A Supernatural x Reader Story

Chapter Twenty-Four: LARP and the Real Girl

This one's a short one, guys!

I apologize... It's not a Charlie chapter, per se. It's more of an update as to where you are with her now (I promise, she's coming soon, though!). Hope you enjoy it anyway!

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1 Missed Call

Your phone displays the words from behind the glare of the early afternoon sun, and you hit the call back button as you climb back into your car in the police station parking lot. What you thought was a case turned out to be your average, run-of-the-mill murder, already solved by the local force, leaving you almost disappointed.

The ringing tone sounds as you shut the door, then a voice answers.

"(Y/N)," Sam greets.

"Hey," you answer. "What's up?"

It has only been less than two days since you left the boys in Nebraska, where the three of you helped Castiel rescue an angel from Crowley's captivity, but you miss them already, and it was always a relief to hear their voices.

"I, uh... I didn't know if we should've called you earlier, but we just finished this hunt in Michigan," he says, then pauses a beat. "Charlie was there."

Your heart drops into your stomach. Your vision blurs, and you feel like you might throw up. "Wh-what happened to her?"

"Nothing," Sam assures you. "She's fine. Not a scratch on her."

You relax in your seat, lean your head back, and take a deep breath, trying to slow your heartbeat. "Damn it, Sam," you snap. "Lead with that next time."

"Right," he utters. "Sorry. But you should know, it sounded like she wanted to see you."

You perk up now, sitting a little straighter in your seat. "Really?"

"Really," he confirms. "How far are you from Farmington Hills?"

From where you are in western Pennsylvania, you anticipate only a few hours' drive.

"Not far," you comment, turning on the engine. "Be there before sundown."

The call ends as you pull out of the parking lot, smiling like an idiot, butterflies in your stomach at the thought of seeing Charlie again. It's been so long since you've heard that beautiful voice, or had the pleasure of those bright green eyes looking into yours and thinking that, just maybe, everything else could be put on pause.

But everything needed to resume. There are so many things about her you regret not thinking to appreciate more before the day you left. The reflection of her computer screen on her glasses. Being able to climb into bed with her after a long shift. The way she could make you laugh, no matter what kind of day you had been having. Even the way she could go on and on about books or video games – you never tired of listening to the fluctuations in her voice once you got her talking about something she loved.

Your heart leaps once you reach the exit, and you barely slow down as you take the road into town. You wonder what she's been up to since you parted ways. Will she even want to see you? Has she forgiven you for leaving? What if she's moved on?

You comb a hand through your hair, kicking yourself. Why have you waited so long to –

Then, you remember, and let the car slow to what is the probably the speed limit, heart sinking. The whole reason you haven't picked up the phone, sent her an email – anything. The reason you couldn't run with her, couldn't live out the dream you tasted with her.

This life. Being with her would mean pulling her into it. And you know she wouldn't leave intact. No one did.

Breathing a long, heavy sigh of disappointment, you turn into the nearest motel.

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By the time the sun sets behind the surrounding trees, you are curled up in the driver's seat, knees to your chest, studying the worn steering wheel. You didn't have it in you to check into the motel, and you figure you might just spend the night in here, your arms wrapped around your legs, in the leather seats of the love of your life you know you could fix up and send into battle time and time again.

The passenger door opens, startling you. Before your fingertips have brushed the grip of the gun you keep underneath your seat, you see that Sam has climbed into the car.

"Couldn't do it?" he comments, gently, offering a sympathetic smile.

You shake your head, your eyes wandering downward. "This life... it –"

But he places a hand across your back, a comforting, understanding gesture, and you return it with a small smile, looking back up at him.

Your eyes narrow, though, at something on the side of his forehead, on his hairline. Something red, that disappears into track marks where a towel must have wiped the rest away. You reach out to move a long lock of hair to get a better look, careful to not disturb any wound that might be there.

"Is that... blood?" you ask, more concern than you knew you had in your voice.

His forehead crinkles for a moment, questioning, but he seems to remember, and lets out a chuckle.

"Dean's idea," he explains wiping it away with the back of his hand, a note of regret in his voice. "Fun, he said. It involved face paint and the Braveheart battle speech."

You laugh, imagining the possibilities. "Sounds interesting," you speculate. "Hell of a time for you to start going along with Dean's idea of 'fun,' huh?"

"Yeah, well," he agrees, then his smile fades. "He thought I needed it after..."

He pauses, and you angle your body toward him, letting him know it's okay to talk, not to talk – whatever he needs.

"In Texas, she was there," he continues. "We were supposed to meet, and pick up where we left off, and I..."

He trails off, looking out the window at something you can't see.

"Couldn't do it?" you suggest, mirroring the sympathetic tone he used to ask you the same question. He shakes his head.

You sigh, softly, disappointed. You thought that this might have been his second shot, to get out of all the darkness and death that seems to follow hunters. That seems to follow Winchesters.

But Sam knows what he wants, and you can't help but be proud of him for that. You take his hand in both of yours, and you feel him give it a squeeze.

"But with you," he says, "and with Dean, I think, at least for now, we've both got all the family we need."

He gives you a hopeful smile, and you return it, knowing that if your boys are okay, you would be, too.