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esto quod es
[From here . . . ]
Meg's not sure what to expect.
It's hardly the first time Castiel has asked her something, or even asked something of her -- there's a baseball diamond out back to attest to that. But she cannot remember anything he's not been able to ask her in the main bar, except for wanting to show her that diamond. And that request had felt very different.
Though he'd whisked her off then, too. She has, in fact, traveled like that just often enough to know that it's slightly less disconcerting if you keep your eyes closed.
Slightly.
She opens them now to find herself in a room she's been in once before. She recognizes the blue and white striped wallpaper.
She also recognizes the woman sprawled in the room's only chair (and it's an impressive feat to be able to sprawl in a simple wooden desk chair), t-shirt inquiring What Would Nancy Drew Do?
Nancy, Meg suspects, would look for clues, try to put the puzzle together, solve the problem.
Meg doesn't need to.
A human girl who finds herself alone in a room with two angels has all the clues she needs to know that whatever she's about to be asked, there's more riding on it than a baseball game.
And that she's not going to be able to put the puzzle together without their handing her the pieces first.
She doesn't even want to speculate about what the problem might be.
Meg takes a deep breath before she tries to say anything.
"Hello, Michael."
At least her voice only shakes a little?
Meg's not sure what to expect.
It's hardly the first time Castiel has asked her something, or even asked something of her -- there's a baseball diamond out back to attest to that. But she cannot remember anything he's not been able to ask her in the main bar, except for wanting to show her that diamond. And that request had felt very different.
Though he'd whisked her off then, too. She has, in fact, traveled like that just often enough to know that it's slightly less disconcerting if you keep your eyes closed.
Slightly.
She opens them now to find herself in a room she's been in once before. She recognizes the blue and white striped wallpaper.
She also recognizes the woman sprawled in the room's only chair (and it's an impressive feat to be able to sprawl in a simple wooden desk chair), t-shirt inquiring What Would Nancy Drew Do?
Nancy, Meg suspects, would look for clues, try to put the puzzle together, solve the problem.
Meg doesn't need to.
A human girl who finds herself alone in a room with two angels has all the clues she needs to know that whatever she's about to be asked, there's more riding on it than a baseball game.
And that she's not going to be able to put the puzzle together without their handing her the pieces first.
She doesn't even want to speculate about what the problem might be.
Meg takes a deep breath before she tries to say anything.
"Hello, Michael."
At least her voice only shakes a little?
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"He sold his soul. In exchange for his brother's life."
Castiel had not been the only angel to watch that transaction with dismay.
"To the Crossroads Demon."
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And more than human, too. Perhaps.
"But human is what we need Mr. Winchester to be. What he needs himself to be, in point of fact. Only I believe he has forgotten how."
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He corrected her, when she did.
And, yes, it's hardly the most salient point, but . . . it's hard to say what is the most salient point.
There are so many to pick from.
"So . . . Dean sold his soul, to save Sam's life. To Verity, the demon you warned me about, after you fought with her here."
Meg looks up, and at Castiel. "That's why you fought with her, isn't it? The 'heinous act' she committed?
"And then Dean went to Hell, only you went and got him out. And brought him here."
Is that the long and the short of it?
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"It was, yes."
One of thousands of heinous acts, but Castiel would rank it at the top of the list.
"And yes, that is essentially what has passed."
Castiel is silent for a moment before he adds, "He was there for some time. As humans reckon things. He did not fare well."
Of course, it's Hell. No one does.
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There is no smile on Michael's mouth, though there is a softness lurking in the set of her face.
It misses sweetness by a mile, though.
"A helping hand at this juncture would not go amiss."
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"What? Me?"
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Castiel lifts one shoulder slightly.
"You are the best example I know."
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Meg closes her eyes for a moment.
This is . . .
How do you even start to . . .
What . . .
"I'm just a girl.
"I . . .
"What do you think I'd possibly be able to do?"
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"We neither of us have the talent for it."
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It is Meg's own individual nature that makes her his first choice for this job, after all.
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There are a hundred objections she could make.
There are a thousand questions she could ask.
And there are two answers she could give.
But as Meg is as Meg always is, there's only one she will.
It still takes her a moment to actually give it.
And then she nods.
"All right."
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"Thank you."
She could have said no.
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"You won't be unsupported, of course."
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"I, um . . . I have some questions."
Their answers won't change her answer.
But if she's almost literally rushing in where angels fear to tread, she would like to know something about the lay of the land.
"When you say that he's forgotten how to be human . . . what does that mean?"
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"For those on Earth, Dean has been dead for a matter of months. But his time in Hell has been decades long."
"When I finally found him....he did not wish to leave. He actively fought against it. I cannot say precisely what was in his mind at the time, but I think it safe to say that he had grown accustomed to the torment that he suffered there."
"He seemed to feel that eternity in Hell was what he deserved."
Castiel had not expected that. But perhaps he should have.
"When I brought him here, he swung between bouts of catatonia and violence. My presence disturbed him to the degree that Michael agreed to stay with him, as she has the ability to make herself unseen."
Castiel inclines his head, respectfully, to his superior.
"She has been watching him for the last eight days."
He looks to Michael. It is she who can account for Dean's state during the past week.
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"He is capable of speech, now. And of reasoned discourse -- of a sort. But I do not think isolation serves him well. But by the same token I suspect the barrage of the bar may be far too much interaction to be easily borne. And a retreat now may be more difficult to recover from a second time."
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It's so much to keep up with.
But then, it's very unlikely she'll forget any of it.
"Is he still violent?"
Really very unlikely.
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Michael pulls a black elastic hair-tie from her wrist, leaning over to hold it out to Meg.
"This should suffice to keep you safe if the need arises. And, of course, you may always call on me."
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"A rubber band?"
Is she supposed to try to shoot him with it?
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"A gift from an archangel, Meg. The outward appearance is merely convenient."
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"Sorry."
She slides it onto her own wrist, and arranges her usual bracelets on either side of it.
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"It is a difficult thing we ask of you. And even if it were not -- your province is always to ask questions. It is how you were made."
And why.
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It is a far cry from saying, We would not ask this of you if we did not feel it was safe.
And Castiel knows that Meg will have the wit to see that. He hopes consideration will suffice.
"And we will both be close at hand."
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The phrasing is not lost on her, no.
And she wants to ask how on Earth she's supposed to go about accomplishing any of this, but that's a useless question.
Because one, they're not on Earth.
And two, well, humanity is the whole point, right?
So instead what she says is, "What else do I need to know?"
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"It would probably be best," he says, "if you do not say anything to Dean about angels."
Humanity is the focus here.
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She breaks off, flicking her fingers in what might count as a dismissive gesture. (But dismissive of what?)
"It may be kinder to allow him to re-introduce himself. When he is ready."
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Don't tell anyone about Dean.
Is there any point in asking what she's supposed to say if Dean asks her how he got here? Or how she got here?
"What . . .
"What about Sam?"
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Demon blood matters, and questions of Sam Winchester's loyalties aside...
"Those who he was closest to have the potential to do the most harm at this juncture."
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She says that like someone who knows.
"It will be difficult enough already. And he may yet retreat back within himself."
Who is to say?
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Meg wasn't quite asking the question they answered.
Dean died.
And Meg knows more than she'd like to about being the sibling left behind.
It's not a feeling she'd wish on anybody.
And certainly not someone she considers a friend.
And, yes, all right, she can see the rationale and the logic and the sense in what Castiel and Michael are saying.
And, no, she can't imagine that you could tell Sam any of this and expect him to just take your word for it, and not insist on seeing his brother.
But . . .
Well, there are certain things it's harder for Meg to be rational about than others.
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"Please trust us, Meg."
"We will return Dean to his brother in due time. But he is not ready yet."
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And sometimes who was left depends on the point of view.
That one she knows far better than she'd like.
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That's the point, right?
Meg supposes she should be grateful that this is at least unlikely to wind up ending with her being burned at the stake.
"All right," she says.
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"I'll let you know how it goes," she says.
Because please leave me alone now is just not something you say to an angel.
Never mind an archangel.
But Meg needs a moment to herself now.
Possible two.
Or twenty.
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She'll head for the door in a moment.
(Or maybe less than that.)
"You'll be all right."
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It is a weight of responsibility, but Castiel believes Meg equal to it.
"The room is yours. As long as you need it."
It is not as though he needs rest or repose.
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Meg stares at the bracelets -- and the hair-tie -- around her right wrist until they blur.
And then she blinks her vision clear.
Forget Nancy Drew.
It's time to figure out what Meg Ford is going to do.
Even if it takes the better part of the night to do so.