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Charlie didn’t offer up any explanation for where she’d been for two days when she walked right into Dean, arms tangling in his overshirt, as if unsure whether to go outside or inside - and then just not giving a damn - as she hugged him tightly.
“Hey there, kiddo,” he said, returning the embrace. Sam stood in the doorway and Dean shot him a look of confusion. “What’s up?”
Sam jerked his shoulders.
“Not much,” Charlie shrugged, pulling away slowly, “What’s the word here at basecamp?”
“Honestly? Not a whole lot,” Dean said. “Things have been pretty quiet and we’ve been...ah...resting.”
“Cool beans,” Charlie said, “you deserve it.” She looked around to Sam and smiled, “You’re looking great - like a million times less dead.”
“Thanks Charlie,” Sam laughed a little.
“How about you?” Charlie turned to Dean again, then squinted at his face, “Where’s your scruff?”
“Ah - shaved just this morning,” Dean replied, rubbing a hand along his jaw.
“Hmm,” her head tilted a little as her eyebrows went up, “Shame, I liked it a little bit grown out - coulda sworn it was red.”
“It is,” Dean said, “That’s why I keep it down.”
“C’mon dude, if you got it, own it,” Charlie said, gesturing to her own hair.
“Leprechaun beards don’t go over so well when you’re faking FBI,” Dean said grinning, feeling ridiculously warm and fond.
Her face contorted into disbelief, “You bring Sam’s hair along and think that a little red beard is going to raise questions? No offense, Sam, I totally dig it, I’m just saying...”
The banter continued over sandwiches, until the conversation moved to tactics for the upcoming meleé and Sam excused himself with the long suffering, intellectually-holier-than-thou expression he sometimes got even though he was the nerdiest dude on the planet. Because seriously he’d taken to the whole Legacy thing like a younger version of Sam to demon blood and didn’t look like he was slowing down.
“So,” Charlie looked suddenly nervous, pulling her sleeves past her wrists and curling her fingers over the hems, “How are you? Really, though?”
Dean sat back. Shame he liked her so much. Something in her wide eyed, nervous gaze drew him in and he found himself incredibly grateful that he’d met her when he did and not before. He wasn’t so good at compartmentalizing back then, and he hated the thought that maybe he’d have taken out his anger, hurt, depression, etc on her. And she didn’t deserve it.
He licked his lips, looking away and trying to gather his thoughts.
“Sam tell you about the other night?”
Charlie’s expression shifted for a moment, then she said, carefully, “In the woods?”
“...yeah.”
“He told me - showed me, actually.”
Dean bit his lip, looking away.
“Look, Charlie -”
“It’s ok, Dean. You don’t have to explain to me - just...” she fidgeted again, brows pulled in as if choosing her words very carefully, “You’re not alone? Okay? And...this isn’t forever - it won’t always feel this bad.”
He let out a breathy laugh, half hopeful relief, half skepticism. “You think so?” he asked, teasingly.
“I know so,” Charlie said confidently, straightening up, “I don’t pick weaksauce handmaids.”
“Fair enough, your highness.”
“Damn straight!” she said, sitting back, arms folded.
He nodded and looked down to his hands on his lap. They were still tender and blistered, but healing. Maybe he wasn’t all broken - at least not all the way.
“...Charlie?”
“Yeah?”
“...how?”
She looked taken aback, maybe a bit panicked, “What do you mean?”
“How?” he repeated, sitting up in his chair, “How am I supposed to do that? I’ve got about zero experience in successful emotional management and this one’s fixing to be in the greatest hits. I can shove it down or take a swing at a tree but I dunno when that stops being suppressing or dealing or whatever and starts fixing it.”
He knew he probably looked crazy. Desperate, lost - and he was. He’d played this game with Dad, with Sam, with Cas before and he couldn’t, couldn’t do it again. He didn’t want to do it again. He didn’t want to drown in other peoples’ mistakes, no matter how much he loved them. Not that he thought he was innocent in this whole thing - he knew better than that - but he wasn’t going to sit here and pretend like it was still his responsibility to shut up and clean up everyone elses’ mess.
Charlie looked mildly confused.
“I mean,” Dean pushed on, throat working to find the right sounds, “I’ve been down this road before. And I don’t want to lose myself again. When he - when Cas - came back...he wasn’t right. And we knew it. But it was good to have him, you know. We both survived, bygones be bygones, all that...then he disappeared, again...and we both prayed, and I prayed so damn hard. And then he comes back out of nowhere and he’s still...just off. Turns out Heaven was screwing pretty bad with his head and he tried to kill me.”
“What?”
Dean started slightly, and looked up to find Charlie giving him a look permeated with shock.
“He tried to kill you?”
“Uh...yeah,” Dean shifted. “We were trying to get to the angel table before the winged dicks could. Once we got in there...I dunno how, but they got into his hard wiring and it took - well he smashed my face in pretty good, broke my arm...but he pulled out of it in time.”
“Oh,” Charlie, “wow...okay - any clues as to how he pulled out?”
“Not really,” Dean said, “he was beating me something fierce and I was trying to reach him- you know - talk to him and see if I could get through - I mean it wasn’t Cas. and I told him he was family, that I needed him...and he stopped...”
Charlie’s head was tilted, her eye squinting. “And that’s when he stopped?”
Dean nodded. “Yeah, dropped his angel blade, healed me up and hit the road. Said he had to protect the tablet.”
“Okay, rewind,” Charlie straightened up, “Dude’s beating the crap out of you, but stops when you said you needed him?”
“Yes,” Dean answered slowly.
“Okay...there’s your answer!” she exclaimed, “This isn’t the first time this has happened to you...it’s actually a disturbingly regular occurrence.” her expression faded and she looked around, mouth moving slightly, as if solving a complicated math problem in her head.
“Sorry - what?”
She rolled her eyes, then focused them back on him, “People - your family, friends, whatever, overcoming possession, or, in this case, some pretty heavy reprogramming because they love you. It’s not rocket science, Dean. People care.”
Dean just stared at her.
She sighed, and sat forward, putting a hand on his knee, “You kinda wear your heart on your sleeve. Just because other people don’t - your dad, Sam, Bobby, Castiel - doesn’t mean they don’t feel as deeply as you do, or love you just as much. Overcoming possession or reprogramming - that says a lot about the lengths people have gone, and will go to keep you safe. Does that make sense?”
He nodded, slowly, “So what does this mean...in the whole scheme of everything. I mean I know he cared...he...made it pretty clear right before he took off the last time, I mean -- a few days ago, you know. But there was still a lot of stuff between us. I still hadn’t forgiven him, much less figured out how to be in the same room with him when we took off for the Hell-Trials finale, and...”
“He’s not human, Dean,” Charlie said uneasily, “yeah, he played the part pretty good. He had plenty on his plate, by the sound of it - wasn’t really there, all the way...and that’s just to do with the tablets and Heaven and crap - but as far as you go...he didn’t know, probably, how to respond. Angel of the Lord, all that - there’s a difference between useful and needed. Sounds like all he ever thought was that he was supposed to be the first.”
“Yeah well he didn’t understand either very well,”
Charlie stared at him, and for the first time Dean was a little scared of her. He’d stepped out of bounds, been unfair and her eyes weren’t so innocent and warm anymore, but stern.
“Dean not everyone thinks like you do. Yeah, you’ve got the corner market on I-told-you-so’s but that doesn’t make you right about everything all the time. I’m not saying don’t be angry or give yourself time, but blaming won’t get you far. Everything looks black and white from where you’re sitting but newsflash - relationships take two people and chances are there’s a ton of crap you don’t know. Maybe you weren’t listening to what he was trying to say, either.”
Dean nodded, his head bowing and he felt the sting in the corners of his eyes.
“How’m I supposed to do that, Charlie?” he asked. He felt like a child, “He’s gone. and there’s a mountain of shit and I only know the half of it...how do I deal with the half I know absolutely nothing about?”
“I don’t know,” Charlie said, “You can’t force this. Maybe one day - and I’m not saying today or tomorrow I mean when you’ve cooled off enough to...you know step outside of your perspective...things might make more sense then.”
When he didn’t respond she continued, “There’s not a deadline on this, you know. Nobody’s sitting here with a timer waiting for any of this to be ok. So...so chill, okay? Give yourself more than a few days to process everything. Hate to tell you but a week’s not going to cut it.”
Dean sighed. The younger part of him wanted to tell Charlie where she could stick her psycho mumbo-jumbo, but the better part reminded him that he’d asked for it, and that she was probably right.
So he nodded, stood, and wiped a thumb gently across her face. She smiled up at him, a reassuring, sad kind of smile.
“I know.”