right?”
“You have to catch me first,” she retorted, picking up speed when her boots hit the carpet runner.
Charlotte tripped on her own shoe and flailed backwards in the archway past the pantry. Two arms came around her waist just as Alma appeared, rubbing her hands on her apron. “Caught you,” Dean said. “You’re just lucky I’m a hero because some guy you tricked into coming home with you just to do chores would have watched you fall flat on your ass.”
She wiggled out of his arms and took him by the hand, leading him to the hutch where they kept the plates. Alma watched him throughout dinner, face cracking into a smile when Dean realized he was eating rabbit and started spluttering at Charlotte about how it was bad enough that she got him to Georgia under false pretenses - but he was drawing the line at eating stew made out of animals most kids raised for 4-H.
He was still spluttering when they unpacked the Impala and brought their bags upstairs, especially when Alma pointed to a doorway. “You’re kidding, right?” Dean asked when he opened the door. He just stood there, his duffel bag thrown over his shoulder as he shook his head.
“Do I look like I’m fooling with you, Dean Winchester?”
“No, ma’am,” Dean replied automatically. Alma smiled and padded down the hall, completely missing the way Dean’s eyes narrowed into tiny daggers while he walked away. “Been here three hours and your nanny already hates my guts,” Dean muttered. “Between this and the fucking rabbit stew.” He gestured through the doorway. “I’m shacking up in a goddamn girl’s room. Chris would kick my ass if he saw the frills on the pillows.”
“I picked out those pillow shams when I was twelve,” Charlotte answered, pushing him gently into the room. She closed the door behind them. “That’s the dresser that Maisey always uses when she comes to visit,” Charlotte added, gesturing towards it with her head before setting her suitcase next to the bed. “But there’s something we need to check before you start putting your clothes away.”
“Whether or not my underwear is as pink as the walls?”
“This is serious, Dean. We need to figure out whether or not we’re both going to fit on my bed.” Charlotte eyed him up and down, a slow grin spreading across his face when the words registered. “You’re a lot bigger than Maisey.” She pulled her dress up over her head, her breath speeding up as it fell to the floor. “We might have to make…adjustments.” Charlotte blushed as she kneeled on the mattress and looked at Dean over her shoulder. “We might have to experiment with different posi - ”
Dean was already spreading Charlotte open, her panties slipped around her thighs as he licked between them. She fisted the comforter in her hands, head falling forward with a sharp cry.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Summers were full of hazy mornings and lazy afternoons, hours Charlotte had taken for granted whenever the sun warmed her shoulders and sweat soaked her dress. Alma would rock on the front porch, humming to the breeze blowing through the trees, while Charlotte lay on her belly reading George Eliot and eating an apple.
When Dean was lying next to her on the blanket, staring up at the clouds with his hands underneath his head, the apple was as sweet as pie - wet sugar on her fingers that Dean would lick off when he thought Alma wasn’t watching, shivers flickering up her arm when he pressed his lips to her palm.
It was Dean’s idea to get her on the tire swing.
She hadn’t used it since high school but Charlotte slipped inside like she was ten, all bare feet and braids and a grin that made him laugh when he twisted the tire; the rope coiled taut into a spring. Dean would only let go when Charlotte was high enough to kick her feet without her toes brushing the grass. She’d brace her arms against the rope and tuck in her legs, her hair flying out as she giggled.
They shucked peas together on the back porch, huge bowls of pods that they picked fresh from Alma’s garden. He waggled his eyebrows whenever she traced her thumbnail against the edge of the pod, opening it up just enough to pluck raw peas out with her tongue, and Charlotte poked him in the stomach every time Dean made a crack about how she could lick his pod when they were finished.
Some days it seemed like a dream, just the two of them together in the middle of the raspberry patch - a dream caught in a metal bucket full of berries.
Dean would crush them in his fingers, leaving a smear at the pulse point underneath her ear before tracing circles around a nipple, and suck the juice off of her until his lips were stained with it; fingers working inside her, opening her entire body to the sky. She would line berries up on his chest, slowly nibbling down the whole line until Dean’s hands were clasped behind her head and he was groaning and all she wanted was to feel his pulse deep inside her, to throw her head back while his nails dug into her hips.
And Charlotte would ride him slow, leaning down to lick sweat and sweet off of his skin, and every noise she drew from his mouth tasted like raspberries.
But when the moon turned the old pond into a mirror that reflected the stars, she knew that it was real - that Dean was all she could breathe.
They were standing next to each other on the bank, both of them in bare feet. She squished the mud between her toes, listening to the leaves rustle in the trees and the soft splash of water pouring where the old creek fed into the pond. Full moons always made her restless, wanting to feel nothing but cool water against her scars as she floated on her back and stared up at the sky.
She pulled her dress up over her head, smiling at Dean when she shimmied out of her panties and ignoring the chill in the air. He returned her grin along with her dare, throwing his clothes right on top of hers.
Charlotte dipped her toe in the water and Dean snorted in her ear, a split second warning before two hands pushed her into the pond. She tried like hell to bite back the scream as her body slammed into the water but it was cold, goose bumps spilling across her arms and her back.
Finding her footing was as easy as breathing and she tossed her hair backwards to get it out of her face. Dean popped up behind her, another splash of water against her back replaced by warm skin when he wrapped his arms around her waist. Charlotte shivered when he brushed both nipples with his palms, rough skin against smooth, and she leaned back into him with a sigh as Dean began sucking the nape of her neck.
“I love you,” Charlotte said softly, reaching up to touch his cheek.
He didn’t say anything, tightening his arms and pulling her into his hips - but Charlotte Anne Webb turned into a mermaid every time she closed her eyes and wished. She slid out of his grasp and underneath the water, making for the farthest bank with a kick and a turn against the low current. She could feel the water glide against scales, the stars that caught the tip of her tail when she flipped and doubled back to swim circles around Dean.
Her breath caught when the moon reflected off the droplets on his chest and in his hair, the most beautiful boy she had ever seen covered in quicksilver underneath the bright sky, but she still splashed him as she drifted past.
Dean sputtered while she dipped back underneath the water, a grin underneath the moon. He didn’t start chasing her until Charlotte swam in close enough to touch his thigh. She soared just out of his reach, muscles warming up as he tried to catch her, but that had nothing to do with the slow burn through her belly when she popped up in front of him and plastered his mouth with hers. His eyes widened when Charlotte giggled and disappeared.
She resurfaced near the mouth of the creek, treading water while she waited for Dean to join her. He bought his lips down on top of hers, darting his tongue into Charlotte’s mouth as quickly as the fish swimming around them, but Dean pulled back with a hiss when Charlotte’s hand encircled his cock.
The current rolled around them both as she pressed herself against him, balancing with her arms and catching his waist with her legs. Charlotte managed to hold on enough for Dean to slip between her thighs but he fell over when he tried to thrust.
She grabbed Dean by the hand and swam to the bank, turning to kiss his mouth before she braced her hands on edge of the pond. Charlotte pushed up off the muddy bottom, feeling the scratch of grass against skin as she slid up onto the bank. Dean swallowed. Her body arched and her breasts reached up for the sky from a stray breeze that made her shiver, all legs and a small smile while she waited for him.
And when she swelled around him, Dean smelled like the earth and he pushed into her like a falling stone; a ripple as he surged against her, his tide lapping at her shore with a rhythm of sighs and whispers and a mouth that mapped the skin crinkling on her breasts. Charlotte traced the muscles down his back, moonlight flickering across his shoulders, and whispered his name as both of them shuddered against the grass - a quiet rush overshadowed by the wind through the bulrushes and a bullfrog’s bugling challenge.
They rolled onto their sides and she trembled, nuzzling into Dean’s shoulder. He ran a hand through her hair, staring at the wet leaves scattered across his palm like they were leeches.
“You look like one of those old fairy pictures my mom likes.” Dean grinned at her. “Except those chicks are wearing flowers and skimpy ass dresses. How come I get stuck with the girl covered in sticks and leaves?” A hand slid down her back, resting on the curve of her hip. “But the mud’s fucking hot.”
“You jerk.”
The air eddied around them, bringing with it a breeze that crept underneath her skin.
“Jesus, Charlotte. You’re freezing.”
“Only when the wind blows,” she said softly.
It didn’t matter that she smelled like fish, covered in mud and leaves and goose bumps, or that she probably had grass stains on her rear end. Dean pulled her in close, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, and what mattered was the way he was going to take her into the house and wash everything away until all that was left was Charlotte and Dean - twisted up in cotton sheets while his heart beat underneath her fingertips and the moon glimmered through the curtains.
“Do you want to move in together?” She touched his lips. “When school starts?”
Dean didn’t say anything, just stared at her before pushing her hair away from her face.
“I mean, you practically live in my dorm room.” She bit her lip. “And I… I have a trust fund. I want to use it to get an apartment close to campus this year. If you were with me…” If Dean were with her, it wouldn’t matter if she tripped all the time and ended up with yellow and pink stripes from her highlighters on her hands. “We could get a bigger bed and find a place with a little backyard so you can practice kick-boxing when the weather’s nice and we’ll never have to share a bathroom except with each other. It’ll be…”
Perfect.
Except that she had messed up again, said the wrong thing at the wrong time, and Dean couldn’t even look her in the face.
“Don’t care about your trust fund,” he said finally.
“I know you don’t.” She curled her hands around his neck, hitching up to kiss his jaw. The muscles clenched and she sank into the grass, sharp scrapes marking her back. She should have known better, throwing her daddy’s money into his face all over again. “It’s just that…”
One day, Charlotte Anne, you’re going to find the boy whose smile slips past that wall of yours. And when you do, you need to hold on. Hold on until your fingers ache and never let him go.
Dean Winchester was slipping through her hands, even when he was pressing her into ground.
“And you always fucking sing in the shower when I’m not screwing you.” He sighed. “But I’m guessing it will make cleaning you up after spaghetti easier if we don’t have to wait for washers in the laundry room.” Dean’s mouth brushed hers. “We are going to have our own washer and dryer, right?”
“Is that a yes?”
Charlotte started scratching lazy circles on his hips, arching her back when his mouth moved to the curve of her neck.
“That would make it too easy,” Dean retorted, launching himself up off the ground. “You have to catch me first.”
Water splashed as he dove into the pond, grinning at her over his shoulder when Dean’s head broke the surface. She slipped off the bank, kicking as soon as she bobbed underneath the water, and soared towards him - a pale streak longing for his quicksilver touch. He didn’t move when Charlotte emerged in front of him, wrapping his arms around her shoulders as she slid her arms around his waist.
“Caught you,” she whispered, resting her forehead on his chest.
“You had me at ‘bigger bed.’ Thanks to you, I’m developing theories about thrusting pressure.”
Charlotte touched his cheek, everything she wanted to say trapped in her throat because Dean had her the moment she hooked his leg with her foot and he picked her up off of a cold marble floor.
But she guessed that he probably knew, the way he picked her up all over again and carried her to the shallow lip of the pond. Dean set her down on the grass like she was a precious thing, bones of glass and skin like crystal, before blowing a raspberry on her belly loud enough to scare birds out of a nearby tree.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The guitar solo ripping through the car was underscored by the tapping of Dean’s thumbs on the steering wheel and his low voice rumbling out the words to “Enter Sandman.” He had a dopey little grin on his face, the same one he sported backstage at “The Monsters of Metal” concert.
Dean hadn’t stopped grinning since he hung up the phone two days ago, staring at the notepad with Sam’s arrival time at the bus station in Savannah scrawled across the paper in the chicken scratch that passed for Dean’s handwriting.
The bus driver had the storage doors open when the Impala rolled to a stop along the sidewalk, handing duffel bags and suitcases to people calling out ‘mine’ with outstretched hands. Sam was already standing to the side of the crowd, a duffel bag in his hand and a backpack slung over his shoulder - four inches taller than she remembered and a haircut that made girls walking by glance at him twice.
The driver’s side front door slammed shut before Charlotte had unclasped her seat belt. Dean punched Sam on the shoulder and grabbed his duffel bag when Charlotte met Sam’s eyes. They stared at each other for what seemed like days, the air full of apologies over phone lines and every conversation since that night, before Sam mumbled ‘I’m sorry’ all over again and Charlotte flung her arms around his neck.
Neither of them flinched when Charlotte kissed his cheek and they pulled back laughing when Dean told Sam to watch where his hands were moving.
Sam started talking the second Dean turned the key in the ignition - about his decision to go to Stanford for college and how he was going to join the soccer team next year because he was done with physical therapy and how he had dated Angie Delucca for two weeks until a new girl named Sally Friedman transferred to school - and Sam didn’t stop until he saw the tire swing in the front yard.
His mouth hung open as he took in the porch, Alma rocking back and forth while she worked on some needlepoint.
“Not what you were expecting?” Dean asked lightly as he opened his door.
“I thought ‘the farmhouse’ was just a nickname.” Sam shook his head sharply. “Like it was a big estate or something.” He followed Dean up the steps with a bemused expression on his face.
“Charlotte grew up in Hicksville,” Dean retorted. “And this is a mansion for people who like to shoot squirrels full of buckshot every day.” He winked at Alma as she stood up from her chair. “Alma, this is Sammy. My little brother.”
“Thank you for letting me come visit,” Sam stammered, “Uh…”
“You’re family, Sam-boy. Just call me Alma.” She grabbed him by the hand and led him into the house. “You get to shack up in the boys’ room,” Alma continued, grinning at Dean over her shoulder. “The cousins use it whenever they visit.”
“What the fuck,” he muttered. Charlotte giggled and slipped underneath Dean’s arm. “Sam’s here for thirty seconds and she’s already calling him family. I shucked peas for three weeks and ate crappy ass Southern food without puking before she even cracked a smile at me.”
“You were family the minute you walked in the door.” Charlotte squeezed his hand. “Alma would have set you up in a guest room if she didn’t trust you with me.” She twisted in his arms, tilting her head up to look at him. “But you were such an ass about the stew.” Charlotte poked him in the stomach. “Screaming about bunnies after you ate three bowls and making gagging noises. Alma’s very particular about her cooking.”
“Hey… I should have…” His eyes softened. “Thanks for inviting him.”
“He’s my family, too, Dean.”
Dean wouldn’t let her go until he was good and ready, even when Alma coughed behind them in the hallway and asked who wanted to help her make ham sandwiches for lunch.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The plan for Sam’s last full day in Georgia included an overnight trip to Savannah. They got up early to spend as much time in the city as they could and Alma already had her ‘goodbye breakfast’ waiting for them when they stumbled into the dining room - stacks of blueberry pancakes smothered in real maple syrup, scrambled eggs and enough bacon to induce a coronary in a marathon runner.
Sam had a list of every used book store in Savannah and a picnic lunch that Alma had packed for them the night before, complete with a jar of preserved plums and sweet potato pie. Three of the stores were near Savannah State University and close enough to the little hotel near the bus station where they would be staying that night.
Dean probably should have waited in the Impala. He complained about the books smelling like ass and he complained about how long Charlotte and Sam were taking in the history section, how they would linger with their fingers on the spines of the books and read interesting titles out loud to each other. When Dean started opening up books with the dumbest titles he could find and making up stories, Charlotte grabbed Dean by the wrist and dragged him to the used tape section. She pushed him towards a shelving unit with ‘Heavy Metal’ painted on the top.
They could still hear Dean complaining - but he walked out with a bag full of tapes for his shoe box.
Their last stop before the hotel was the Savannah State quad for lunch. Dean carried the blanket, making fun of Sam and Charlotte swinging the picnic basket between them like they were kids. Dean threw the blanket down in a patch of sunlight, shading his eyes as he grinned at them.
“I can’t believe you two,” he snorted as Charlotte opened the basket. “That last place smelled like someone crawled up a horse’s ass and died and now you’re going to try and get me to eat something?” Dean sighed deeply.
“I think you’ll live,” Charlotte retorted, handing him a paper plate full of fried chicken.
“Can I have some of the potato salad, too?”
Dean looked so much like a kid himself that Charlotte burst out laughing when Sam passed Dean the bowl.
“So…” Charlotte nibbled on a piece of corn bread. “What’s Sally like?”
Dean groaned when Sam’s eyes lit up. “She’s awesome,” Sam said. “I met her in the library when she tried to steal my research book and we started eating lunch together after Angie dumped me. We read the same books and she’s a math genius and even Dad went to her piano recital over the summer.” He grinned, shoveling sweet potato pie into his mouth.
“Who the hell cares about that?” Dean waved a piece of fried chicken. “Is she hot?”
“Dean!” Charlotte leaned over and popped a piece of a plum into his mouth just to keep him quiet.
It didn’t work. Dean’s lips lingered over her finger and the way his eyes looked her up and down made her blush, especially when he gave a little moan and swallowed the plum.
“Well… She looked really good dressed up for her piano recital.” Sam scratched underneath his ear and looked away, a flush creeping up his own cheeks. “And we got caught making out in the A/V room at the library instead of watching some movies for our Shakespeare paper in English Literature class. Ended up in detention.”
“That’s my boy.” Dean snorted. “Least I can rest easy knowing that Charlotte wasn’t a good influence on you.” He waggled his eyebrows at her. “I bet you were never in detention.”
“I was,” Charlotte shot back. “Once.”
Dean rolled his eyes. “You’re kidding me, right? You never even thought about cheating on a test.”
“I was a senior in high school and we were reading Hamlet.” Charlotte set her plate onto her lap. “Our school used an expurgated version of the play with most of the sexual references excised and I… I told the teacher that we couldn’t understand the play without its sexual subtext.”
“Jesus Christ!” Dean choked on a mouthful of fried chicken. “I’m screwing some dorky chick who got detention for a Mel Gibson movie.”
“What about you?” Charlotte asked.
“Nope. Dad would have kicked my ass.”
“So you’re a goody-two shoes.” She and Sam smirked at each other.
“Fuck, no!” Dean’s voice went up an octave and his mouth pursed like he’d just taken a swallow of sour lemonade. “Just never got caught.”
Sam doubled over, laughing into his soda, and Charlotte couldn’t stop giggling every time Dean stuttered his way through another comeback.
When they checked into their room that night, she was still giggling and all three of them were sunburned. Dean went out for junk food once they realized there was an on-demand movie channel. They stayed up all night, lounging around on the same bed in their pajamas as they shared Reese’s Pieces and Ding Dongs and drank enough Dr. Pepper to stay awake for the next three days.
Sam found The Goonies on a local channel at 4:00 AM and Dean yelled ‘score’ loud enough to make someone pound on the wall next door and it didn’t surprise her that Sam joined in when Dean started quoting the movie, both of them imitating the voices just to see who could make Charlotte laugh the longest.
But the night didn’t last long enough to keep Sam from getting onto his bus.
Charlotte promised herself that she wasn’t going to cry when Sam waved at them out the window, arm frantically moving as his bus turned the corner, but she did anyway. Dean clutched her hand and waited until they couldn’t even hear the metallic groan of the Greyhound’s engine before he let go.
The only sound in the car was Dean’s ragged breathing and Charlotte still had the white imprints of his fingers across her hand when she wrapped her arms around her stomach and watched the scenery fly past the window, just as white as Dean’s knuckles around the steering wheel.
Saying goodbye to Alma that night was even harder.
She watched them pack the Impala from the porch, not even pretending to work on her needlepoint, but she acted like it was just any other day - making Dean help her cut up potatoes for soup while Charlotte set the table, humming along to the wind in the trees until Dean’s knife stopped thumping rhythmically against the cutting board.
Dean sucked in a breath, staring right at Alma, and his mouth twitched.
“I’m going to miss you, too,” Alma said, her voice as thick as molasses. “You’re not so lost anymore, are you?” Her blue eyes scoured Dean’s face.
“I hope not.”
“You still feel bad about that boy you hurt.” Alma sighed, setting down the ladle she used to stir the soup, and placed her hand on Dean’s arm. “Sometimes you choose the war, Dean Winchester. But sometimes the war chooses you.”
“But - ” Dean began.
It was the answer to a question Charlotte didn’t even understand and Dean’s entire body relaxed. Charlotte hugged him from behind and rested her forehead on his back.
“But nothing.” Charlotte could hear the set of Alma’s mouth, the argument that Dean wouldn’t be able to win, in the way the vowels stretched. “Sammy is family, too. Way you tell it, that bully almost killed him.”
“Yes.” Dean’s voice was barely a whisper and Charlotte planted a kiss between his shoulder blades. He didn’t see the difference between Sam being in a coma for two months and a kid who walked out of the hospital without physical therapy, even after years of his mother and his school counselor and even his own brain telling him otherwise.
“Well, seems to me you stopped before that other boy did. Seems to me that it’s about time to let that guilt go.”
Dean’s chest rattled and Charlotte tightened her arms when he lowered his head. She didn’t let go when Dean picked up the knife and started chopping potatoes. She stayed there, listening to him breathe and start humming along with Alma until the soup pot simmering on the stove was full to the rim with ingredients.
Alma finished setting the table.
Instead of spending their last night at the pond, she and Dean sat with Alma on the porch. Alma doled out moonshine in little glasses, her cheeks pink while she told stories about Charlotte when she was little - like the summer Charlotte ran naked around the farm or her sixth grade science fair project. Dean laughed when Charlotte blushed into his shoulder, her eyelids fluttering in time to the gentle sway of the swing and the creak of its metal hooks, and she fell asleep curled up next to him.
Charlotte dreamed of bulrushes and bullfrogs while the sweet scent of magnolias clung to the air, of Dean’s low laugh and Alma’s voice singing songs that her daddy didn’t even know.
There was another ‘goodbye breakfast’ waiting for them when they woke up and Alma was the one who stood and watched while Charlotte twisted out the open window and waved goodbye. The sun had risen just enough to see the shine on Alma’s cheeks as the Impala roared past the front gate.
Move on to Part Four.
A/N:
Sally Friedman for the win, people! I promised that I would put her in the story if I could legitimately figure out how to do it. *does happy dance*
Savannah State University, unlike Georgetown, does have a master degree program in Social Work. All things being equal, this probably should have been Charlotte’s primary school choice given its proximity to home but then we wouldn’t have had a story. ;-P
Greyhound, for those who do not know, is a bus line within the U.S.