Sam and Charlie are waiting when he gets back.

Or technically, Charlie is. Sam is passed out, one arm stretched across the table in front of him, face down and drooling. Charlie holds one finger up to her lips as he walks in the door and points toward the kitchen.

"So?" she asks quietly as soon as they are both inside, "did you see him?"

Dean half smiles, tilting his head down.

"Yeah," he says, and Charlie punches the air, "not for long. But... yeah."

"And?"

"And what?"

She rolls her eyes, pulling out a stool to sit down at the counter and gesturing for him to do the same as if it's her kitchen they're talking in. Dean complies.

"And did you talk? About the whole..." she wriggles her hands around, "feelings thing."

"Not really," Dean says, and when her face falls he feels compelled to explain himself, "not that I didn't want to. But he's on the run. So... you know. Bad timing."

"Is he okay?"

"Yeah. He looked good," Dean says, eyes crinkling as he remembers Castiel's flattened hair, "tired, but good."

The way Charlie's looking at him, he's pretty sure he's embarrassing himself, but he can't bring himself to care. He smiles back, and Charlie grins wider, stretching her arms out over the counter with a yawn before resting her chin in her hands.

"Do you know when he'll be back?"

"No, but he has my phone now so—"

Charlie blanches.

"Uh..."

She abruptly sits up straight, eyes going wide, and Dean stares at her.

"What?"

"You gave him your cell?" she asks, little more than a whisper, "how long ago was that exactly?"

"Why?"

"I maybe texted you... fifteen minutes ago."

"Where's your phone?"

Charlie's eyes flick involuntarily back out into the library, and she shakes her head. Dean is already hurrying through the door toward the table. She ducks under his arm and runs, grabbing the cell off the table a split second before he can pick it up. She holds it away from him.

"Please don't be mad."

She looks like she might cry. It isn't exactly calming him down. He snatches the phone from her hand and opens the recent messages, reading as he walks back toward the kitchen.

FROM: Charlie
SENT: 1:01am
So are you taking this long
because you got lost, or because
you and Castiel are busy
rounding second?

FROM: Charlie
SENT: 1:02am
I can't believe I just missed
the perfect chance to
reference Angels in the
Outfield! D:

Dean laughs, handing back the phone, and Charlie takes it warily.

"It might as well be encrypted," he says, and she frowns for a second, looking at the texts, before she lets out an exasperated breath and sits back down.

"Duh," she says to herself, "obviously. Cas not getting trivia stuff is like, the third most common joke in the books. Sorry. I forgot."

"What's the first?"

"Hmm?"

"The first most common joke? Is it Sam's gas? It's Sam's gas, right?"

Charlie pulls a face.

"Most common joke is you missing out on pie."

"Me missing out on pie is a joke?"

"Yeah."

"I don't see how that's funny."

"You wouldn't," she says, yawning, "Anyway. Now that that's settled, you can give me the scoop."

"The scoop?" Dean repeats with a raised brow, "who are you, Lois Lane?"

"Sure," she says, "I'd look hot in a blazer."

"How's that ego coming along?"

"Swimmingly," Charlie smirks, before leaning over the counter, her expression shifting back to serious, "but seriously, if I'm being nosy, just say so."

Ordinarily, he'd take the out, but there's something buzzing warm in his chest, and he finds that talking about it is actually tempting. He kind of wants a second opinion. What the hell, he thinks, and clears his throat.

"We, uh... we didn't have long. Just a few minutes. Five, tops."

"Did he say where he's been?"

"No, just that there were angels tracking him and he had to keep moving."

"That sucks," she says, genuine concern in her furrowed brow, and Dean nods.

"He asked how I found him, I told him, he said the angels were coming, and..." Dean's mouth ticks up at the side as he remembers Castiel's hand on his cheek, and he bites the inside of his lip before he goes on, "and then he left, and—"

"Wait."

"What?"

"What was that?"

"What was what?"

"That," she points at his face, her eyes narrowed, "little pause."

Dean glances away.

"He like... touched my face kind of."

He shrugs, like it's no big deal, picking at the counter top. He spent a good chunk of the drive back with a stupid grin on his face just thinking about it, but Charlie doesn't need to know that. There are some things, he thinks, too cheesy to tell her.

"Touched your face how?"

"Like, you know... with his hand."

"Show me."

"Like," Dean lifts his hand to his own cheek and drops it again, and Charlie wrinkles her brow.

"Okay, that tells me absolutely nothing. Do it on me how he did it."

She hops up, standing in front of him.

"What?"

"I'll be you, you be Cas," she pulls a stern face and squares her shoulders in what Dean assumes is meant to be an imitation of him, and drops her voice to a gruff rumble, "go."

"Are you twelve?"

"Yep," she says, dropping out of her terrible impersonation to smirk at him, "come on. How were you standing?"

With a sigh, he stands and reaches out, grabbing her by the shoulders and maneuvering her around until she's facing him head on from a couple of feet away. She looks down at the scant space between them, then up again.

"Really?"

"What?"

"Wow. I mean it's in the books and everything, but I just assumed Chuck had a really bad sense of distan—"

Catching sight of the look on Dean's face, Charlie cuts herself off, pressing her lips together.

"You done?"

Lips still sealed, she nods.

With a sigh, he lifts his hand to replicate Castiel's touch against her cheek, curling his fingers in the space before her ear, grazing over her jawline. It feels awkward and weird, and he's about to drop his hand when Charlie bursts out laughing.

"Oh my God," she says, covering her mouth as if trying to physically hold the laughter in, "sorry. Just. God damn."

Dean scowls at her, crossing his arms and stepping back.

"No, seriously Dean," she fans her face, presses the back of her hand against her cheeks, "I thought you said he touched your face."

"He did."

"That was not touching."

"What the hell else do you call it?"

"Uh, maybe fondling? Caressing? Making sweet, sweet face love?"

Dean wrinkles his nose.

"Yeah, okay, maybe not that last one. But I mean, I very nearly leaned in just then, and as cute as you are you're really not my type."

"You want the rest of the story now, or are you planning on mocking me some more?"

"There's more? I thought you said he left?"

"He did. I called him a little while after, and he's going to get in touch with Chuck to see if he's seen anything useful on the tablet. Told him I'd call back when I got home," he says, "Speaking of... you mind if I use your phone?"

"Go for it."

"Thanks."

She hands it over, and Dean scrolls through the contacts, tapping on Handmaiden. His finger hovers over the number, and he smiles at Charlie, waiting for her to leave. She smiles back. Sits down.

"Well, go on," she says, chin in her hands.

"I'm not calling with an audience, Charlie."

"Damn," she says, though she's still grinning, "I hoped I'd get to see you all flustered."

"I don't get flustered."

Charlie nods, but it doesn't look like she believes him. Dean frowns at her. Taking in his expression, Charlie darts in to squeeze him briefly around the waist.

"I'm just teasing, Dean," she says quietly before she leaves, "I'm really glad you found him."

"Thanks, Charlie."