Twelve – A Pattern

Charlie felt a headache coming on. She refused to stop working on finding Sam and Dean. Since Crowley was of no help, she felt the need to take on the burden.

The group knew there was a pattern: the demons in Sam and Dean were using the Winchesters' bodies to murder other hunters around the country. That seemed logical. But pieces were still missing for Charlie. There was the biggie of did whoever was behind this have a beef with the brothers?

Well, what monster wouldn't? They're famous and infamous in the supernatural world.

Charlie was using her hand as a support for her head. She blocked everyone else out so she could properly focus. She remembered the last time she had to put her brain to good use: it was back when she had to decode a code for the Book of the Damned.

She shuddered, remembering where all that decoding got her. Dead, in a bathtub. She was absolutely positive that Sam and Dean had found her. There was no way that they wouldn't have once they realized she had disappeared.

Since her death, life in Heaven had been easygoing. No monsters to kill, no riddles to solve or decode. No life-threatening situations. Just bliss, in her own little house, with her own little Scarlett Johansson. She missed ScarJo, a lot.

I'll come back for you, Scar. I'll come home soon. Being back on Earth didn't even feel like home for her. Cas didn't feel like home, nor did the bunker. She felt no strong bonds with Jessica, Jo, or Meg. The few she had ties with were currently possessed.

For a fleeting moment, Charlie Bradbury wished she had never left her home, her ScarJo, in Heaven.

A firm hand on her shoulder forced her to jerk away from the laptop and scream. Cas put his hands out in surrender, and Charlie sighed irritably.

"I didn't mean to scare you," the angel said sincerely, "I just thought...you've been so focused that you might want something to eat." He set out snack foods all cluttered together on a paper plate for her. "It's not a sandwich or anything, unless you'd rather want that."

"The effort is appreciated, Cas." Charlie sat back in the chair, rubbing her eyes. She had a map of the US saved on the laptop, and she'd marked with a program where Sam and Dean had killed hunters. She'd even written the town, and the date of the murders. She wanted to be thorough.

"Any luck?"

"No more than when we banked on Meg's travel to Hell idea." She felt like ripping a few pieces of red hair out of her head. "What kind of supernatural being can cloak them so well that they can even evade you, Cas? Is it—I don't know, are we dealing with a witch who has demonic hires? Are we dealing with a demon? There's a lot we still don't know."

"You're very...detail-oriented with the map."

"Thanks...I think. We know there's a pattern of their victims." Charlie gestured to the screen. "We know they're slaughtering hunters left and right, to wipe out that population. I have a feeling that once Sam and Dean are left, they'll get...get offed too." She swallowed. "But as long as there are more hunters, that gives us time."

"That's a very grim perspective, Charlie."

"I agree," said Jessica, who came into the war room. "We can't just use other hunters as bait for the demons. We can't use them to buy time. We should be out there trying to predict the next murder and prevent it."

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