Two pitchers of beer and an assortment of shot glasses later, Sam could safely say he was having a grand time. He had learned many things about Charlene, including that, six months ago, she had moved to town from Seattle to take care of her ailing mother. She'd been born in Kansas, but her mother suffered from manic depression and her father moved her to the west coast to shield her from the worst of it. When she found out her mother was terminally ill she returned back home to try and care for her.
She had left her job at a tech startup running social media marketing, and unfortunately she'd been unable to find a new job in her wheelhouse. That's how she ended up at the diner. Cost of living around here wasn't exactly expensive, but it was more than nothing, and her mother's disability checks barely covered her own living expenses. She had her savings, which she'd lived on for a while, but start-ups didn't have stock options or severance pay.
"Life's pretty dull, y'know?" said Charlene thoughtfully. "But being down here has taught me that my other life, my old life? That was dull, too."
Sam nodded in agreement. "I've travelled all over this country and it's pretty much the same everywhere you go. Go to school, get a job. Work the job until you are too old, and pray you have enough money to live on until you die. The American Dream."
Charlene nodded vigorously. "Exactly! You can do that anywhere! Doesn't matter if it's Seattle, Lebanon, Austin, Chicago… really the only major difference is the availability of an excellent hot dog."
"Oh, god," groaned Sam. "Now I really want a hot dog."
Charlene chuckled. "That can be arranged, Sammy." She stood and snagged a zip-up hooded sweatshirt from a hook on the wall. "Meet me outside," she politely commanded.
Sam stood up and wobbled slightly, then headed to the door. She could hear Charlene settling the bill with Dave, and could have sworn he heard him say, "go get'm, tiger."
Sam stood outside for only a minute until the door flew open and out bounded Charlene.
"C'mere!" she commanded from the sidewalk curb, pointing down emphatically. Sam smiled and walked over to her, hands in his pockets.
Charlene placed her hands proudly on her hips, and said in a very stately voice, "I have been waiting a very long time for a worthy adversary. Being six feet tall puts me in a whole other league."
"A league of what?" asked Sam, leaning toward her.
With that, Charlene turned and walked to the wall of the bar, then made a sharp half turn. With that she was off, arms and legs pumping as she sprinted to the edge of the curb and jumped far into the air. She hit the ground running, a full car's length out into the parking lot. She threw her arms into the air and jogged in a small circle, letting out a triumphant whoop into the early morning darkness.
"Beat that!" she challenged.
"So, feats of strength, huh?" he said with a grin.
"Sam, if you can beat that jump, I swear I won't ask you another question. However-" she walked up to Sam and poked him in the chest, "if you can't, not only do you have to answer all of my questions, but you also have to come back to my place and eat hot dogs."
Sam's mouth fell open slightly. "Can I… have the hot dogs regardless?"
Charlene scrunched her face. "Absolutely not. Those hot dogs are reserved for boys who can't jump very far but enjoy telling me the truth."
Sam sharply exhaled out his nose. He wanted to talk to Charlene, to tell her about Dean and Cas and his life and… everything. She was so easy to talk to, so friendly. She was simultaneously lost and found, right and wrong, here and there. He had a feeling, however, that she'd think poorly of him if he didn't jump as far as he could. He nodded solemnly, and walked to the edge of the building. He turned and ran full-bore to the edge of the curb and lept, but something wasn't right. His coordination was impacted and he didn't account for that. He came off the curb awkwardly and then skidded on some gravel, coming down hard on his ass about three feet from the sidewalk. "SONOFABITCH!" he shouted.
Charlene's hand flew up to cover her mouth and she tried to suppress an "ohhhh nooooo", and then she started cackling like a cartoon witch. She ran to Sam to help him up, snorting with laughter punctuated with comments of "oh god, are you okay?" and "how's your pride doing there, buddy?"
"Hardeehar," grumbled Sam, trying to suppress a smile and failing.
"You're going to need an ice pack to soothe that sick burn, guy."
"Yeah, no, I get it. You can jump really far."
"No, you don't get it. Tomorrow you're going to have an ass bruise so bad people are gonna think you spent all night getting spanked with frozen Eggo waffles."
Sam uncharacteristically spoke without thinking, "that's pretty hot."
Charlene smacked Sam on the ass, right where he had fallen, and he hissed. She turned, smiling impishly, and poked him on the nose. "Boop. I knew I liked you for a reason. Now, time for hot dogs!"
Sam turned toward the car and Charlene grabbed his arm to steer him away. "Nope, nope, no. Absolutely not. Castiel told me about that car and there is no way in hell I'm letting your drunk ass anywhere near it."
"Hey, I'm not that drunk-"
"I think your ass disagrees, Sam."
Sam shrugged. "So, I guess we're walking?"
"Sam, my apartment is literally right behind this bar. How do you think Dave and I got so tight? He's my mister from another sister."
Charlene took Sam by the hand, her long, strong fingers gripping softly. She led him around the side of the bar and to the back stairwell of the building. She unlocked the door and then Sam gingerly followed her up the stairs. She then unlocked the door to her apartment, stepped in, and clicked on the light.
It was small, but not tiny.
Charlene gave a small tour consisting of, "bathroom, closet, living room, kitchen, and that's the bedroom," then she dropped her voice to a whisper and spoke around the side of her hand, "but nothing ever happened in there."
Sam smiled at the Ghostbusters reference and replied, "what a crime."
"Full disclosure, Sammy, that was a test and I'd like you to know you've earned an A plus."
It was an older building, complete with cast iron radiator and crown molding, and window frames that had been painted and repainted many times over. He glanced in the bathroom and saw an old claw foot tub. The kitchen was small and not really its own room, more just an extension of the living room. The living room furniture consisted of an old, teal, Chesterfield armchair, a Scandinavian futon, and one of those huge, two-seater papasan basket chairs from the 70's, all pointing toward an impressively large TV hooked up to a computer tower. What really caught Sam's attention, however, were the walls. They were lined floor to ceiling with shelves crammed full with books of all kinds; fiction, nonfiction, poetry, memoirs, technical manuals, old books, new books, books without titles, and many notebooks and journals that he assumed Charlene had filled herself. Every so often, there would be a brick on the shelf, seemingly at random intervals. These weren't books for show, they all looked worn and well read. Sam suddenly found himself very turned on.
Charlene came up behind Sam and poked her head around. "Oooh, you like books, too!" she exclaimed happily. "You can just, uh, browse while I bring home the bacon over here."
Sam could hear the refrigerator door open and close, and then Charlene's voice calling, "Think fast!" Sam did not think fast, and therefore was hit in the back with a bag of frozen brussel sprouts.
"For your pride," she said from the kitchen, back turned.
Sam shrugged and picked up the bag, gingerly pressing it to his sore rear with his right hand as he perused the books with his left. They were in no particular order that Sam could discern. Straight across one row he saw Moby Dick , The Awakening , Vurt , A Confederacy of Dunces , a book on Adobe Photoshop, Love in the Time of Cholera , Lies My Teacher Told Me , Teaching to Transgress , all three Lord of the Rings books, The Collected Stories of Amy Hempel , a book about Rasputin, Catch 22 , and a series of comic trades called Preacher . Every shelf was more of the same. His eyes traveled down to the armchair and there on the seat he saw it. The same book he was reading. The Devil in the White City by Erik Larson.
"Wait, you like Erik Larson?" said Sam, genuinely excited that someone, somewhere might also share an interest in the Chicago World's Fair.
"Oh, yes!" Charlene called back. She was cooking something on the stove, something… oniony. "I fucking LOVE his book about the sinking of the Lusitania! I just read it and then, well, it became this whole thing. Had to go read it all, y'know?"
Sam did know.
The kitchen noises stopped, and suddenly Charlene was there, right next to him.
"So, uh…" Sam felt clumsy, nervous, unsure of himself. "How are these organized, anyhow?"
Charlene smiled. "Chronologically. This far end," she said pointing left, "is where I started and alllll along here," she pointed along the rest of the walls, "is my journey."
Sam cocked his head, mouth open slightly. "So, like… these are all the books you've ever read in the order that you've read them?"
"Yup. Well, I mean… since 1996. I didn't start keeping track until then."
"'96?!" Sam exclaimed. "How old were you in '96?"
"I was nine," she said with a bashful smile. It was the first time Sam had seen Charlene display anything but overt confidence.
Sam stumbled over Charlene to where the shelves began. There was a series of about 50 books that ended with a brick. Then another series of books and another brick.
"Charlene, are these bricks date markers?"
"Yup," she said quietly.
Year 1996 contained, among other things, Alice in Wonderland , Through the Looking Glass , The Odyssey , The Illiad , a complete volume of Shakespearian comedies, Jurassic Park , Pride and Prejudice , Snow Crash , the first Game of Thrones book, a manual on ecoterrorism, and Dracula .
"You think I'm a weirdo, don't you?" Charlene said with a sad, half smile.
Sam's eyes widened as he grinned. "Are you kidding? I mean, yes I do, but… but in the very best way. This is astounding!"
Charlene put her hand on the bag of brussel sprouts Sam was still holding to his rear end and pushed gently. "I bet you have an astounding collection yourself, Sammy," she said, then pressed her lips together. "Okay, hot dogs!"
She guided Sam to the futon, having no real kitchen table to eat at. He very carefully sat down, trying to position the brussel sprouts in the least offensive way possible. Charlene went to the kitchen and returned with two plates, each containing two hot dogs prepared in a way Sam had not seen before, and two cans of root beer, one under each arm.
"Okay, so the key to a perfect Seattle Dog-"
"What's a Seattle Dog?" Sam looked confused.
"A Seattle Dog, my dear boy, is a regional delicacy of my people. When you buy them off a cart, they are usually steamed, but I prefer using the toaster oven. You need a shitty bun, not one of those hoity toity kaiser rolls. You put the cream cheese on first-"
"Wait, cream cheese?"
Charlene put her finger up to Sam's mouth with a "shhh." Her touch felt hot, electric against his lips, and he felt a flush creep across his cheeks.
"As I was saying before being so rudely interrupted," she said with a wink, "you put the cream cheese on, THEN the hot dog, and top it off with the grilled onions. Some people add brown mustard, but I personally feel that degrades the hot dog's purity of essence."
Sam looked down at the plate in his lap, and then up to Charlene's sparkling eyes. Before, he had been impressed by her ease of manner, and the way she didn't seem to feel obligated to impress anyone at all. Now, though, Sam could tell that she was trying to impress him, please him. Make him happy. He felt very, very flattered. But instead of expressing that thought, he put his foot into his mouth. The Winchester Way.
"Ah, I see now. You're trying to ply me with hot dog wiles so I'll spill the beans about Dean and Castiel."
Charlene looked genuinely dejected, and Sam immediately realized his error.
"Sam," she said firmly. "I don't ply just anyone with my hot dog wiles. I could have gotten you to tell me anything I wanted hours ago. I just thought that maybe, if I dragged it out…" She looked down at her plate.
"We could eat hot dogs?"
She looked up with a smile. "Exactly." Suddenly, her eyes went wide. "Oh, Jesus, I almost forgot! Here!" she said, shoving her plate at Sam as she stood up. She ran over to the junction between the kitchen and living room where a small record player stood atop a couple of milk crates containing vinyl LPs. She quickly flipped through them and Sam could see an eclectic mix of albums ranging from the 50's through present day. She slid one of the records from the sleeve, laid it on the table, and set the needle.
Sam started laughing hard enough that he had trouble balancing all of the hot dogs, nearly letting one roll off the plate onto the floor. Charlene had put on Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me by The Cure.
"You like?" She asked, gesturing to the record player.
"Oh, it's perfect," Sam smiled.
She sauntered back over to the futon and plopped down, causing Sam to wince. She snatched her plate away and grabbed one of the hot dogs, holding it into the air. Sam did the same.
"Boop," she said, poking her hot dog into Sam's, and then she took a big bite. Sam followed suit.
"Woah, woah," he said, mouth full of food. His eyes were wide as he looked around incredulously. "Thith is wuhwee gub!"
She swallowed. "I told you!" she said, looking genuinely pleased.
Sam quickly took another bite, a lot hungrier than he thought he was. Damn, this is a good hot dog . He ate quickly without talking, occasionally making happy groaning noises. After finishing one of the dogs, Charlene put down her plate and cracked open one of the cans of root beer. She leaned back and drank deeply, watching Sam enjoy his food with smug satisfaction. Sam finished and put the plate down, and he could feel Charlene's gaze heavy upon him. He liked the way she was looking at him, like she was still hungry and he was a tasty snack. He leaned over and slowly grabbed his soda from the coffee table, popped the tab, and took a swig.
"Uh, thanks for the hot dog," he said with a smile. He reflexively bit his lower lip as he looked away from her intense gaze.
Charlene reached over and took Sam's root beer, placed it on the table next to her own, and in the same graceful movement somehow she was on Sam, atop Sam, hands running up through his long chestnut hair. She kissed him passionately, not seeming to mind the onions and soda and the lingering tastes of beer and rum.
And she used to fall down a lot,
That girl was always falling,
Again and again,
And I used to sometimes try to catch her,
But I never even caught her name.
Sam sat rigidly, unsure of what to do. He wanted this, but not like this, not without holding up his end of the deal. Despite his reticence, he found his hands travelling up her back, under her t-shirt. She felt sinewy, wide-hipped, and unbreakable. He leaned up and into her kiss, bracing her upright from behind. This feels good, no, it feels fucking great. It feels safe. It feels normal-
Sam pulled his mouth away suddenly, leaving Charlene gasping. "Charlene, I'm sorry-"
Charlene went rigid. "Goddammit, I'm sorry Sammy." She tried to carefully slide off Sam's lap. "I know I can come on kinda strong and I-"
Sam reached out and caught Charlene by the side of the face, forcing her to look at him. "Hey, no, you were fine! That was great! I just…" Sam trailed off. "I just want to honor my bargain, to tell you about Cas and Dean and… well… me."
Charlene tilted her head into Sam's hand and looked at him with a sad smile.
Sam continued, "I worry that once you get to know me better, you might change your mind about..." he gestured from his head down to his lap and back again, "this."
Charlene took Sam's hand, the one holding her head, held it tightly and she moved back to her spot on the futon. She tilted her head down and looked up at him through her long, dark lashes, a wicked smile on her face. "Well, aren't you a gentleman?"
He didn't know how to start the conversation; every opening line he thought of seemed either trite or overly dramatic. He finally settled on, "Dean and I are hunters."
Charlene wrinkled her nose in distaste and immediately felt bad about it. "Like, birds? Big game?"
"Uh, no. I mean… we hunt monsters."
Charlene paused, eyes narrowed, and Sam could feel panic rising in his chest. "Monsters?" she asked, as if she might have heard him wrong.
"Uh, yeah. Like, vampires, ghosts, lycanthropes-"
"Werewolves?" she said, with a raised eyebrow.
Sam pressed his lips together into a thin line and furrowed his brow. He couldn't bring himself to look her in the eye. He knew he sounded like a lunatic. If he wasn't drunk, if he'd used better judgement… he was just so fucking lonely, and she was so fucking nice.
She pulled her long legs up to sit cross legged on the futon, facing Sam. She placed her hands on her knees and leaned forward. "Okay, Sammy," she started, "I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt. Part of the reason is that rum is a happy drink, and the other is that you taste remarkably good even after eating onions. But you have to answer every single one of my questions without hesitation so that I might discern whether or not you are indeed fucking with me."
Sam nodded solemnly.
"So lemme get this straight. You and your brother travel around the country hunting monsters?"
"And saving people," Sam mumbled.
"And I'm guessing this is dangerous work?"
"Yeah, I mean… I've died a few times."
"YOU'VE DIED?!" exclaimed Charlene.
"Yeah, but Dean's died way more. I mean, that's how he met Cas."
"Is that so? What is up with Castiel, anyhow? Is he a," she made air quotes, "'hunter'? Like you?"
"Well, sometimes… I mean, he helps."
"How does he help?"
"He's… uh… an… angel."
Charlene slapped her knee and cried out, "I KNEW IT!"
Sam did a double take. "Wait, you KNEW it? How could you know THAT?"
"Well, I had a feeling. He's, he's not quite human, y'know? And the way he talked about Dean, like he was his guardian or something. I mean, he didn't even know who John Cusack was! That's just weird."
Sam raised an eyebrow. "So, the weird part of this story is that someone didn't know who John Cusack was?"
"Dude, everyone knows who John Cusack is."
"Touche." Sam rolled his shoulders back and ran his hand through his hair. "You seem to be taking all of this in stride."
Charlene flashed a smile. "The rum helps. So, when you die, how do you not… stay dead?"
Sam swallowed, mind reeling. How is she just… cool with all this?
"Uh, sometimes we're resurrected by angels, or demons, or… I mean… does it matter?"
"Um, YEAH!" she replied emphatically. "Castiel told me he saved Dean from Hell, and in the moment I thought he was being metaphorical, but then after he dropped me off tonight it hit me: this guy doesn't do metaphors."
"You are spot on there."
Sam and Charlene sat quietly for a moment. Sam started. "So, you really aren't freaked out right now?"
Charlene took Sam's hand again, and looked him the eye. "Sam, I'm absolutely petrified and also 100% convinced that what I told Castiel earlier today was the truth. Today has been the most interesting day of my life. All the shit in my books are real?! Are you kidding me?! There are hot, nomadic dudes that drive around the country secretly killing monsters? I just helped a freakin' ANGEL hook up with the guy he rescued from Hell?"
"Well, we aren't nomadic anymore."
Charlene flashed questioning eyes.
"We kind of have a base, now."
"In KANSAS?"
"Yeah. It's… a magical bunker."
Charlene started to giggle, and then suddenly she was wracked with uncontrollable laughter. "You have," she said breathlessly in between laughs, "a magical bunker in Kansas?" She snorted and wiped tears of laughter from her eyes. "You have to take me there," she gasped, smiling broadly.
"I don't know if that's such a good idea."
"You want me to trust you or not, pal? I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt, now you get to reciprocate."
Sam knew Castiel trusted Charlene. He knew that there was something about her, aside from the rum, that was intoxicating. Her intellectual flexibility was striking. She looked at him like a whole person, not the broken wreck he knew he was inside. He'd made so many bad calls, hurt so many people.
Charlene snapped her fingers in front to Sam's face, waking him from his mind's wanderings. "Sammy, thank you for telling me." She patted Sam on the knee. "We'll need some time to sober up before we hit the road." With that, she stood up and walked to the record player that had long since stopped playing. She flipped the record and reset the needle.
You're so gorgeous I'll do anything,
I'll kiss you from your feet to where your head begins,
You're so perfect you're so right as rain,
You make me,
Make me, make me, make me hungry again.
Everything you do is irresistible,
Everything you do is simply kissable,
Why can't I be you?