In its usual habit, a jittery hand strayed to his pompadour hair of a ninety degree angle – which vaguely resembled a rat's nest – and brushed through it. The hand jittered not with nerves, but with his habitual effervescence and an added delight of being here. No, he was not nervous, not ever. It was his first day of college; he was just super psyched. Though, he was quite possibly the only person in the room not only over the age of fifty, but also only enrolled for the novelty of being able to later say that they were a "college dropout".

"Nervous?"

Because his head was never one to turn in a conventional manner, his head whipped in the direction of the voice, to the fire engine red head seated next to him with fluffy pens needled into the root of her ponytail. Both had been quietly immersed in their own worlds – hers more faraway while his resided very avidly in the present setting – as around them students were suffocating the lecture theater of its sophistication with their rackety fraternizing, a tendency more suited for a high school setting than New York University.

"Me? Noooo, nononooo," he dismissed gravely, shaking his head, "Lemme tell ya – Cosmo Kramer does not get nervous. Believe me, this cat is as cool –" he popped a cigar in his mouth, lit it, and puffed a tiny cloud of smoke, "– as cool can be."

Anyone else would give him the side-eye. Instead, she smiled and held out a bar of chocolate.

"Curly Wurly?"

"Curly Wurly whah?"

"Cadbury chocolate, from England. Not commonly found here. My dad brought it back for me."

He twitched in protest. "Nah, nah, I'll pass on that, kid. I'm actually more partial to a Junior Mint myself, but other than that, I've rarely touched the stuff since I saw that Gene Wilder horror picture back in the seventies about this chocolate factory; full of nightmares and third-world child labor. It certainly succeeds in chilling the spine something fierce, whoof."

She lifted an eyebrow. "Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory?"

He shuddered and took a long drag of his cigar. "Chills. To – this – day. Somethin' about strange guys in long coats, a stick in one hand and his power over you in the other, with the glassy blue eyes of a creepy porcelain doll…" Terror grew on his face as recollection pulled him in, until he started out of it abruptly, "Especially in that one scene where he's slowly approaching, slowly approaching…"

As he trailed off, the racket of the room began to calm when the slow click-clacking of approaching feet echoed through the doors and flowed into every open ear, one by one silencing students and seducing their attention to it. The newcomer opened the doors and stood by them as he absorbed the theater at large. The red head he sat next to dropped the Curly Wurly onto the desk she'd turned over her lap, hand paralyzed. Kramer sized up the stranger's long coat of a gentle tan, pointing stick in one hand, and glassy blue eyes – which stopped on him. He choked out a terrified breath.

"Oh mama!" Kramer wheezed, petrified so much that he, for a split second, accidentally slipped the burning end of the cigar into his mouth.

Twenty minutes ago, that pointing stick was being used in its designed purpose and was pointing to a whiteboard. On one end was not Castiel's hand, but Professor's. The former was the audience.

"Remember the three S's. Be strict, be smart, and be superior," he thwacked the stick against each written word for emphasis, "which means you tell them silence is required in the classroom, and you maneuver their trains of thought to arrive at the right answer, and most of all, you let them know who's boss. Which, heh, is similar to being strict, but you're entitled to being a little condescending."

Although Professor beamed, Castiel saw nothing pleasant about this yet. "I'm beginning to doubt my commitment to this."

Professor scowled melodramatically at him. "What kind of angel are you?"

"I'm the Angel of Thursday," he replied truthfully.

For a few moments, Professor was without the slightest of what to do with that. "Oookay, then be the angel of –" he fumbled for the timetable, squinting at it, "– ofofof Room B12! In fact – no, you are a god to these people. Taking orders from, you know, the God must have had i–its influences, indubitably?"

Castiel tilted his head, unable to see eye to eye on that opinion. "Angels are not impressionable."

"Castiel, come on, just relax!" he groused shrilly, patience breaking, "Frankly, I–I don't care if you go in there and, and, and pull an Oprah by gifting them with Bibles hidden underneath their seats!" Steering the angel out of his staff room by the shoulders, he obliged the pointing stick into his hand and painfully locked eyes with him. "I just need you in the room!"

"Audrey is in your class?"

The random question had Professor reeling back, as if slapped in the face, before recovering with uncertainty. "Um. Yeah? Sh–she is. Why do you, uh, ask?"

It was a move driven purely by his subconscious when he began to smack the pointing stick into the palm of his free hand, gaze drifting far and spiraling darkly downward.

"Just curious," he replied, his tone ambiguous.

"Good-afternoon," he opened, standing behind the mahogany desk that lead the lecture theater, but not taking his seat. "My name is Castiel. I will be conducting your lesson today."

"Where's Professor?" asked a voice.

"Your professor has been called to an emergency and has requested that I oversee his class."

"What kind of emergency?" asked another.

"His concerns are neither yours nor mine," he said bluntly. During the entire exchange, his eyes were on Audrey in the first row, who was giving him double, triple, quadruple-takes. Focus was broken when, beyond that visual priority, he detected movement. A young man airing the classic "I'm too cool for school" quality, despite being enrolled in nonmandatory tertiary education, had risen to his feet, swung his backpack over a shoulder and already had one foot on the steps. Castiel narrowed his eyes and swiftly but composedly moved to stand at the bottom of these steps.

Be strict. "Where are you going?"

The boy chuckled dismissively, but stopped his descent. "You're a sub, you're here to babysit."

Be smart. Castiel cocked his head owlishly. "When you say "sub", you mean one of three things." Slowly, he ascended the steps towards him. "You are saying that I'm either a submarine sandwich, a subscription or a substitute. I was personally entrusted by your professor with the role as your substitute professor, not a babysitter."

It wasn't until he reached the step just below the boy that it became apparent as to how short this young man was. Even from less elevation, Castiel still had height over him. In a blink of an eye, the pointing stick had darted up and pressed against the boy's chin, directing his head to look up at the angel.

Be superior. "I suggest you sit down, be quiet and learn something, because if the reality has yet to enter your mind, I've declared myself as your substitute teacher, which implies that I am effectively teaching and that you are learning. I'm not a lecturer, and before you speak, keep in mind that I'm not lecturing you at all right now. Because you've learned something. What's a sub?"

"A submarine sandwich, a subscription or a substitute," came the boy's mechanical response.

A ghost of a smile touched Castiel's lips as he lowered the pointing stick sparingly. "Take your seat."

Not until the boy had compliantly reclaimed his seat with what dignity he was left with, Castiel began to descend the steps.

"It's been illuminated to me, by your professor, that this lesson has been specially arranged for your sake, in preparation for exams to come." Reaching the front, he turned back to his riveted audience, almost as though luring them into a climactic punchline. "Proceed to do so at your own pace, in silence."

Up until then, his confidence had truly been empty, concealed by a mask of authority he knew how to wear well, but it filled when his words were obeyed automatically and everyone progressed into their work. If only the Winchester brothers were this cooperative. All worked except for, well, understandably, Audrey. The infinity-takes had ended and she simply stared at him, her mouth making an 'o' of complete and utter loss. Her gaze was held and returned quizzically as he sat back against the desk, like an artist assessing his work.

"Heya Chief, Mister Professor Sir —" Fingers snapped in his direction, urging Castiel's attention to Kramer, who had since overcome his irrational fear of him. After being prompted with an expectant look, he asked, "How do you spell 'peripheral'?"

"P–E–R–I–P–H–E–R–A–L. Peripheral."

Kramer's head was bowed, nodding vehemently as he scribbled away. "I gotcha, I gotcha. Right. So, P…?"

Was that all he managed to retain from that? Castiel nearly rolled his eyes. "P–E–R–I–P–H–E–R–A–L."

"Yahtzee, baby, yahtzee, it's in the bag – so, P–E…?"

"I will write it down," he practically grumbled, turning around and moving toward the whiteboard, picking up a marker along the way.

He began spelling out the word on the board when he sensed an impending flying object. Just like the moment he had obstructed Bobby's attack the first night he had met him and Dean, with his right hand still writing on the board, his left briskly reached over his right shoulder and, dead on time, caught the ball of paper that had been launched to hit him. Students gasped.

Without even turning, and while pointing a finger at the offender and still holding the paper ball, he said, "Audrey James Hathaway, I'd like to see you after class."

The class rumbled with awed murmurs and giggles as he turned, locking eyes with her only briefly before she turned to address the tier of students above her regarding her middle name ("It's just Jane with an 'm', and plural, big deal!"). As the class resumed work, he descended into his seat, unfurling the ball of paper. Written on it was "WHAT THE FUCK R U DOING HERE?".

Eyebrows knitting at her colorful language, he rolled it back up and tossed it into the wastebasket under the desk. He calmly clasped his hands on the desk, looking up and straight at her, knowing her eyes would already be on him and that their gazes would lock when he did. Thrown at him with an equal amount of exertion as the paper ball was an expression and a shrug, together wordlessly reiterating what she had written down. In response, he frowned and tilted his head innocently at her, as though finding her confusion to be misplaced.

Next to her, Kramer started poking her arm.

"Hey, kiddo, you got a pencil sharpener?" he asked, holding up a pencil that had already been honed down to a nub, yet still visibly indented with bite marks.

"Um, yeah sure, I have one just —"

"Miss Hathaway," Castiel addressed, an admonishing edge in his tone, not loud yet still carrying, "Do you misunderstand the concept of silence?"

Her mouth opened and closed dumbly, startled at being addressed this way. "I…" Indignity hit her belatedly and she inflated with umbrage. "… was just giving him a pencil sharpener, chill!"

He rose to his feet, head cocked curtly as though mishearing. "Are you talking back to me?" he asked, approaching her.

"It is calle-d –" the 'd' popped in annoyance as he drew closer, "– replying!"

"I do no-t –" he mimicked her accentuation, "– appreciate," he placed his hands on her desk, one still gripping the pointing stick, and invaded her personal space, "your impertinence."

To the casual eye, they were simply staring each other down from a very close proximity. To their own eyes, they could see the burning hunger banked behind them, a fire without a flame. Also, the restraint they pulled over it, quelling that fire but not hiding the smolder at all. Its presence could not be denied if later mentioned, but presently, it could not be acknowledged, let alone acted upon. Before that barricade could and would crumble, Kramer came to their rescue, clearing the mist for them.

"And, uh, technically," he leaned into their frame of view to interject his message, "you haven't given me the pencil sharpener yet, so —" He nodded down at the object in her hands, his subtext plain.

While her focus was on him, Castiel apprehended the folder on her desk, to which she instantly protested. "Hey!"

Flicking through some pages, he frowned. "You've managed considerable work within such a brief period. That's admirable."

"Er, thanks?"

His scowl at her could easily be mistaken for a painfully studious regard as he snapped the folder shut a little harshly. With his next question, the conversation began to resemble that of a lover's spat.

"Do other intellectual avenues of your life not satisfy you?"

There was an empty moment before she fell in line with the implication weaved into his words, and the garish bewilderment on her face waned into something rueful.

"They satisfy me in a different way!"

"It should be sufficient," he muttered with a bit of a huff, denying her his regard.

"There's just a part of me this can reach that the other can't!"

"How long, Miss Hathaway?" he demanded, almost querulously, like a housewife to their husband who had, once again, arrived home late and drunk, still not looking at her and rather waiting for the words themselves, "How long?"

"Just 'til the middle of May!" When it didn't appear to appease him, she frantically threw in, "I–I'll be thinking of my other intellectual avenues the entire time!"

"That doesn't make you any less promiscuous," he said with a decided sharpness. Her brow puckered at this, and he quickly added to clarify, "Intellectually."

Her confused frown disappeared into her rueful gaze again. "You know I love my consultations with other avenues." At this point, every other student in the room did not know what the hell they were talking about. Save for Kramer, who was, ironically, the only one devoting themselves to their work.

"I'm certain those are words you recite for all of them." Blinking sullenly, Castiel turned around and returned to his desk, leaving Audrey about to reply to nothing but air. With a sigh, her hands dropped onto the desk in defeat, and Kramer saw her silence as an opportunity to put in a remark.

"Teach is a bit of a nut, am I right?" he snorted, nodding vigorously.

"Talking back at the professor," deadpanned a student, Sheldon Cooper, from the row behind them. "Oh, you better believe that's a paddlin'." While Kramer wheezed with laugher and slapped Audrey on the arm to join him, she crossed her arms and sulked silently in her seat.

The clock struck one. Silence. When the clock struck quarter past one, a hand was hesitantly raised from the farthest row.

"Um. Sir? Can we go now?"

Castiel tore his focus away from Audrey, who had also started out of her focus on her paper, and glanced up to the young woman in the back row. It was then that he took in all the pairs of eyes that were observing him, awaiting some form of indication to leave. Oh. It was past one o'clock. It was time to dismiss them.

With a nod, he uttered a simple, "You may go," which was noticeably received with some unfamiliarity, having all been accustomed to hearing "Class dismissed!" from their usual professor. The students cleared the room in a typical New York City rush, but he paid little attention to it as he watched Audrey approach his desk, hugging her folder against her chest.

Blinking dispassionately, irony laced through her dry tone when she spoke. "You wanted to see me, professor?"

The humor of the situation pricked at his lips to smile, but he didn't. "You are probably wondering why I am here and Professor is not."

"Mmno, it barely crossed my mind."

Her sarcasm was ignored. "He is currently having a personal crisis that could not be deferred for his professional life."

"Okay," she nodded, following so far, frowning anxiously for Professor's sake, "that does explain his absence, but why are you here?"

He had had the whole hour to prepare for this conversation. "He recalled me being a professor and how well I was able to intrigue a class, so he requested my services."

The anxious frown soured into perplexity. "But, wait, no – you're not a real professor. That was a whopper of my own!" Her eyes narrowed. "Unless… you really are one?"

"No, I am not. But I was permitted regardless."

This appeared to disturb her. "NYU's gotta sort out their safety measures," she mumbled reproachfully, "Not that you're dangerous, but as far as I know, you're not qualified. And isn't this like, illegal?"

"I have enough pull over certain things that automatically grants me allowances."

Though without the intention to, his words translated to complacency, indicated by her wry smile. "Ah, that's right. You're "powerful"."

Pleased to have navigated her away from his deception, the sternness of his eyes moderated. "On another matter," he went on; there was a pregnant pause as he blinked and locked eyes with her, ensuring she noticed the change in his, "you must understand that I'd believed it was my wisdom that lured you to me and how much I value that."

The change of topic was abrupt but she adapted quickly without grievance. "It was," she replied lightly, despite her engrossed gaze, "But I'm not gonna stop expanding my mind, which means, naturally, I'm gonna be lookin' into outlets beyond, well, you. It's nothing personal. You haven't lost my attention, but you have to accept that…" she paused to frown, doubting the discretion of her words, "… that I don't surround myself around you," she smiled to quell any offense her words may cause, "as compelling as you are."

A frown appeared as his eyes lowered, not from offense, but at himself. She was being reasonable, while he had been unreasonably possessive.

"I see," he murmured humbly. Her eyes were on him, and when he felt less of a weight in them, he glanced up at her. She was smiling. "What?"

"You are one of a kind, Cas," she mused, the smile pleasantly audible in her tone, "Men don't agonize over these kind of things. No, actually, the average person doesn't even do that. Oh no, don't be ashamed," she quickly added in the appearance of his chagrin, "I'm not faulting you. It's… nice, is all."

Nice. She hadn't forgotten one of their earliest conversations. He had to smile a little at that. It didn't last long as the guilt he delayed feeling crept up on him. It was tormenting enough to have to continuously maneuver her away from the truth, but now to have Professor in tow with his deceit? She didn't deserve this. His internal conflict must have been noticeable in the seconds that passed.

"What's wrong?" she asked. Something resembling comprehension washed over her suddenly. "Ohhh, I see what's getting to you."

His eyes flared to her, apprehension rising. "How is that possible?"

The question went through one ear and out the other as she seemed fully focused on whatever she had gleaned. "I know, I know," she sighed, languidly teetering around the desk until she sat herself on it right in front of him, setting aside her folder, "I know what you're thinking, and yes, yes Castiel, it does suck that we can't mess around in my apartment –" she was unmindful of the way he relaxed at this, curiosity settling to replace his apprehension, "and, actually, I'm not too sure when my dad leaves. He tends to tell me he's visiting but never passes on a departure date," she mused.

Her legs swung idly over the side of the desk as she chewed over that for longer. An idea materializing, her eyes flashed wickedly. "Hey… how 'bout your place? I've never been to your place."

That look in her eyes had him pinned to his seat with interest, until that proposal was made. "I'm… not permitted guests," he replied awkwardly.

"Why? Elitist property?"

"… yes."

Her nose wrinkled in displeasure. "That's stupid. Cockblocking real estate is what that is. Oh well." She began to idly draw her finger over the swirly patterns on the wooden desk, seemingly in her own little world, but when she spoke, it seemed her thoughts had been revolving inward. "But then again," she lowly pressed on, "why limit ourselves to the places we live?"

The finger stopped drawing and she caught his eye, coyly locking it. Her implication projected onto him somewhat, but he was unsure of, yet not opposed to, her immediate plans. Her hand flew up and freed her hair from the ponytail it had been knitted in, flourishing her hair in that classic attempt of seductiveness, which comically fell flat as she had forgotten about about the fluffy pens she had needled into it. She merely shrugged when they all flew out and landed on the floor.

It was when his regard momentarily went to those pens that she pounced on him on the seat, nearly sending it toppling backwards. Comfortably straddling him, she kissed him commandingly. By now, it had become a natural instinct for him to forgo cognition and simply respond in kind. Her tongue darted across his lips, but she did not yet see it through to another kiss as she pulled back instead.

"This," she kissed him again, ripping down his trench coat until it bunched at his elbows, "will be," another kiss as a hand sidled down his chest, and he bucked when it pressed down on him, "quick."

Lingering somewhere was the urge to touch her in like manner, but his body concentrated greedily on her hand's position. When she smiled at his reaction, he struggled his most authoritative tone.

"Audrey…" Unfortunately it emerged as a moan since her hand began to apply maddening friction through the fabric. He was further disarmed when her lips took his in a way that physically conveyed something, a message that traveled downward. Then she stopped everything. Under her, his body tingled with sensitivity. There was a very still silence as her mouth hovered over his. And then, in the respite, the almost deafening, thrilling, indicative sound of a zipper being pulled down, and it was only when her hand closed around him that he could fully register that it had been his.

His hand lashed out to grip the wrist of her offending (but really, it wasn't) hand, not to remove but to secure her there, as his eyes glowed to her what he was unable to say, finding himself at a verbal loss. Her roguish chuckle blew hotly against his lips. Abruptly, she inclined away from him slightly to fix him with a look of studious thought.

"You know what I've never done before?" she questioned, abruptly conversational, as though physically torturing him was just a minor occurrence.

A mixture of confusion, impatience and a burgeoning foreign feeling was in his scowl. "What's that?"

The perky innocence of her face did not match her answer, at all. "Blown a teacher."

For once not ignorant to such vernacular, he gasped, and she took his open mouth as an invitation to place hers over his, touching his tongue briefly with hers before trailing it down his chin, down his neck, all the while never losing momentum in her direct foray. Already sensitive to this myriad of sensations, it was beginning to overwhelm him, as the slow burn didn't seem so slow anymore.

Then it began. And he started to panic.

No. Something was happening. This wasn't right. Oh no. Not now. Not now. Too early. Too early! TOO EARLY! TOO —

…

When he opened his eyes, Audrey was staring back at him with wide-eyed incredulity, completely still. Her gaze timorously fell downwards, at her hand buried beneath all that fabric.

"Oh my God." He was horrified for reasons he didn't yet understand when she gaped back up at him. "Did you just —" He gave her a pained look. It worsened when she began to laugh.

He wanted to flee and he still didn't know why. There was strange sort of shame that came with what he had just done. He couldn't leave because a) she was on top of him, and b) she still had a hold of him. Her laughter didn't make her presence any more pleasant though. Reading this on his face, she stopped herself short.

"I'm sorry, I'm not laughing." Her contrived sobriety rapidly deteriorated. "I'm not laaau-ha-ha-hahaha—"

He could not just sit there and let her laugh away his dignity! Though, he had to grant, little dignity came with having a woman's hand down one's pants and then prematurely reacting to her efforts. When he made a fruitless attempt to move, she stopped him, finally managing the grace to stop her laughter too.

"Okay, seriously, I'll stop now." Though she didn't laugh, she grinned. "And it's okay!" Her free hand cupped his face sympathetically. "It happens to a lot of guys. Especially if it's been a while."

Or, ever.

"Let's assess the damage here." Before the words could register, she had wrested his pants down just enough to, well, investigate. This was so, so, so undignified. Humiliation was forgotten the moment she made a hummed sound of … delight? at the sight of him. Hoping clarification (supposedly, but not limited to, that of the verbal sort) would follow, he eyed her fiercely, but instead, after she rummaged through the pockets of her blazer, she merely glanced up at him.

"You got a napkin?" she inquired breezily, but his vehement gaze did not falter. "No? Huh. Looks like you're in a bit of a pickle."

Following that remark, he wished she would simply zip him back up and move off of him. Instead, she scanned the room around them.

"Well then," she began airily, looking back at him, and he did not trust that gleam in her eyes, "I guess that means this'll have to be done –" her tone darkened suddenly (and correction, he very much liked that gleam in her eyes), "– the old-fashioned way."

Ten minutes later, a fire engine red head emerged from the lecture theater alone, looking immensely proud of herself, flicking a thumb over the corner of her lips to clean off the wetness there. She stopped in her tracks suddenly, surprised to find Kramer waiting for her around the bend.

"Hey, is the teach in there?" he asked skittishly, holding up the plank of wood, "I wanna return the desk I accidentally stole."

It would forever remain a mystery as to how he managed to pry it from its hinges without even knowing. Her mouth opened and closed in amusement.

"Um. Yeah! He is. But! He's, uh, cleaning up for his next class and he needs to be alone for that. To him, to be interrupted in that is like… being caught with his pants down!"

Together, they laughed heartily, Kramer very much oblivious to her literalness, and with that, they left.

Gosh, M ratings are fun. Also, did no one get where "Monk's Cafe" was from in the previous chapter? I am disappoint. And I understand Sheldon Cooper lives in California, but hey, he relates to the physics course! Which, by the way, requires a monumental suspension of belief when it comes to how Kramer, of all people, got enrolled into the class.

Read and review :)