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Charlie was a conundrum. Castiel had only spent significant amounts of time around a few certain humans, and it was safe to say that Charlie was unlike any of them. She was at times hyperactive, spoke in far too many references, and flirted as much as Dean did with pretty girls. But she was also caring, and fiercely protective of the WInchesters, as well as himself. It was odd, as he’d only known her for a day.
She’d brought coffee (heavenly stuff) and then shoved him into the bathroom to get dressed and clean up after his long night. He tried the jeans, finding that they fit well enough, although the fabric was more constrictive than he was used to, and emerged from the room to Charlie declaring they were going out to lunch.
Castiel grabbed a few of his pain pills, and followed her out to the car. She got in, and then slumped a little when she looked at the dashboard.
“Blerk,” She muttered. Castiel looked over curiously. “I’m almost out of gas.”
“You’re upset. Cars need fuel to run.” Castiel said, and Charlie blew out a gust of air so that her bangs fluttered on her forehead.
“I’m not upset so much as annoyed. I literally filled up two days ago. And having to stop just to fill up is time consuming.”
Charlie put the car in drive, and pulled out of the motel parking lot. “It’s alright, I’ll just do it on the way to wherever we’re eating. What do you feel like?”
Castiel blinked at her. Then assuming she meant food, and not his general state of wellbeing, which she’d already asked about, he answered.
“I have limited experience with human foods.”
Charlie pulled into a gas station, and got out to pump, leaving the window down so that she could still speak to him.
“Well, have you tried anything so far that you want again, or do you want something new?”
Castiel stared across the parking lot at another woman pumping gas. There was a dog in her front seat, and often she’d stop to scratch at it’s ears through the window.
“I don’t know.” He said, turning back to Charlie after what was probably a too long pause.
Charlie, finishing at the gas pump, and coming back into the car stopped to push her hair
back.
“Okay, well...how about Chinese?” She gestured at a small, run down looking building across the street. He didn’t have any objections. He’d enjoyed a few days passed in China through the centuries. He’d always found their philosophies engaging.
They got lunch, receiving bowls full to the brim of noodles, rice and various concoctions of vegetables, and meats. He particularly liked the orange chicken, while Charlie favored the moo shu pork. Charlie apologized for taking him to “American Chinese” and not good chinese, which was ridiculous, because he thought it was very good, and because since it was prepared in the United States, it was american chinese, and he didn’t see why that should be a problem.
They ate in silence for a moment, and then Charlie lifted her chopsticks towards him.
“So, you totally don’t have to, but what’s your story?” Castiel looked down at the tabletop, putting his own chopsticks down on the surface. Charlie’s eyes widened. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. It’s just the books don’t say much, and Dean has barely said anything about you--”
“What do the books say?” Castiel looked up at her, feeling the chinese food churn in his stomach. How far in his past did the prophet write? Did she know all he’d done?
Charlie blinked.
“Well, the published hard copies went up to Dean going to Hell. The ebooks go from you rescuing him to Sam defeating Lucifer, and then they just stop.”
Castiel stared, his stomach now swooping in something like relief. That meant everything since then; his deal with Crowley, his betrayal and theft of power, and his actions as a false god were unknown. Charlie wasn’t aware of his sins.
She was looking at him, concern on her face, at his probably blatant look of relief.
“Castiel? You okay?” She asked, swallowing her bite of pork. Castiel nodded, and a new feeling washed over him, a sinking in his chest, a bitter tension. Disappointment. He’d hoped that she’d known the worst all along, ever since the books came up. He’d wished that she already knew he was a monster, and was choosing to care for him anyway. If she didn’t know, than her help, her affectionate manner was only based on her impression of him from those books. He’d been the being who’d helped avert the apocalypse, who’d ripped out his grace to help humanity, who’d rebelled against Heaven because Dean had asked him to. That shining creature could conceivably be called a hero, at least to Charlie’s eyes, as a purveyor of stories. It was an excellent story, with a good cast of characters, but she didn’t know that one of them had gone mad and ripped up the world. She didn’t know.
“No, I’m actually not okay...” Castiel said, drawing Charlie’s eyes, and holding her gaze. Some sick part of him wanted to see her horror grow, her faith in him break. “There are things you don’t know about me. Things I’ve done.”
Charlie sat back. “Woah, I’m not a confessional, dude.”
Castiel shifted, feeling frustration rise up. “But you’re helping me, and you think I’m some sort of hero, but I’m not. I’m about the furthest thing from a hero that you can get.” He was aware of his voice growing more strained, his eyes widening, trying to get her to understand, to run. She needed to know the truth, so she could leave him in good conscience. “Sam shouldn’t have asked you to help me.”
Charlie put a hand out, placing it on his arm. “Okay, okay, calm down.” He shook her off.
“You don’t understand, Charlie. I’m...I’m not--”
“Look...Whatever it is you’ve done, Dean knows, right?” She said.
Castiel nodded, closing his eyes.
“He knows.” Most of it, anyway. He’d not gotten up the courage nor had the time to tell him
much about his time with Naomi, but Dean knew enough.
“Alright. And he’d forgiven you, hasn’t he?”
Castiel opened his eyes, but could only move his gaze to the half full bowl of cooling food. He couldn’t imagine eating it now.
“He’s said so. But he was so angry right before, I don’t think he has completely.”
“You don’t get that sad, or angry over people you don’t care about.” Charlie said, her voice soft. Castiel glanced up, as she leaned forward, her own food also forgotten. “Honestly, he will be mad. He’ll be furious we’re lying to him, and you know that. But, Castiel, I think what Dean really wants is a chance to fix it.”
Castiel wanted to believe it. His throat tightened at the thought that maybe maybe someday, he and Dean could be alright again. It was harder than it should have been to regain control over his emotions. Finally, after a long pause, he blinked up at Charlie. She smiled.
“You okay now?” She asked, now looking a little nervous, where she’d been only calming and confident before. He was struck again by how strange and amazing this girl was. He’d met her yesterday, and she already felt this need to be sure that he was fine. He found himself wanting to know more about her.
“I’m fine, thank you.” Castiel said, and Charlie smiled wider, and picked up her chopsticks again. Castiel decided against his, the congealed meat looked rather unappetizing. “What about you? What’s...your story?”
He felt a rush of gratitude when she shifted excitedly, and cleared her throat. “Well, I’m no angel of the Lord, but I’ve had a few adventures. One time, I even saved the damsel in distress.” She tilted her head, “And the Winchesters...”