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Always Falling	By : elanurel Category: Supernatural > Het - Male/Female Views: 1683 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Their first Christmas wasn't exactly a Hallmark kind of thing � between Sam catching them making out on the stairs before Mom and Dad called them all down to open presents and Dean realizing Charlotte had gotten all of his presents for him and he didn't have jack to fucking give her from himself after they'd all started opening presents; it'd be fairly obvious if he left to go get her something. Sam was proud as hell when he handed Charlotte a paperback copy of Pride and Prejudice, especially when her face softened and she hugged him.
Sam's eyes were just as shiny as hers.
Dad realized it, too. Looked at Dean meaningfully as the presents around the tree dwindled and nothing was marked 'To Charlotte, From Dean' underneath it � no matter how many Dad pulled out from the pile. But then Dad started to frown like he didn't understand what the hell was going on when there was nothing marked 'To Dean, From Charlotte' either. "You two didn't get any presents for each other?" The question was ripped out of Dad by something Dean couldn't even say.
"Nope," Charlotte said. "But we're here, and it's Christmas. That's enough for me." And she said it so matter-of-factly that no one would tell her how hinky she sounded, because her gray eyes were so goddamn sincere, and the look she gave Dean made him want to jump her right on the couch and damn if they all could watch.
"Well, uh, great," Dad said, giving Dean a sidelong glance of pure amazement. Sam looked shocked as hell, too, but his eyes were shining again and Dean could see the gears working in Geek Boy's head � I wonder if I'll ever find a girl who will say that about me? Mom just smiled, a little sadly if you knew how to look hard enough, but she grabbed a hand from each of them and clasped them tightly on her lap.
Sam was staring wide-eyed at the brand new game of Risk that Charlotte had gotten him. "Cool," he whispered. "I've wanted the new edition."
"Really?" Charlotte replied. "I like the old rules better."
"I'm glad Dean brought you home with him," Sam said. "Your present kicks ass!" Dean had gotten him all of The Lord of the Rings because Sam had complained about his old books falling apart, and he'd been just as excited as he was now � until he opened the present given to him by a chick. The little geek was hitting on Charlotte. "And you can still play with the old rules using the new board," Sam added slyly, giving Dean a side-long glance.
"Dude, don't splooge all over the couch or anything," Dean said. The smack on the back of his head from Dad was so worth it.
"Splooge?" Sam wrinkled his nose. "You're a jerk, Dean! How'd you manage to find a nice girl when you've got the class of a redneck?" Dean grinned in spite of himself. It was a kick-ass comeback.
"He knocked me over in a library," Charlotte said.
Dean snorted. "What happened to 'I probably would have tripped in front of you anyway', babe?" She returned his grin. Even Dad was laughing at that.
"Figures that Dean would have to resort to subterfuge to get a girl," Sam said, eyes narrowing. Like Dean didn't know what fancy words like subterfuge meant. He leaned down and started rubbing Sam's head with his knuckles. "Hey!" Sam's legs flailed and he kicked against the floor.
"You want us to play Risk with you later, Geek Boy?"
Sam didn't even stop to think it over. "Yeah!"
"I'll need you to go out and get some whipping cream first, Dean," his mother said. "We need it for the pies. Why don't you and Charlotte go out and get some after breakfast?"
"The stores aren't open, Mom," Sam protested. "And what about Risk?" Dean knew that Sam really just wanted Charlotte to stay. Dean didn't blame him � most girls Sam's age didn't get him, but Charlotte always listened to him the same way she listened to everyone; making you feel like you were the only other person in the world when you talked to her.
"Sam, I didn't raise you to talk back to your mother," Dad said, but he was trying like hell to resist Sam's puppy dog eyes.
Mom wasn't fooled, though. "If the stores aren't open," his mother replied mildly, "They'll just come back and we'll make do with something else."
"That sucks," Sam retorted, arms folded in front of his chest. His eyes brightened when he realized Dean was watching him. "Can I come with you?"
"No," Dad said.
"You're getting over a cold," Mom added.
"Dean gets to do all the cool stuff." And that made Dean chuckle. Spending those months not knowing if he'd be going to jail hadn't been cool; scared him enough to want to change his life. Dean was pretty sure Sammy wouldn't have been too thrilled about community service, for all that Dean secretly loved it. Helping people. Sam was going to say something else, but a look from Mom just shut him up.
It was snowing a little when Dean and Charlotte finished up breakfast, and they bundled into their winter coats. Charlotte waddled out to the car, splaying her feet like a duck because she was convinced it kept her from slipping in the ice. "I'll set up the board," Sam called out after them. And he waved just as fiercely as Charlotte did when they drove off.
"Something going on between you and Sammy I should know about?" Dean didn't expect his voice to sound so gruff when he asked it, meant it as a joke.
"I wish I had a little brother like him," she returned with a sigh, but Charlotte was smiling. "I know which Winchester to catch, Dean." And she laughed. It was kind of funny, given that she was always the one falling down and Dean was always the one catching her, on his lap or in his arms or just because she was Charlotte and he was Dean. She glanced at him sideways. "You know, your mom has three containers of cream in the refrigerator."
"I think she was trying to give us some breathing space," Dean said. "I mean, Sam's been hitting on you for three days." He turned the Impala down one of the back roads near the house, one that led to some woods on the outskirts of town. Neither of them said much. Dean wondered if she'd smile at him the way that she was if she knew how many girls he brought to this spot, how many times he slid the Impala into the same clump of trees. But the snow falling was a nice chick flick addition to the moment, and he left the car running to keep it from getting freaking cold. "I'm sorry I didn't get you anything, Charlotte."
"I was serious, Dean. I'm here with you at Christmas." Charlotte smiled, and scooted towards him. It was hard not to smile back at her, especially with that goddamn pom pom hat she was wearing. She put her mittened hands on either side of his face, leaning in to kiss him. "And I don't think you realize how amazing you are," she added.
"I'm a screw up," he answered, voice gruff. "Only reason I didn't end up in jail after I beat up that kid was because his parents knew he was hurting my little brother. Kid admitted it himself."
"Dean..." She swallowed, looked him right in the eyes. "I'd have helped you." Her voice was soft. "I've only known Sam since we've been here, and I'd hold that jerk down for you."
"What?"
"He put your baby brother in a coma." She put a mitten on his arm. "That's not just hurting Sam. He could have done the same to you, and you didn't even stop to think about that."
"Charlotte..." And the way he felt when that kid was beating the fuck out of Sammy rocked through him like it was just happening, that cold fear that Sam was going to get broken and there was nothing that Dean could do to fix it. He'd fucking die before something hurt Sammy like that. "He's my little brother, and Dad always taught us that family's the most important thing you have."
"That's why I love you," Charlotte said. And she said it like she was worried he was going to laugh at her, sucking in a breath while her eyes flickered towards him. "The way you put all you are into the things you care about," she added. "When your mom got sick and then with Sam. Even with school. That's everything, Dean Winchester."
"You know what really sucks?" Dean asked, his voice light; but his entire chest felt like he couldn't breathe at all, and Dean wanted to do nothing more than just pull her into his arms � which showed he could be just as fucking hinky as Charlotte Webb. "Being in love with a girl who talks so much, you can't get her mouth to slow down long enough to kiss her," he added.
Her eyes were shining. "You didn't even try to kiss me."
"You're still talking," he answered. But then Charlotte stopped, and Dean's mouth opened to hers. She gave a little sigh, her mittens warm around his neck, and she reached up to kiss his forehead before settling next to him; breath making warm curls in the cooling air.
"Dean?"
"Yeah?"
"It's getting cold."
Dean snorted. "And that white stuff falling outside is called snow."
She giggled. "You want to go warm up in the back seat?" Her eyes were sparkling.
Dean's mouth dropped. "I thought you told me you'd never let me fuck you in the back of my crap car." He poked her arm.
"Do you want me or not?" she asked archly, and Charlotte's chin raised like it always did when she was stubborn and warning you not to push her � or maybe she just knew how freaking dorky and adorable it was all at once, and that it drove him crazy when she did it. "Because this is a one-time Christmas offer," she added with a grin.
"Oh, I fucking want you," he said softly. Dean was already hard, and he slipped off his glove � put one hand underneath her skirt, tugged down her underwear and slid a hand between her legs. Charlotte leaned back as his fingers flickered against her, and bit her lip as she bucked against his hand. But then her back arched, and she was unbuttoning his jeans � moving herself on top of him as he helped her slide them down. And then he was deep inside her, and it felt so damn good. Dean groaned into Charlotte's neck, her scarf smelling like her shampoo.
"The steering wheel's poking my back," she said, and they managed to shift just enough for her to start moving against him, thighs warm underneath her skirt, and Charlotte leaned down to kiss him � mouth as sweet as the very first time they kissed, even if she tasted like the pancakes she had for breakfast.
As she swayed against him, Dean didn't think a Christmas present could get better than a pretty girl leaning her mouth down to your ear and whispering how much she loved you while you were so deep inside of her you could feel every swell as you moved together � her low voice telling him how he'd always be her hero and that he made her feel beautiful and how being a big brother was sexy.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Charlotte was on the phone when Dean showed up after his Ancient History class. She opened the door, pecking him on the cheek, and curled back up cross-legged on the bed. She was dressed in jeans � which was pretty damn unusual � and a cute white shirt that his Mom had sent her. He kind of liked the way that the white brought out the red in her hair, better than just about any color she'd wear.
Dean plopped down on the bed next to her, pulling his history book out of the bag since she put her hand over the receiver and mouthed 'sorry' at him. He leaned back against the wall and pulled her towards him, arm around her waist as she leaned against his chest, and his eyes popped open when he recognized the voice on the other end of the line.
It was Sammy.
"What the hell?" Dean muttered. Charlotte just twisted to look up at him and shook her head sternly. She was frowning.
"...and I want to get her something before school ends," Sam was saying. "So I figured you'd know what girls like." There was a cough. "I don't want Angie to forget me when she goes on vacation with her parents."
"You met Angie in your music class, right?" Charlotte pursed her lips when Dean snorted.
"Yeah," his little brother said. "She's into all that music my dad likes. Even did a paper on the philosophy of John Lennon." Dean laughed outright at that � it figured that Sam would get the hots for a chick who wrote philosophy papers about John Lennon.
Charlotte chuckled. "I did that, too." Ah, man... Dean shook his head. One less thing to use when teasing Sam about the new chick � well, the first chick; Sammy would only come back with something about how Charlotte wrote a paper like that, too, and what did Dean really know about real girls since they were both on their first one. "Some of his lyrics are really interesting," Charlotte added when Sam didn't say anything. "Everyone thinks Imagine is some great song about Utopia but it's really very Buddhist in the way it approaches nothingness. I think that was Yoko's influence..." Her voice trailed off when Dean poked her in the side.
"Okay..." Sammy drew out the word the same way he did whenever Dean was lecturing him about how to pick up chicks.
Charlotte shook her head. "Maybe you could get her a book about John Lennon?" she suggested, cheeks bright red. It was cute as hell when she geeked out about stuff like that. "There's lots of them out there."
"Well," Sam returned dubiously. "I wanted to get her a ring or something. Allen says that girls dig jewelry."
"Do you want to get her a ring?" There was a strange expression on her face.
"I'm not Dean," Sam suddenly returned hotly, and the anger came out of nowhere. "I'd have gotten you a ring a long time ago! Promises are important."
Dean sucked in a breath, and was about to say something when Charlotte's hand grabbed onto his thigh. Where did that little geek get off criticizing him? Sam didn't know jack about chicks � the fact that he called Charlotte instead of him was proof enough of that. Little asshole...
"Sam, not every girl needs a ring to make a promise." And she still looked weird, her jaw clenched funny.
Sam's breath came out in a huff. "Well, Angie told me I was a Winchester and I needed to put my money where my mouth is. Thanks to goddamn Dean, every girl related to chicks he messed around with won't have anything to do with me. And that's like half the school!"
Charlotte's entire body stiffened. Crap on a stick! "Oh," she said softly.
"I'm sick and tired of being compared to him. Either I'm not good enough or I'm just not good!" Dean felt sick to his stomach, and Charlotte was leaning away from him. "Being Dean Winchester's younger brother sucks!"
Being Sam Winchester's older brother wasn't exactly buckets of fun. Dean tried to grab the phone but Charlotte ducked and hopped off the bed. "Sam," she said, trying to keep her voice even, "It's not fair that people judge you because of your brother." Dean whipped his head in her direction. What the hell side was she on anyway? "But �- "
She cocked her head, and Sam was screaming so loud Dean could hear his voice � even if he couldn't make out the words. She sighed. "It's hard when people don't understand you. But if that girl won't give you the time of day because of some stupid ring, she's not worth it � and that has nothing to do with your brother."
Suddenly, Charlotte was staring down at the phone and Dean heard the buzz of the dial tone when he got up to stand next to her. "Well," he said lightly. "You told him."
"Don't even start, Dean." She jerked when he tried to put his arms around her.
"What the hell?" he snapped.
"That party you took me to on New Year's Eve? How many of those girls did you..." Her voice trailed off.
"Screw in high school?" Dean shrugged his shoulders. "A lot of them."
"Oh." She was shaking.
Dean ran his hands through his hair. "It's not like I kept a scorecard." And suddenly it pissed him off � what the hell did it matter who he messed around with in high school. It's not like she was a virgin when they met. Hell, she jumped into the sack with him the very first day. "And it's not like you're all pure and stuff to be judging me."
"I'm not � "
"Yeah." He glared at her, arms folded across his chest. "You're telling me you can answer that same question."
"Two," she replied immediately. "Including you."
"Oh." But he was still bitch pissy and ready to fight. "And why the hell were you talking with Sam behind my back?"
"Behind your back?" It was Charlotte's turn to get pissed. "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 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!" Except even Dean knew it wasn't fair when he said it. But if that girl won't give you the time of day because of some stupid ring, she's not worth it � and that has nothing to do with your brother.
"Sam called me, Dean!"
"I don't know why. 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 their names!" He didn't remember half their faces, the things he did to get through the aftermath of the beating.
"Is that what you really think about me?" Charlotte's voice sounded hurt. "That I'm pushy?"
"Hell, yeah!"
"Well, you're just a real catch, aren't you?" And she turned away from him, her voice full of every damn condemnation people made about him whenever Dean Winchester screwed up. "Why do you keep coming back?"
"Fuck if I know," he muttered, grabbing his book bag and walking out the door. Slammed it behind him. Didn't get far; he heard a gulp from behind the door � followed by the sound of glass breaking � and then she was crying. Real girls were problems from the very beginning; wanted to get their hooks into you and change you. Wanted you to make promises you could never keep, be someone you never were.
"I wish I had never met you, Dean Winchester." Charlotte's voice was muffled behind the door. It sounded like a prayer.
He opened his mouth to roar 'Well, fuck you, too' before storming down the hall but something stopped him, and he wasn't even sure what it was � and before he could think how screwed he was all over again, Charlotte had opened the door and grabbed him by the arm and was pulling him back inside. His book bag slid off his arm as he kicked the door shut behind him, pushing her backwards onto the bed.
Dean's hands made a bee-line straight to the button on her jeans, unzipping and then ripping them off in one fluid motion until they were hanging off her knees. Before she could do jack, Dean opened her thighs and zeroed in on her clit � brushing against it with his tongue while she let out a tiny 'fuck' and her pulse sped up underneath his lips. "You like that?" he asked, pushing two fingers up inside, and pulled back to watch her come with a groan, hands gripping her comforter as she raised her pelvis.
She came again when he began sucking on her clit, replaced his fingers with his tongue as she started bucking her entire pussy against his face. Charlotte arched her back and sat up suddenly, eyes dark. "My turn," she said as Dean stood, her fingers pulling down his sweatpants and boxers both � mouth swallowing his cock whole. Dean's hands grabbed her hair, a fistful of red strands in each hand. The girl could suck start a Harley, and it felt so fucking good, up and down, and...it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough.
Dean pushed her backwards again and knelt between her legs. "I'm going to fuck you now, Charlotte Webb," he said, bright as a challenge.
"Just try and keep the hell up, Dean Winchester," she answered, lifting her hips as he pushed deep inside.
She couldn't wrap her legs around his waist because the freaking pants were still around her knees, but she grabbed his ass with her hands and pulled him as close as she could � nails digging into him as she shrieked, spitting out dares of 'harder, fuck you, harder' and 'all those girls and you can't fuck me any faster' until she spasmed against him with a rough sob and he continued ramming inside of her, faster than a fucking jackhammer, until he came yelling her name loud enough that both of her neighbors banged on the walls.
Godfuckingdamn.
"We should fight more often," he said breathlessly when he could actually talk. "You're pretty hot when you're pissed." He chuckled. "All those girls and you can't fuck me any faster?"
Charlotte blushed at that. "It's not very nice to make fun of me," she returned softly, kissing him 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 the other chicks I banged while I'm screwing her has any business telling me I'm not nice."
"Lucky for you," she said with a snort of her own, "I think the odds are good that we'll end up fighting again if we continue this thing."
"We just had freaking hot make-up sex," Dean said. His stomach was doing flip-flops, and his chest burned with something he'd known but couldn't express because that made it real � and Dean didn't do real. Except, God help him, she made him want to; Charlotte Webb was more dangerous than any girl he'd known. "I think that makes this more than a thing."
"Wait." Charlotte just stared at him. "Are you saying you're my boyfriend?"
"Seems to me that you just said that." He grabbed her ass. "Not complaining because you did."
"Oh." And she shivered. "I didn't have much luck with my other boyfriend." She wrinkled her nose. "He was a jerk."
"Worse than me?"
She laughed, a little laugh that made him think everything would be okay after all. "You apologize a lot better than he did."
"Well, the only girlfriend I've had apologizes pretty damn good."
Charlotte's eyes widened, and then she poked him in the stomach. "I think I'm the only one who knows how cheesy you are underneath that leather jacket, Dean Winchester." And then she was kissing him again, pulling back with a laugh. "But your secret's safe with me." The phone was ringing, and Dean made to answer it but she just shook her head. They both knew it was Sam, but they were too busy making up all over again to listen to the apology he left on the answering machine right away.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The day Dean declared his major, he found out that Charlotte didn't get either of her internships. He knew something was wrong when she didn't smile, so he let her talk about it, the feedback she got from the professors she interviewed with � and he didn't give a damn if anyone sitting nearby thought he was whipped for holding her hand on top of the table.
"Guess I'm cut out more for books than for dealing with people," she laughed, but there was a shadow on her face when she said it. "But there's always next year, right?" she added. Charlotte twisted her mouth, watching the people walk by the window of the diner where they were eating lunch.
"Professors were just stupid," he returned gruffly. "You deal with people just fine. Next time, I'll help you practice interviews; Bobby says that helps." Her face lit up when he said it, and then Dean coughed. "Declared my major. Finally."
"What did you decide?" Charlotte's eyes brightened, and she squeezed his hand.
"Architectural Studies," he replied, lowering his head. It was the long shot. And it meant that he'd be in school longer because it was a five year program. Dad thought he should get a Teaching certificate and specialize in Physical Education; had laughed when Dean told him that he wanted to build houses. Charlotte hadn't laughed, though, when Dean told her why � he helped build houses for community service, and there was something about the way the wood felt in his hands; some magic in creating something permanent and lasting with his life for other people. Something that made their lives better.
"That's fantastic, Dean!" And she grinned at him. "We can start doing Habitat for Humanity together!"
"I'm really not putting you in a position where you can hit your own hand with a hammer," he retorted. Charlotte actually stuck her tongue out at him. Dean snorted. "Might be short-lived anyway. Dad's going to freak when he finds out."
"But your mom thinks it's a good idea," Charlotte answered. His mom thought that his idea to rebuild old houses was something he could make a living out of, said it helped people stay true to their roots and build something new out of the process. "And she'll make your dad come around."
He sighed. "Wish I got along as well with my dad as you do with yours."
"It's hard not to get along with your dad when you rarely see him." She leaned forward suddenly. "What are you doing over summer break?"
Dean shrugged. "I usually go home and work in Dad's garage." He hadn't even thought about summer break � it was just a month out. It was fucking stupid but he was trying not to think about it, wanting to cram every last second he could before he even thought about the drive back home without her.
"Oh." She stretched her arms above her head. "Three months is a long time."
"You might find a replacement for me back in Georgia."
"Not if you come with me."
Dean was taking a sip of his Coke � and the idea was so out there he knew his folks would never go for it, staying with Charlotte in a big old house by themselves while her dad was on tour � and he actually snorted some through his nose. It freaking hurt. "Damn, Charlotte!" He grinned shaking his head. She was looking down at her hamburger. "You're serious?"
She nodded. "But if you need to work in your dad's garage, maybe you can just come visit for awhile." And then her cheeks turned bright red. "And I'm more worried about all those girls who'll be lining the streets once they hear Dean Winchester's come home for the summer."
"You worry too much," he said, kicking her boot lightly with his own. He coughed to hide the catch in his throat; damn girl was just as worried about the same thing. "But it can't hurt to ask, right? And my parents like you. My dad says you're a good influence on me."
"Obviously he hasn't talked to my dad about you," she returned with a grin. "How you're keeping his daughter up all hours of the night doing unholy things to her while she cries out to God, making her crazy when you touch her." Charlotte pitched her voice low; when she lowered her eyes, Dean started pulling money out of pocket to throw it on the table. Because she sure as hell made him crazy to touch her.
"You need to go to class?" he asked, grabbing her hand and pulling her out of the booth. She shook her head. "Good," he said, kissing her hard before dragging her out the door.
And somehow they managed to get back to her room with all their clothes on.
Two hours later, they didn't bother putting their clothes back on to call their parents. Dean expected his folks would be the hard sell, but they agreed almost immediately � Dad had said his grades were good, that Dean had earned a nice scholarship for the next year and that they were proud of him. That he'd earned the break and Charlotte was a nice girl. Nice girls don't come along every day, Dean. Her dad wouldn't agree to the idea until he'd asked Dean a list of questions so long even Charlotte was laughing in the end.
He guessed they'd won when her dad started asking about his favorite movies � as if that was an important thing � and Charlotte said goodbye using the P-word.
Dean sighed. He'd just given Charlotte Anne Webb something to plan. Except she was leaning in to trace circles on his neck with her tongue five seconds after they hung up on her dad, pushing him onto his back. And then, when she had lulled him into a false sense of security, she started tickling him until he grabbed her wrists and licked her right nipple. Charlotte arched her back with a moan and then they weren't talking plans or trying to tickle each other � and that suited Dean Winchester just fine.
The only important thing was pulling every noise she could make out of her before dinner.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Dean turned the Impala at the stump that marked the entrance to the farm where Charlotte had grown up and wondered whether or not her dad would be as cool in person as he usually was on the phone � when he wasn't giving Dean the third degree about Dean's intentions towards his daughter.
Except the only person standing on the porch when the Impala roared to a stop was some old woman wearing a loose dress with pink flowers on it, her white hair pulled up into a loose bun. "Alma," Charlotte cried, tumbling out the door and running towards the porch.
Alma hugged Charlotte back and then stared at Dean with her light blue eyes � a smile flickering across her lips. "So you're the boy that's going to be staying with us this summer," she said with a deep southern accent. Sounded a little like that cooking guy on TV who was always saying he guaranteed stuff, and she was so tiny that she almost looked like a porcelain doll.
"Uh, yeah," he returned nervously, slinking up the porch. He took the woman's outstretched hand and shook it. "I'm Dean. Dean Winchester."
"Named after a rifle," the old woman replied, shaking her head. "What kind of boy you get yourself hooked up with, Charlotte Anne?" Her light blue eyes bore right into Dean, like this old woman could peel back every layer and see right into the core of what he was. And he knew from personal experience that it wasn't a pretty thing to see, that anger when Sam was getting hurt. The need to protect so powerful he'd kill for it. Had almost killed that kid.
"A nice boy," Charlotte replied, grabbing Dean's free hand and squeezing it.
"A lost boy," the old woman returned with a low whistle, but suddenly she was smiling at both of them. "Ready for dinner?" She didn't wait for their answer, just opened the door and Dean could smell something wafting towards them � something rich and meaty and like nothing his mom had ever cooked.
"Who the hell is Alma?" Dean whispered, following Charlotte as they walked inside.
"She was my nanny when I was little."
"And now?"
"She's family." And Charlotte was smiling. It was something she tried telling Dean, but he never really understood her distinction. Family was blood calling to blood; that link his dad was always going on about. Hell, it was probably why Dad was more proud of Dean for beating up that kid than anything else he'd done in his life, because that kid was hurting Sam; the only punishment Dean ever got was from the law, and never from his family.
He'd bet the car that she wasn't related to Charlotte but there she was calling her family all the same.
And that little old woman watched him for weeks with those blue eyes � watched him push Charlotte on her old tire swing while she sat on the front porch rocking in her chair, watched him help Charlotte shuck peas in the kitchen and made faces because she liked to eat them raw, and sometimes when they were lying outside on a blanket just staring up at the stars he could feel Alma's gaze from behind a curtain. Not exactly judging him, but measuring him up. Probably trying to see if he was worthy of Charlotte Anne Webb.
Dean would have told her he wasn't.
Until that morning he came downstairs, and Alma was making pancakes for breakfast. Her light blue eyes lit up when Dean walked into the room and he automatically started handing her eggs when she looked around for them. "Well, what do you know," Alma said lightly, her voice like syrup when she smiled at him.
"Excuse me?" Dean usually didn't truck too much with authority, but there was something about the old woman that made him want to toe the line. She never raised her voice but, then again, Alma never had to say the same thing twice to be heard.
"I just realized something, is all," she returned. She poked him on the arm. "You're family, too, Dean Winchester." And then Alma reached out her hand. "The blueberries are still in the icebox. Would you get them for me?"
"Oh." He returned her smile with a grin. "Sure."
Dean was still grinning when Charlotte came downstairs, hair wet from her shower and wearing a flowery sundress. He twirled her around and kissed her � something that would have made him crawl under a rock and die if his friends back at school saw him, and he sure as hell would never do it a second time, but it felt like the right thing anyway because he finally understood the difference between blood and family; especially when Charlotte threw her arms around his neck and kissed him back. Alma just shook her head and chuckled behind them.
It was easy to lose track of time in that house. Part of it was how far removed they were � and it kind of made sense that Charlotte was so shy, with hardly anyone around but Alma when she was growing up. And part of it was just the things they did. Going for walks. Picking berries. Pulling fresh eggs from a chicken coop. All the sorts of weird country stuff most kids never got to do � and Dean wasn't exactly a city kid; no one would ever mistake Lawrence for a metropolis or anything. But he never walked around in a garden barefoot before picking carrots for dinner, either.
He'd never gone skinny-dipping in an honest-to-god pond before, sneaking out after Charlotte as they inched past Alma � who always drank a glass of what was probably real moonshine before going to bed. Alma said it was real, and Dean sure as hell wasn't going to second-guess her. Alma was downright pissy when you did and made you do more chores around the house.
Charlotte was already pulling off her dress when they reached the bank of the pond, wriggling out of her underpants. She wasn't even wearing a bra, which surprised the hell out of him. Her scars shone under the stars, and he knew she'd never think she was ugly if Charlotte Webb could see how she looked when she pulled out her ponytail and shook her head. She dipped her foot into the pond, gingerly testing the water, but Dean snuck up right behind her and pushed.
Charlotte gave a little scream as she tumbled in, and Dean dove in after her � coming up from behind as she flung her hair backwards. She shivered a little, waist deep, when he wrapped his arms around her, brushing both nipples with the palms of his hands; leaning back into him with a sigh as his mouth sucked on the nape of her neck. She reached her hand up to touch his cheek.
"I love you," she said gently. Charlotte said that a lot, never really expecting him to say it back. She squirmed out of his arms after a couple of seconds, swimming across the pond away from him with long, smooth strokes. Effortless. Like she spent more time swimming in that pond than anywhere else on earth, diving under and resurfacing around him until he started to chase her and never once did she ever get caught unless she wanted to.
Charlotte Webb turned into a fucking mermaid in the water.
And she was fast. Charlotte popped up in front of him and kissed him soundly on the mouth, before giving a giggle and diving away. She waited for him in the deep end, near the small outlet that fed the whole thing, treading water with her head and shoulders bobbing above the surface, and suddenly he was hard in her hand, and she was pressed against him, thighs opening, legs around his waist as he slipped inside. It was all he could do to stand, but she didn't laugh when he fell over.
She just grabbed his hand and swam to the nearest bank, hitching herself up with both hands and waiting for him to join her.
And when he slid between her thighs, she smelled like the earth, and she looked like one of those girls in those pictures Mom liked in the museum � the ones where the girls looked like faeries or something, with flowers in their hair. Except she had leaves that had fallen into the pond instead, and she moved against him like a tide while he sucked on her breasts, tracing circles around nipples and licking the skin between. She moved against him like it was the most natural thing in the world, her hands running down the muscles of his back while she whispered his name and they came together.
He could have died happy on the banks of that little pond every night she took him there, and he'd never tell a soul because it was so fucking corny people should be laughing at him. Except he guessed that Charlotte probably knew. There wasn't a lot he could ever hide from her in the end, especially when he was bent down kissing her breasts and breathing her name against her neck, bodies moving against each other for hours while the night sang around them.
Sam came to visit for the first couple weeks in August � and the kid had grown inches since Dean saw him at Christmas. The moment he stepped off the bus, though, Sam was trying to apologize to Charlotte about their fight; she just laughed and hugged Sam and everything was okay between them. And his little brother looked pretty damn sheepish when he told her that he'd gotten Angie a book on John Lennon after telling the girl that he wasn't Dean and she'd see that or not.
Alma took one look at Sam and declared him family the moment he walked in the door. Dean figured that should have upset him, but it really didn't. Sam was a good kid, earnest and shy and intelligent as all hell. Dean was the guy who beat up the kids who made fun of Sam. That's pretty much how the whole equation worked. Even when Dean was getting ready to start his third year in college, and Sam was thinking about going to college himself. Stanford, he said. Like it was the only logical place for Sammy to go.
Dean couldn't disagree with him; Sam had his heart set on the damn place, and Geek Boy was smart enough to get a full ride. No work study for Sam Winchester.
The only thing that could have made those last weeks with Sam better would have been if Mom and Dad had come to visit, too, and if Charlotte's dad got off the tour early. But the three of them tooling around town while Sam and Charlotte spent too much time in the used book store or helping Alma make dinner every night and watching movies after they did the dishes was as damn close to perfect as someone's life could get.
The only thing harder than dropping Sam back off at the bus station was saying goodbye to Alma. Dean never knew his grandparents � according to Dad, Mom's family didn't like the fact that she'd married beneath them, and Dad's parents died before he went off to the war. That little old woman was the closest thing he'd known to a grandmother, and he realized this when he was cutting potatoes while she stirred her soup and all Dean wanted to do was hug her.
"I'm going to miss you, too," Alma said, her voice thick. "You're not so lost anymore, are you?"
"I hope not," he answered. He glanced at Charlotte, setting the table; she was smiling at him � that same shy smile he would always remember.
She sighed. "You still feel bad about that boy you hurt." Dean's throat ached. He always suspected that if anyone would figure that out, it was the old woman. Alma sighed, placed her hand on Dean's arm. "Sometimes you choose the war, Dean Winchester. But sometimes the war chooses you." And she squeezed his arm.
"But � " He almost jumped when two arms came around his waist, until he felt Charlotte's head resting on his back.
"But nothing," Alma returned. "Sammy is family, too. Way you tell it, that bully almost killed him." Dean closed his eyes; Sam had spent more time in the hospital than the kid after Dean got through with him. Doctors were worried that there might have been permanent brain damage, but Sam came out of the coma and was still Sammy Davis Winchester � if a little gun-shy around strangers, and agitated as hell until he got moved to a new school.
"Yes," he managed.
"Well, seems to me you stopped before that other boy did. Seems to me that it's about time to let that guilt go." And the old woman smiled at him sadly, while Charlotte's arms just pulled more tightly around him.
That first summer in Georgia was when Dean Winchester realized that the screw-up kid was always a part of him, but that didn't mean he had to spend the rest of his life being a screw-up.
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Always Falling