"So," started Charlene with a smirk, "when do you think they'll be, uh, done in there?"
Sam grimaced. "I'm actually trying not to think about it."
Charlene was seated on the table, Sam in his chair, and a nearly empty pie tin sat in between them framed by two sticky forks. Sam squeezed his eyes shut and let out a robust yawn.
"You yawn like a cat," she mused.
"Say what now?" he shot back, suddenly insecure.
"Yeah, like a big, sleepy cat. Maybe a tiger?" She paused and winked. "At the very least a Maine coon."
"Hardeehar," he replied with snark.
She slid off the table and stalked toward him, wicked smile crossing her face. "You remind me of a poem by William Blake." She reached out for his hand and he gave it to her, rising up from the chair.
"Do I?" he said coolly, but his internal monologue was a rapidfire repetition of a singular want. Pleaserecitepoetry pleaserecitepoetry pleaserecitepoetry .
She didn't close her eyes this time, the poem clearly seared into her memory. Instead, she just stared into his eyes, her mischief comingling with his yearning.
"Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?"
Sam couldn't help but to bite his lip. "So, uh… what does that mean?" he said, trying not to stammer like he was fourteen again. She simply took a step toward him, placing the hand she was holding on her hip, and continued, cerulean eyes flashing.
'In what distant deeps or skies.
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?"
She slid her hands up his shoulders and wrapped her arms around the back of his neck, teasing the hairs at his nape with the ghostlike tracings of her fingertips. Sam pressed his lips together, trying to keep his breathing measured and face composed.
"And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?"
Sam slid both hands around her waist and pulled her in closer, and Charlene slid one leg in between his, inseams pressed together tracing a line straight up to where their desire for one another pooled. She reached up from behind, slid her fingers up through Sam's hair and ever-so-gently arched his head back to expose the soft skin of his neck and jaw. She continued reciting, punctuating each line with a small nip of a kiss, starting at his ear and moving down toward his collarbone. Sam could feel meaning of each word ghosting across his skin, and that alone could account for the unbearable stiffening he felt pressing inside his jeans.
"What the hammer? what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp,
Dare its deadly terrors clasp!"
At the last word of the stanza, Charlene pulled Sam's head back toward her, causing Sam just enough pain so that it was still pleasure, and pressed in for a deep kiss. Sam moaned into her mouth and she reciprocated, searching his mouth with her tongue like she was searching for an answer to a question. He answered with his own tongue as their lips moved together with singular intent. Suddenly she pulled back, leaving Sam gasping and wanting. Her eyes flashed and she moved again to renew the kiss, but stopped short, lips grazing, as she finished her poem. Sam shuddered with need for the brilliant, torturous woman.
"When the stars threw down their spears
And water'd heaven with their tears:
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?"
With that, Sam ran his strong hand down along Charlene's backside and under her thigh, pulling her outside knee up and toward him, intensifying their friction. She pulled him down into her, kissing with fervor. With Sam, she felt different, appreciated, abnormal at its most superlative. She felt alive; he was her shocking red, the brightest thing in her day. She knew that at long last her story had begun.
She broke the kiss and whispered torridly, "Do you like it when I talk nerdy, Sammy?"
He panted back, "I could listen to you all day and do nothing else," he leaned down to suck lightly on her collarbone, "and go to bed happy."
Charlene ground up and into him, feeling his tumescence respond instinctively. She pressed her cheek to his and hummed in his ear, "So that must mean you want to know why you're the Tyger."
Sam was tongue-tied and could only nod. She again ground into him again and he let out a small moan that lit a fire in Charlene that she'd never felt before with any partner.
"It means…" she murmured into his his ear, "that you were no accident. You were made this way with intent, with craftsmanship. You are at once a force of good and beauty as well as destruction, and," she hissed sharply as Sam sucked a small bruise on to her neck, "you get to determine which traits you express because you were given free will."
Sam swung her around and pushed her into one of the large supporting columns that held up the stairs. He kissed her desperately on the mouth, and then all over her face, leaving tiny tokens of adoration and gratitude over every square inch of exposed skin. She closed her eyes and smiled, lust bubbling up from some previously untapped well deep down inside. Sam erection was as hard as the marble pillar against which she was pinned, pressing into her with ardor. Suddenly, she heard a whoosh and a flutter and could see Castiel and Dean standing behind Sam, fully clothed and clean. Castiel's face was slack but his sparkling eyes betrayed his amusement. Dean's face was plastered with the dopiest big-brother smile she'd ever seen. Dean started clapping enthusiastically and the sound of it triggered him to release Charlene's leg, then freeze.
"Are you not going to introduce us?" Dean teased gruffly. "That's just bad manners."
Charlene was unfazed. She simply slid out from behind Sam and strode toward Castiel with singular intent. Castiel shuffled uncomfortably and she approached him and then seized up as she wrapped her long arms around him tightly. She squeezed him hard until his muscles relaxed and he brought his own arms up to reciprocate. She leaned in and whispered with a grin, "You put Lloyd Dobler to shame."
"I am pleased to see you, Charlene," he murmured back gratefully.
"Me too, angel," she replied. "Why didn't you tell me about… this? You?"
"I was under the impression it was understood."
Charlene thought for a moment and replied, "I guess you're right."
Sam stood behind them, trying to hide his uncomfortable erection from his brother.
She gave Castiel a small kiss on the cheek and released him, turning toward Deam. Before she could walk over to hug him, he strode forward and wrapped her up into his own arms roughly and squeezed her tightly.
"Thank you," he said appreciatively, "for helping him."
She chuckled as she wrapped her own arms around his back and squeezed. "I was merely a facilitator."
He let one hand release her as he gestured toward Sam, smirk lighting his face as his eyes flickered down to his crotch and back up again. "How'd you end up with ol' Sammy here?"
She turned toward Sam with a smile. "Oh, he's my boyfriend now."
Sam's eyes went wide and both Castiel and Dean raised their eyebrows in unison.
"Am I wrong?" she asked Sam, smile mischievous.
He raised his hands in deference, shifting uncomfortably in his pants, and squeaked out a small smile. "No, I guess not."
"Damn straight," she said emphatically. She reached into her sweatshirt pockets and pulled out two cassette tapes, one Audioslave, one For Cas. She put the Audioslave tape into one of Dean's hands. "This one is for you," she said with a sly smile, "and this one," she placed the mix tape into his other hand, "is For Cas."
Panic froze Dean's face into a look of wide surprise. "Wait, where did you find this?"
Charlene shrugged, "it was in the trunk of your Baby."
"Wait," he said, looking up at Sam with surprise, "she's seen the trunk?"
"Um, yeah?" Sam replied, haltingly.
Dean continued, incredulous, "What else do you know?"
Charlene cleared her throat, and then spoke with authoritative charisma, counting off points on her fingers, "I know you and Sam are Men of Letters, hunters of evil. I know you are brothers, that your dad was a hunter, and that you've faced dangerous foes. You've died multiple time and have been resurrected. You were stuck in hell and this goofball," she said, gesturing with her thumb at Castiel who smiled at the term of endearment, "pulled your ass out." She paused for effect. "I know you've been 'touched by an angel', and I know I really like your mix tape."
Dean seemed unfazed by all of her proclamations but one. "Wait, you mean you LISTENED to this?!" He said, holding the tape close to his chest. "Wait, you BOTH listened to this?!"
Sam cleared his throat, "For the record, Dean, I think it's really great."
Finally, Castiel spoke. "Dean," he intoned in his gravelly monotone, "what is that?"
"It's a, it's a… it's nothing," he mumbled, struggling to make eye contact with his angel. He let his hand holding the tape drop to his side as he looked down to the floor.
Suddenly, with a fluttering of feathers, Castiel stood directly behind Dean and snatched the tape from his hand. As he stepped back he held the tape up for closer inspection. He noticed the inscription. For Cas.
Dean spun around, eyes wide and terrified, but he noticed Castiel's face was one of joy as he carefully handled the cassette, turning it over in his hand, inspecting it with wonder.
"Dean," he said lowly, "did you make this… for me?"
Dean started babbling, "Yeah, but, well, I mean I made it before, before all of this," he gestured around broadly, "and I didn't think I'd ever get the chance, the chance to give it to you, or that, you know, people would actually ever LISTEN to it," he glared at Sam, "and I- I-"
Castiel stepped forward, gently took Dean's hand, and carefully placed the tape back into it. "Here, Dean," he soothed. "It is okay, I have no desire to listen to it against your wishes."
Dean looked to Sam and Charlene, expecting looks of ridicule, but saw only compassion. He looked back to Castiel, whose eyes were lit with gratitude.
"Dean, it means a lot to know you thought of me, before all of this. Thank you."
Dean sighed. Who am I kidding? Just give him the friggin' tape.
He held the tape back out to Castiel. "Here, angel," he said softly. "Take it. I made it for you."
Castiel eagerly searched Dean's eyes for consent and found it, then gingerly took the tape back. He held it like it was some rare treasure, because for Castiel, it was. "I will be back soon," he said solemnly, and with a rush of static he poofed away.
Dean leaned forward, hands on his knees. "I think I'm gonna be sick," he groaned.
Charlene hopped happily. "Dean, that was amazing!"
He groaned again, "I am dying inside."
"Don't be nervous!" she exclaimed! "He'd love it even if it was bad!"
He looked up at her. "Yeah," he conceded. "I know."
She walked over to him and patted him soothingly on the back. "Here, let me help you clean all this up."
Dean rose and looked around. "I think this might be considered hazardous waste at this point," he said with a grimace.
"Just get me a pair of gloves and I'll be fine," she soothed. "Sammy'll help, won't you?" She said, shooting a teasing look his way.
"Nope! Absolutely not," he said in disgust. "Sorry, Dean, but this is a bridge too far."
"Sam with make coffee then," she grumbled playfully in concession, "after he fetches all of the cleaning supplies."
They all paused as they heard the sound of cellos waft down the hall from Dean's room. Dean wrinkled his nose and took a deep breath as Charlene shot Sam a knowing look.
Dean had Charlene start with the least offensive chores, moving all of the uneaten pies to the kitchen area, filling the bucket with hot, soapy water. She collected the empty pie tins and threw them in the rubbish bin. Dean wiped up the most egregious sins first, anything related to bodily fluids, He crawled around on his knees scooping up globs of pie and throwing them into a plastic garbage bag, and used a soapy rag to wipe up the sticky stains. He couldn't help but smile as he did so, and his face twisted into a wide grin once he came across Castiel's sticky blueberry handprint on the door.
Charlene noticed Dean and smiled. "I took a picture of that; I can text it to you."
"Why am I not surprised?"
As they cleaned, Sam and Charlene swapped stories with Dean. Charlene spoke of meeting Castiel at the diner, and her role in helping him reconnect with Dean. She talked about meeting Sam at the bar, making sure to point out how terrible he was at Galaga. Sam talked about her apartment, bragged about her books, her intelligence. Charlene told Dean all about her mother, her directionless life, her desire for something more. Dean listened intently on his hands and knees, methodically scrubbing. When Sam and Charlene reached the end of their tale, he paused and sat up.
"I'm not sure how to explain what happened here," he said gruffly.
Sam countered compassionately, "But are you happy?"
"Yeah, Sammy, I'm pretty friggin' happy," he said with a small smile. "But, things are gonna be messy for a while. I'm kinda outta my depth here."
"We always figure it out," Sam replied.
Dean pressed a hand to the floor and stood. He tossed the rainbow-stained rag into the sudsy bucket and surveyed the newly clean room. "Yeah, Sammy, we do," he said softly.
Suddenly, there was a flash and flutter, and Castiel stood before Dean, eyes wet and wanting. He threw his arms around Dean's neck and kissed his human with a renewed passion, causing Dean's pulse to flutter.
"Cas," Dean gasped as he broke away. "Did you… like it?"
Castiel gave a small grateful nod and leaned into his ear. "And shame was on the other side."
Dean smiled and whispered back, "We can beat them, forever and ever."
Suddenly Charlene's excited voice called out in song, "And we can be herooooes!"
Sam cleared his throat and muttered amusedly, "Just for one day."