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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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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.