Theme Prompt - Don't Go

SPOILERS FOR 10x21, DARK DYNASTY




They were too late. Even though they’d gotten here as fast as they could, hearts pounding within their chests as hope and worry squeezed, even though Dean had more than doubled the speed limit. They were too late and she was gone. Gone as if she’d never been, the sunshine snuffed out with clouds and shadows.

He’d known, as soon as they’d seen the broken-open motel door and the mess the main room was. But she wasn’t here and a small part of him had hoped. But there was still one more room to search. The door to the bathroom gaped open, a toothless monstrosity that mocked them with the darkness within. It was so quiet in the room only broken by the cracks of thunder outside. Even the lightning that flashed didn’t illuminate the bathroom, not completely. Not enough to show whether it was empty or not. They’d have to go to the door, maybe even all the way inside.

By unspoken accord, the stopped in the doorway to look in. The lightning chose that moment to flash again, bringing the bathroom into stark relief for just a few moments. But it was enough. They saw Charlie, bloody and broken, in the bathtub. Dean heard Sam retch behind him as they both lowered their guns.

“Charlie?” Sam asked, voice breaking and nearly breathless with pain. After that one word, he turned away and hurried outside. Over the sounds of rain and thunder, Dean could hear Sam vomiting up what sounded like everything in his stomach. Sobs mixed in with the sounds, heartrending and painful to hear.

“No, don’t go,” Dean whispered as he stood frozen in the doorway. His fingers were loose on his gun but, even now, his instincts wouldn’t allow him to drop it. Good thing, too, as his instincts were the only thing keeping it in his hand. The bulk of his mind was absorbed in studying Charlie for any signs of life. The Mark on his arm burned, fire lancing it way up to his shoulder and over to his heart. It was reacting to his anger and grief, claws hooking into him and tempting him. He wanted to howl his rage to the sky, wanted to rend and tear and bathe in the blood of whoever had done this. The ringing of his phone made him jump and distracted him just enough from the Mark to get a hold of himself.

“Yeah?” Dean asked, voice hoarse as he answered the phone.

“Charlie, is she...?” Castiel trailed off, the question implicit in his voice.

“She’s... she’s gone, Cas,” Dean choked out, gritting his teeth as rage surged again. “That one-armed bastard killed her and dumped her in a shitty motel bathtub. I’m going to fucking kill him.”

“Where are you?” Castiel asked. “Tell me where she is.”

“The Blackbird Motel,” Dean said then hung before Castiel could speak again. He didn’t want comfort, didn’t want Cas to absolve him or tell him it wasn’t his fault. It was. Charlie was dead because Sam had asked her to help translate that damn book that should have burned in order to help him. Charlie was dead because she got to close to them, in too deep. And he should have stopped her. Should have had the strength to tell her not to help anymore because it would just get her dead.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice came from the door behind him. “We... we gotta take her out of here. Give her... give her a h-hunter’s funeral.”

“Cas is on his way,” Dean said dispassionately, still staring at Charlie’s body with phone and gun both forgotten in his hands. “We’ll wait for him. Why don’t you go back to the bunker and get the pyre ready?”

“You- you sure you want me to leave?” Sam asked, confusion in his voice. He swallowed hard as he walked back over to Dean’s side, conspicuously avoiding looking into the bathroom. “You gonna be okay alone with her?”

“I’m sure. Get out of here, Sam,” Dean can’t even look at Sam, can’t stand the feeling that he wants to rip Sam’s face off for even getting Charlie involved in this mess. He listened to the quiet footsteps leave the motel room and only relaxed, just slightly, when the rumbling purr of the Impala’s engine faded away.

Sagging against the doorframe, Dean slipped his phone back into his pocket and holstered his gun. It wouldn’t help, not here. Besides, he’d much rather use his bare hands if anything came back. It would be much more satisfying. The memory of the snap and give as his fists landed on flesh was a visceral pleasure that the Mark purred at before urging him for more. Dean fought it, for now. He didn’t want to be the mindless beast the Mark was calling for when Castiel got here. He had to appear calm or Castiel would never let him leave.

An interminable time later, in which the sight of Charlie’s body lying in the tub burned itself into his eyes all over again with each lightning flash, another engine sounded in the parking lot. It was familiar, though not as rumbly as the Impala. Dean didn’t bother to go out and check, just waited for Castiel to come in. Besides, most of his strength was going to fighting the Mark. Running footsteps halted just beside him and he heard Castiel suck in a surprised breath when he saw Charlie. Funny, angels didn’t need to breathe. Maybe being human had left behind indelible marks.

“She’s gone,” Dean repeated, voice barely able to be heard over the sound of the rain. “We didn’t make it in time.”

“I might be able to help,” Castiel said, putting a hand on Dean’s shoulder. He almost flinched at the rage he could feel in Dean, the fire from the Mark that seemed to burn his palm. “I’m still not back to my full strength but... I can at least try.”

A glimmer of hope grew in Dean’s heart and he nodded silently. If there was anything Cas could do.... He stood up straight and watched avidly as Castiel knelt next to the tub. He reached out to Charlie, one hand on her forehead and the other on her stomach. A bright glow emanated from his hands, a glow that put the lightning that still flashed to shame. Dean held his breath as Castiel worked at healing Charlie, the light never winking or fading. Slowly, ever so slowly, the blood started to fade away from Charlie’s clothing. The cut in her belly closed, the edges sealing and the line fading away as if it had never been. Castiel panted as the cut finished closing, fingers trembling with the effort of the healing. This was almost more than he could handle, probably was more in all honestly. But he wasn’t going to stop. Not when he could help.

Between one heartbeat and the next, the light from Castiel’s hands winked out and he slumped over. Dean rushed forward, dropping to his knees and catching Castiel before the angel toppled all the way over onto the floor. Propping Castiel up on his shoulder, Dean looked at Charlie with bated breath. She wasn’t moving, didn’t look to even be breathing. All the blood was gone and the only evidence of her death now was the rent in her clothing. She appeared to just be sleeping. Dean looked away, tears pricking his eyes as the Mark fed on his grief again. It hadn’t worked. It wasn’t enough.

“Dean, I’m...,” Castiel started to say, the same grief Dean was feeling in his voice. But he was cut off at a small cough. It happened again, a hacking cough as if someone was remembering how to breathe. They both looked up at Charlie again.

“Hey guys,” Charlie said weakly, shifting in the bathtub as she tried to sit up. “What’s doing?”

“Charlie!” Dean said, feeling a grin break out over his face. He reached for Charlie and grabbed her hand, checking her pulse to make sure she was really back. Her pulse was strong against his fingers and her breathing evened out as the seconds passed. “You’re back.”

“Let me tell you, that was not a pleasant trip,” Charlie said dryly, looking down at her stomach and running a hand over the unmarred skin. “I don’t like getting stabbed. It hurt a lot. How did I come back?”

“I healed you,” Castiel told her. He pushed away from Dean and stood up, smiling down at Charlie before offering a hand to her. “I wasn’t sure it would work but I’m glad it did.”

Together with Dean, Castiel hauled Charlie to her feet and helped her out of the tub. Once out, she looked at the remains of a tablet underneath the sink. It was broken, though Castiel wasn’t sure how. Maybe in the fight? Charlie sighed then smiled.

“I translated the Book,” she said with no preamble. “Before the one-armed mouthy dingus battered my door down, I’d found the key to the cipher and emailed it. I smashed my tablet so he can’t get it. We can cure you, Dean. We can get the Mark off you.”

“Great,” Dean mutters, starting to lose the battle against the Mark. It had gotten a taste of rage and kept wanting more. And he was of a mind to feed it. You don’t hurt his family and get away with it. “Cas, take her back to the bunker. Charlie and Sammy can get to work on that.”

“Where are you going?” Castiel asked, narrowing his eyes at Dean. He knew what the Mark was doing, had felt it when he’d touched Dean.

“To deal with some unfinished business,” Dean replied, snapping the reply over his shoulder as he left the motel room.

Castiel wanted to run after Dean, to stop him from whatever the Mark was goading him into. But Charlie sagged at that moment, falling into his side before nearly going all the way to the floor. She was in no shape to make it back to the bunker on her own and was still weak from dying. He picked her up easily and headed out to the gold Continental parked just outside the door. Over Charlie’s protests, he settled her into the seat and closed the door firmly. Then, a few minutes to pack up Charlie’s meager belongings and stow them in the backseat and they were on their way. Any more delay would likely result in being questioned by the police that were bound to show up soon.

They were both silent on the ride back to the bunker. Charlie stared out the window into the rain-soaked night and Castiel didn’t want to interrupt her thoughts. She had a pensive look on her face mingled with a little bit of what he thought might be nostalgia and sorrow. Whatever she saw while she’d been dead was still with her. They made it to the bunker without mishap and Castiel carried her inside, over Charlie’s protests again, when her legs started to fold under her as she got out of the car.

Sam was sitting at one of the wooden tables with a half-empty bottle of whiskey at his elbow. He was just lowering the empty glass from his third shot when he looked up at Castiel’s footsteps. Seeing Charlie, Sam’s mouth dropped open in shock and he bounded to his feet. The whiskey hadn’t quite hit him yet so Sam’s footsteps were steady as he met Castiel coming down the stairs. With tears tracking down his face, Sam pulled Charlie from Castiel’s arms into a tight hug, burying his face in her hair. He kept murmuring “I’m sorry” over and over again while Charlie rubbed his back and made soothing noises.

It wasn’t until several minutes later that Sam finally let go of her. This time, when Charlie tried to stand her legs held her up. They all settled around the table Sam had been sitting at while Castiel explained what had happened. That was when Sam noticed Dean wasn’t with them. A flash of worry burned through his gut, worry and guilt. What was Dean doing and was it really Dean anymore?

-------------------------------------------

Dean didn’t know where the Frankenstein bastard was but he knew he would find him. The Mark demanded nothing less. He walked until he was completely soaked through, trying to think like his prey. Where would the man go? His accent was definitely southern so he wasn’t from around here. A sharp grin that was all teeth suddenly spread over Dean’s face. So the man was likely wanting to go home, right? The Mark purred almost in approval of Dean’s thoughts. It wanted to tear into flesh as much as Dean himself did. It didn’t care why, just that Dean did it.

He took several deep breaths, reminding himself that no matter what the Mark wanted when he found his prey, he had to wait. The prey would lead him back to his nest and Dean would be able to paint the world in enough blood to drown it. Then the Frankensteins wouldn’t be a problem for anyone anymore. No matter how much surgery they’d done on themselves, they wouldn’t be able to stand against his fury. Not for killing his family. Not when the Mark wanted their blood. Nor did it matter what he would be when it was done. Sammy and Castiel both knew they’d likely need to take him out at some point, no matter what happened with the Book of the Damned. They knew he didn’t want to live as a demon again. He could give into the bloodlust knowing his fate was sealed. There was no going back now.