Letters From Oz

Summary: Spoilers for Slumber Party (9x04). Charlie writes letters addressed to the Winchesters while she's in Oz.

Disclaimer: Do not own.

What's up, bitches?

So. Oz. Wow. Can't believe I'm really here. But let me tell you, it is nothing like the books. At all.

Allow me to explain you a thing.

The witch may be gone, but there's still a lot of cleaning up to do in Oz. Flying monkeys are probably the biggest problem. Those dicktails are still trying to obliterate the land in the witch's name. The once colorful and beauteous land is now tainted. Dorothy describes it as once being lively. The books described the same thing. It's still bright and colorful, but it's also empty. Missing something.

Kinda like me.

She scratched that last line out right after she wrote it. No, she wasn't going to tell them that. She was Charlie Bradbury, the confident red-head who was comfortable in who she was and what she did; she didn't feel like she was missing something.

Or at least she didn't admit she did.

Truth was, she was missing her boys.

Sure, this quest was great. Really, it was. How many people could honestly say they've been to the Land of Oz? Not very many. But she could. There was still the ominous possibility that she wouldn't make it out alive, but she and Dorothy were careful. They watched out for each other. And Charlie's already died once.

She still wasn't sure if she could believe it.

All she could remember was seeing the witch's spell going right for Dean, and thinking, No! Not my brother!

She'd jumped in the line of fire without giving it a second thought.

Dean and Sam were both like her brothers. There was no denying that. They all felt the same way. The Winchesters had a way of collecting strays, and Charlie was irrefutably one of those strays.

Which was something she'd never regret.

"Hey, Red," she heard behind her. Charlie glanced up to see Dorothy take a seat by her. "What're you up to?"

Charlie shrugged. "Nothing much. So, what's the next step in rehabilitating Oz?"

"The monkeys need taken care of, of course."

"Who're you always writing to?" Dorothy raised her eyebrows while Charlie shrugged. "Really, Red, who? Come on. Give a dog a bone. Those two Men of Letters?"

"Sam and Dean," she corrected. "My brothers."

"You can't exactly send them?"

"I know. I just want to have an accurate representation for when I come back. I want to tell stories truthfully, without leaving anything out."

"So you're going to show up when this is all over, hand them a bunch of letters, and say, 'here, read these, this is what it was like day-by-day'? Do you think they'll actually read them? Not trying to be a bitch, here, Red, but don't you think they'll care more that you're alive and back rather than what you've been doing all this time?"

Charlie shrugged again. "Point taken. Maybe I'm just doing it for me then. So when I'm old and gray, I won't forget."

Dorothy nodded. "Makes sense to me. How many have you got now?"

"How many days have we been here?"

"You've really written a letter a day?"

"Pretty much. I don't want to forget about this. It's all I've ever dreamed of."

"Does it feel like you're living the dream?"

Charlie smiled. "Slaying evil, fighting for the greater good? Of course it does."

It's kind of really dangerous here, she wrote the next time she had the chance. But what can you expect? A quest's not supposed to be easy. It's supposed to challenge you on all levels. Physically, mentally, emotionally… morally.

Killing monsters is for the greater good, right? Of course it is. Only,

She hesitated before writing the next line.

I've taken down monsters before, but right-out killing them? I mean, the witch with the shoe thing, that wasn't really killing, was it? If it was… why didn't it bother me as much as it should have?

Perhaps they weren't the best people to ask. She loved them, honest she did, but they were trained, experienced monster-killers. And she knows they've also killed people. Bad people, yes. But people.

There weren't many people here to kill. However, Charlie could take down a flying monkey like nobody's business. She felt kind of like a dragon slayer, and that was beyond amazing. But was it right to train yourself to kill or be killed? Survival of the fittest? It sort of just … felt right but at the same time felt wrong.

Doing work for the greater good is hard, she wrote and left it like that.

Oz is almost entirely evil-free. Man, does it feel good to write that. The evil of the land is being expelled, and good is winning. Dudes, I could write a book on this crap. Wonder how it's going down on your end—not that you can tell me, since we're in completely different realms and there's no e-mail. Or any mail. Hence handwritten letters addressed to you but kept by me.


You better not be getting into any crap while I've been gone. Then again, I know you guys, and I know that I left at the beginning of a probably really bad time. I hope the road ahead wasn't terrible. I've kind of realized it was selfish of me to just up and leave you like that, and selfless of you just to let me go. (Thanks for that, by the way. I appreciate it more than you know.) I don't think you'd have needed me for your own quest, but you may have needed someone there just to be there. Then again it may have been comforting enough that you knew right where I was, fighting flying monkeys and the like. Then again, that may have been more worrying than comforting to you. She shook her head then gave a sigh. Well, don't worry, bitches, because this girl's going to be coming back soon. There's no place like home.

Charlie went to fold up the last letter, but then had a second thought and a few lines down, she added: P.S. I better not come back to a mess of Winchesters. You were supposed to stay together and stay strong, bitches. Don't make me come back and think you need a babysitter. She grinned. Then at the bottom, she signed, Peace out, bitches and drew the Vulcan salute.