A/N: I just love Pac-Man Fever to tiny bits and pieces and of course I needed to write this. This kinda plot has probably been done and I'm late to the party, but this is just something something of my own. I know the ending is a bit rough, but there really isn't any simple solution to grief. I own nothing. At all. Seriously. Nothing! Sorry for all the grammar/spelling mistakes you're totally gonna find.

The phone was on the map table when it vibrated softly, dancing all over the Atlantic, making Sam chase after it. Finally catching it, he breathed as if he just ran a marathon, not just got out of his chair. The trials weren't doing anything good to him, that much was clear, but at least this time, he didn't have an urge to vomit. Or bleed all over the place.

He cleared his throat while pressing the button, trying to tuck away the rasp that his latest coughing fit brought: "Yeah?"

"Dean?"

"Uh, no, it's, it's Sam…" he raised his eyebrows, because he recognized that voice, even if it was sounding a little strange, "… wait? Charlie?"

"Sam…"

His eyes shot across the table at his brother, who was just putting his freshly open beer down on Africa and leaning across countries to get to the phone. Dean wiggled his fingers in a 'gimme' sign and Sam did.

"Charlie, what's goin' on?"

"Dean…"

"'s me, yeah."

"I just … m-my mom…"

He looked at Sam and sighed. They didn't have time for this; they needed to find Kevin, they needed to start the next trial, they needed to get moving and get shit done. But … Charlie was their friend. She was a tough cookie to break, they've seen her brave through a lot of crap that would've broken a lot of people, but losing a parent – it was enough to break anyone.

He knew.

Sam knew.

"Charlie, kiddo, where are you?"

He went for calm and composed, even if all he wanted was to yell and demand. But there was no need for him to freak out over this. Charlie would be fine.

"I … uh, I dunno. The side of a road, I don't … Dean…"

"Did you have an accident? What happened?"

"No … no … I just …"

"Okay, okay, all right, we'll find you. Just stay there, okay. Don't move. Lock up your car and stay put."

"Dean," a sob, "my mom."

He never liked it when women cried; he felt guilty even if it wasn't his fault. Most of the time he didn't know what to do, what to say, how to make things better and Charlie … she was his friend, a sister he never really wanted, she wormed her way into his and Sam's life and she was brave, tough, dealt with crazy with a smile on her face, fierce. And her crying? Was wrong. It was wrong, it was something that should've never have to happen.

"I know, I know. We'll be right there, just hang on, kiddo."

When he hung up, Sam had already tracked her down and was in the middle of putting on his jacket. Clumsily of course, with trembling fingers and on wobbly legs, but he managed and Dean was proud. Scared like hell, but proud of his little brother that the kid still – even if hurting and feeling weak as a kitten – could do his job, still wanted to do his job. There was no backing off for that kid.

He wanted to smile, but his lips just wouldn't pull up, so he followed Sam up the stairs.

-:-

To say that his driving was maniac would be an understatement. He could feel Sam be all twitchy next to him, but damn it, it was Charlie. He knew he broke some speeding rules and it was the thought of getting pulled over and having to deal with a cop - when for all he knew Charlie could be seriously hurt – that made him ease up on the gas and go one mile per hour less than the speed limit. He could slow down, but not too much. Sam was apparently in agreement with him, because he saw his brother ease up on the imaginative break.

"Left here."

He took left, because he trusted Sam to take them to where they needed to be.

Charlie.

Damnit. He knew he should've offered to take her to see her mom, to be there when they would've taken her off life support. He knew that, but hell, he screwed up this just like he screwed up everything.

"Damnit." He hit the steering wheel, looking at how fast they were going and eased off the gas again. He trusted his baby to safely get them to where they were going, but the civilians could get in the way and he really didn't want to hit anyone or anything. Or crash his baby, 'cause of some other idiot.

Charlie was their goal and they would reach it and deal with the consequences of him not being there for support when Charlie … unplugged her mother.

"Shit."

"Dude, calm down. Three more miles, all right."

It was all right and it wasn't. It was still too far away and they'd left the kid alone for way too long. As tough as she was, she was still breakable and losing her mother … her family … could be the straw that finally did break her.

"Next right and she should be there."

The turn was a sharp one, somewhere into a dirt road and he silently apologized for all the scrapes and bruises the car would get, riding amongst the bushes and tree branches.

"There."

"I see it."

He pressed on the break and was out of the car before it even fully stopped, trusting Sam that he'd take care of everything.

Charlie's bright yellow car wasn't hard to miss, the color of it as vibrant as the girl who drove it. It would make him smile if his mouth wasn't occupied by screaming Charlie's name.

"Charlie!"

"Dean!"

Sam's yell of his name didn't make him stop in his run towards the opened driver's door, where he could see jeans-clad knees and red hair falling down arms that were cradling Charlie's head.

"Got her!" he yelled back, 'cause this felt like a hunt and telling his brother if he got the victim or got the monster was branded into him a long time ago.

Sliding down on his knees on Charlie's left side, he gripped her forearms, trying to pull her hands away from her head: "Hey, kiddo, hey, hey, you're okay now, okay. All right."

The skin of her arms was freezing cold, little shivers traveling over her entire body and her long, red hair looking like a river of blood hiding her face from him.

"Hey, it's me, kiddo. 's Dean, hey come on. 'm here, right here, Charlie," sensing his brother coming up behind him he added: "Sam's here too."

"Hey, Charlie."

His brother's voice was a slow whisper, the same one he used on women who were this close to losing it, whenever they interrogated them. He wanted to tell his brother that this was Charlie, not some civilian victim they needed answers from before they'd start freaking out, but he guessed that that was the only way Sam knew how to talk in situations like these.

Their lives were so fucked up.

"Charlie, kiddo, look at me. Come on."

It was … incredibly scary … that there were no sounds coming from her. No crying, no sniffling, no words. Nothing, but barely there breaths that ruffled her hair.

"Charlie, you're scaring us here, come on, look at me."

The tone of voice he used was harsh, an order that he really needed to be followed, but then again, this wasn't his brother he was dealing with here. This was someone else, someone not used to being talked to like that; demanding and harsh, almost a bark.

"Charlie, please look at me."

Maybe it was the please, or maybe it was his grip tightening on her thin arms, or maybe it was just everything finally penetrating her grief muddled brain, but before he knew it, his chest was hit by a few pounds of girl, that send him falling to the ground. He huffed when his ass hit the hard dirt of the road and all but choked when arms wrapped themselves around his neck.

"Charlie…"

There was nothing to do, but wrap his arms around the trembling body and sit there, on the hard packed dirt trying not to cry himself when a wail finally broke through Charlie's mouth.

The wail turned into a scream that nearly pierced his eardrums, but he just squeezed her tighter to his chest and made himself comfortable on the ground.

"'m so sorry, kiddo." He mumbled into her hair when he tried to hide his face into the side of her neck. He didn't want his brother to see him like this, but like all things in his life, he had to share this one with Sam too. Especially when he could feel his brother's hand join his in rubbing Charlie's back.

"'m so sorry…"

It was starting to get cold. And wet. But all that didn't stop Charlie from crying. Nothing probably could then.

"Charlie, Charlie, hey," he placed his hands on either side of her head, feeling her cheeks be soaking wet and cold, so cold, and pulled her away from him, "kiddo, let's get you into the car, huh? Get you warm, you're freezing, c'mon, c'mon."

She weighted nothing; he'd lifted Whiskey bottles that'd been heavier than her. She was like a breeze in his arms as he carried her to the Impala and put her into the backseat.

"Get in the front, get some heat goin'."

He probably didn't need to say that to Sam, because he knew Sam would've done that anyway, but he needed to say something to get his mind under control.

He never liked to listen to girls cry and this was all his fault. If he'd just gone with her …

"Dean..."

"I'll be in the backseat."

He didn't want Sam to say anything. Not right then. They – he – needed to fix this, get Charlie to a somewhat normal state and … and drown himself in booze later.

That was the plan anyway, but as all plans went, he knew that one would go down the drain too.

-:-

The backseat was familiar. Was spacious and safe. It was home to him and to Sam, and he hoped that it would feel safe to Charlie too. As he closed the door, as Sam closed his door, the wave of calm that enveloped him when the outside world was shut out made him relax into the seat and ignore the broken sobs still coming from Charlie.

"Hey …"

He didn't need to say more, because just that one word made her collapse against him again giving him no choice, but to hold her.

There were no words to say really, to make it all better. 'cause it would never get better, never be better. The pain of losing a parent never went away. He knew how it was, he'd lost too.

He put his chin on top of her head, squeezed her tighter and looked at Sam.

There were no words needed. Not between them. The memories, the words, the moments – they were running between his and his brother's eyes like lightning bolts.

Mom.

Dad.

Bobby.

Friends.

Family.

They had lost everyone.

They knew how it felt. The pain. The overwhelming ache that filled the heart and settled there to stay.

They knew.

And it broke them both that Charlie had to go through that too.

He didn't dare blink, because the tears would break free then and no matter how many times Sam had seen him cry, it wasn't something he enjoyed doing. Sam didn't need to see him be weak like that, didn't need it, especially not now when he was weak as well. He was supposed to be the one to help Sam through the trials, he was the one supposed to pick him up and hold him up when he'd fall, he was the one supposed to take care of him and go mother hen on his ass. He wasn't supposed to be weak.

The heat was starting to spread throughout the car, finding its way deep down to his bones and even if Charlie's entire body was still shaking and shuddering, he knew it wasn't from being cold.

It was just pain.

Just that.

-:-

"Should we…"

"Naw, let's just stay here for a while."

They could've taken Charlie to the bunker, could've, but didn't want to. This car had seen pain and death, and blood and tears. This car had seen it all, and if there was one place where they – he – could deal with anything life threw at him, it was in this car.

This car understood.

They would stay right here, safe and warm, encased in leather and the smell of stale grease and gun oil, until Charlie would be coherent enough to speak in full sentences.

They had time.

Screw the world.

"You good Sam?"

He needed to know and if Sam would say one word, twitch a wrong muscle, have a shake in his voice … they were out of here and to the bunker. He needed to look out for two people right now and fuck if he was going to screw this up. If Sam would hint at not feeling okay, they would go. Of course Sam would lie about how he really was, but there were tells. And he knew them all well.

"'m good."

The smile on Sam's face was small, but genuine. Nothing that Dean could see that spoke of his brother lying to his face.

So they would stay then.

-:-

The night fell without any noise. One second there was sun, the next there was dark.

"Charlie…"

His voice was hoarse, but he had to say something, had to check if she was asleep leaned on his chest or if she was awake and simply too out of it.

"Dean…"

The whisper of his name made him tighten his arms around her, even if his arms were all but asleep by now.

"'m here. Sam's here too."

It felt important to him that she knew Sam was there too, that they both hadn't left her alone, that they were there for her just like she'd been there for them, kicking ass and taking names.

"Sam, get some water."

"Yeah."
He didn't really want Sam to leave the warmth of the car, but he knew Charlie had to be thirsty. If not, then she'd probably want to wash her face. Erase the past few hours of tears and snot and spit. That was all that she could erase, anyway.

"'s okay, kiddo," he pushed some of her hair behind her ear, or at least tried too, because it was tangled up and wet with tears and it kept falling back, "'s gonna be okay."

"Here."

A bottle of water appeared before his eyes out of the blue and he flinched, before grabbing it.

Stealthy Sam; the kid could sneak up on ya and make you piss your pants.

"Dude…"

"What?"

"Don't sneak up on me like that."

"Sorry."

"Yeah, sure, bet you are."

A little huff coming from Charlie made him smile at Sam. Nothin' like a little banter to start shifting things into a better direction.

"Here Charlie, drink some of this. 's fresh, bought it this morning."

"Yeah, unlike some other things."

"What other things?"

"Saw some mold growing through a napkin back there."

"Dude, no. My baby's trunk is spotless."

"Yeah, you keep telling yourself that and dude, that … came out really wrong."

If the sound of Charlie choking on the sip of water was anything to go by, the banter was doing wonders.

For him too. It'd been a while, since they could do this. Harmless exchange of words, not meant to hurt just … talk.

"Here, I'll take that."

He watched Sam take the bottle, cap it and throw it into the passenger seat.

"How're you doin', kiddo?"

A heavy sigh was his answer, Charlie's body rising up and falling down with the deep breath: "'m sorry."

"Nothin' to be sorry about, Charlie, all right? Nothing. Absolutely nothing."

"I cried all over you."

"Sam does it all the time, 'm used to it."

"'m sorry."

He shrugged: "'s not you who should be apologizing."

"Dude, what the…"

He chuckled at the face Sam made.

"Still sorry."

"Charlie," he sighed and tried to grab hold of her head to pull it away from his chest, tried to angle it so that he could see her, but she kept her head down, hiding her face, "there's nothing to be sorry about, all right? I need you," he brushed his thumbs under her eyes, trying to wipe away the tears, "to believe me here. Hey, look at me…"

He tried to raise her hear up again, but she wouldn't budge, hanging her head down and being stubborn about it.

"Okay." he whispered and pulled her back against him, because he wouldn't push her, wouldn't make her do something she didn't want to do, "okay."

Pushing his hand into her hair, he pulled her closer and kissed the top of her head.

A sister they never wanted. But now they had her and she was their responsibility. Or at least that's how it felt to him. To Sam too, probably, if his hand on her back, rubbing up and down was any indication.

-:-

Average they got about four or five hours asleep every day, so the fact that he was becoming drowsy, eyelids barely holding up, was a sign of just how late – or early – it was becoming. They both could stay up for hours, day and night, for days if need be, doing research or staking out a place, but this … they were wrapped safely in the car and they had nowhere to be – everywhere to be – and holding to Charlie, trying to keep her from falling apart – was making him sleepy.

It was warm. And it was safe. And Sam was there, sitting in the driver's seat, back against the driver's side window, legs in the passenger seat. It was the best atmosphere to fall asleep.

"She … she's…"

So hearing the softly whispered words made him open his eyes as if someone lit a fire underneath his eyelids. But there was no danger anywhere, just Charlie whispering into his shirt, her hands tightly wrapped around the material somewhere by his stomach.

He relaxed back into the seat and breathed out, letting his guard down and whispered back: "I know."

"… gone."

He looked at Sam, pleading for his brother to do something, he was always better at this, but there was nothing. Just Sam's own drowsy eyes and lines of pain on his face. The trials … fuck. There really was never ever any break for them, was it?

He didn't know what to say to either of them. All words that usually meant comfort were useless. Because they were all lies. He didn't know if everything would be all right, he didn't know what the future would bring, he didn't know and as much as he was a liar, he was also honest – to an extent, of course.

And he could lie right now, he really could. Say all the bullshit people say to others when they lose someone, say it all and lie until his face would turn blue. Or … or he could be honest.

The truth, sometimes, healed faster than lies.

He closed his eyes and whisper-mumbled onto the top of Charlie's head, trying not to get any hair into his mouth: "Charlie … listen to me, 'kay. This'll sound crazy, but listen. I know a Reaper, I – I know Death and I've been to Heaven and let me tell you, your mom … she's just fine."

"W-what?"

Charlie's breath was hot on his wet shirt, making his skin pebble at the contrast.

"Yeah, seriously, your mom," he opened his eyes and looked directly into his brother's over the top of her head, "'s probably with your dad and they're reliving their greatest hits."

He didn't … couldn't mention that apparently only soul mates could share Heaven, but hell for all he knew, her folks were soul mates.

"Y-yeah?"

"Yeah, kiddo, trust me."

He didn't mention either, that Heaven was falling apart, that God had left the building a long time ago and that the angels running Heaven were spineless little whiny dicks. She didn't need to know that. But Sam knew that though and the way his brother turned his head to the windshield, didn't hurt at all.

"She's happy? You think?"

He leaned his head back against the backrest and looked up at the black sky, hoping that what he was saying was true: "Yeah, Charlie, she is. She's fine."

The sound of her crying again, didn't shock him at all. And Sam's eyes back on him, didn't shock him at all either.

He had two people he had to take care of and he would.

"C'mon, kiddo…"

He wanted to say all that comfort crap again - that everything would be okay, that everything would be just fine - but … he couldn't lie that much. Not that much.

"Can … c-can you getherback?"

He sighed; maybe he shouldn't've told her about knowing a Reaper and Death himself, he was just trying to give her mind some peace and of course it would come back to bite him in his ass. Of course.

"Charlie," he breathed, "'s not how it works."

"But," the sniffle she made went straight to his heart, "you got Sam back. You … you came back."

He closed his eyes and looked into Sam's bright ones, but they held no answers, just hope. Faith. Understanding. And so much pain. Sam's jaw was tightly clenched, he could see muscles twitching and lips a straight, almost white line and god, he'd never be able to erase that hurt from his brother.

"Yeah, Charlie I did, but," he paused, searching his brain for simple words to describe a very delicate and complicated thing, "that kinda thing, it screws with the natural order of things, it … it …"

"Charlie, listen … when Dean and I … when we came back from uh, death, there was a price for that. And we pay for it every single hour of every single day. You don't want that for your mom, do you?"

Sam's words, even if they were whispered, were strong and composed and it made the ache in his heart lighten. Yes, they've come back from death, but at a price, one they wouldn't wish upon anyone.

"I j-j-just wa-ant her baaaack."

The last word trailed off into a wail and as much as Dean was holding to her tiny frame, he was feeling her start to dissolve into pieces. Maybe they should take her to the bunker, have her stay there for a while longer. They had plenty of room and even if they were busy with saving the damn world – again – they could keep an eye on her while doing it. Multitasking in its finest form.

"Charlie…" he started but his brother interrupted him: "Charlie, you're one tough customer too and your mom … she'd want you to be strong, right? Be brave? Right? Charlie? Am I right?"

There was no response for a while, nothing but the sound of crying but after a long space of nothing, he could feel her nod against his completely soaked shirt and he knew Sam saw the tiny nod too.

"Good. Your mom, your dad, they're up there, they're looking after you, I promise," he looked into Sam's eyes giving his brother a tiny nod; a permission to continue "and they'll never leave you. They'll always be in here," he watched Sam's big hand all but engulf Charlie's head, "and here." He felt Sam's fingers worm beneath his own palm on Charlie's heaving back to touch the space where her heart was on the other side. He withdrew his hand, not really wanting to hold hands with his brother and allowed Sam's hand to take its place.

-:-

This wasn't how the day was supposed to go. When he'd woken up in the morning, the plan wasn't to try and fall asleep in the backseat of the Impala – because damn it, he had a memory foam mattress now and as much as he loves his baby … dude, memory foam mattress - but that was exactly what happened. Sometimes plans, just … die.

"Just … gotta let go, right?"

The words were hot breath on his wet shirt, surprising him, because he thought she'd finally fallen asleep, as there'd been no sounds from her in some time.

He swallowed down the lump in his throat, and looked over at his brother. They'd never been good at letting go, always having their decisions hang above their heads waiting to chop 'em off, always fighting for each other, always doing crazy, stupid crap – they knew it was stupid and crazy, but they couldn't stop doing it – to get each other to stay alive … and …

… he could never let go. They could never let go.

But Charlie wasn't them and she'd needed to let go of her mom, allow her to leave this place and be in peace. It'd been the right thing to do and eventually, he knew, Charlie would understand. After some time would pass, she'd understand.

"Yeah, kiddo," he kissed the top of Charlie's head again, a tiny, tiny comfort, "it was game over."

"I know."

The End