drop me a line, stating point of view

[noteful]

Meg stands in Castiel's room with her back against the door to Dean's room and her eyes closed and counts until she reaches seven hundred and forty-three.

There's something soothing about the fact that the numbers are all still in the order she's used to.

And then she sits down at Castiel's desk, and pulls a blue notebook out of her bag, and a pen engraved with her ititials that her father gave her for her birthday this year, and writes.

Dean,

I'll look in on you again in a while, if that's all right.

And in the meantime, if there's anything you want, just send me a note back, and I'll look into it, and see what I can do.

Meg

She sets the note on top of a second sheet she's torn from the notebook, that one blank, and folds both of them around a plastic ballpoint pen.

And then she slides it under the door to Dean's room, and goes back to the desk to make a list of things she needs to get from the bar.

It's starting to look like she might be here for a while.

Comments

[noteful]

At least she hears him, and he doesn't have to call her twice?

The door swings open a moment later, the same few inches as before, and Meg looks around it into his room.

"Dean?"

[hopeitsworthit]

He takes a couple steps back from the door, hands held carefully at his sides.








"Hi."

That one word is a lot harder to say than it should be. But at least it's coherent?

[noteful]

"Hi.

"May I come in?"

And oh but a lot of effort goes into making that question sound casual.

[hopeitsworthit]

"I don't think you should."

There should be a follow-up to that, or a lead-in, but --

[noteful]

"I'll just stay here, then."

Though she does open the door a few more inches.

"Um."

Oh, very eloquent, that.

But how are you? is a thoroughly insane thing to ask, and she can't think of anything else.

She's had more than a day to figure out something to say here, and she's got absolutely nothing but the all-but-useless how are you?

Get it together, Meghan.

"How are you?"

Brilliant.

[hopeitsworthit]

"I've been better?"

It has the sound of a stab in the dark.

(Not that kind. Really.)

[noteful]

"I'm sure," Meg says.

"Um, well, is there anything I can help with?

"Anything you'd like me to try to get for you?

"Or I can try to answer questions, if I can. I may not know the answers but . . ."

[hopeitsworthit]

"Where -- "

He stops for a second, carefully excising one of two things from that question.

1) Sam

2) Milliways

Just in case this is --

"You didn't bring me here."

Start with what you're certain of and build from there. Right?

[noteful]

"I didn't, no," she says.

"You're in Milliways. Well, one of the rooms upstairs, technically."

[hopeitsworthit]

"I didn't just fall through the door."

Part of him hopes Meg contradicts him.

The other part of him is pretty sure she can't.

[noteful]

"I wasn't here when you arrived," Meg says.

Which is true.

As far as it goes.

[hopeitsworthit]

Figures.

Dean doesn't say that out loud.

It's -- less of a feat than it used to be.

"So why are you here now?"

Or not.

[noteful]

She shrugs.

"Thought you might want company?" she offers.

It's hard to answer these questions without answering these questions.

And Castiel was pretty clear about not wanting her to answer these questions.

[hopeitsworthit]

"Maybe."

He doesn't know.

There's a wariness to him that --

Is more transparent than it used to be.

"I don't think you want mine."

No one in their right mind would.

[noteful]

"You made that kind of clear when you told me not to come into the room," she says.

Meg sits down, still in the doorway, her back to the doorframe.

"But we're the only people here, and talking to me might be a little more interesting than staring at the walls, so . . . here I am."

[hopeitsworthit]

"But what do you want?"

Simple human kindness -- if that's what this is -- used to make sense.

It did.

[noteful]

"I want to help if I can.

"And, if I can't, then I still want to try.

"If you'll let me."

[hopeitsworthit]

He laughs, short and sharp.

"You think I could stop you?"

It hasn't worked for him yet.

For anything.

[noteful]

"If you want me to leave, I'll leave.

"And frankly, yeah, if you won't let me help, I'm not going to be able to.

"I'm not vain enough to think otherwise."

And this so isn't about her.

(Except in the ways that it is.)

"Though, no, you really can't keep me from trying."

[hopeitsworthit]

"Yeah, well."

At least the laughter stops.

"Good luck."

[noteful]

"Thank you," she says.

"Is there any point in asking what you want?"

[hopeitsworthit]

"Too late for that, sweetheart."

Years ago it would have been flippant.

[noteful]

"Why is that?"

[hopeitsworthit]

His grin is sudden and entirely humorless.

"I already got it."

This would be when he turns, too-quick and jerky, and paces a few more feet away from the door.

He'll turn around in a second.

Two, maybe.

"So. You wanna come in?"

[noteful]

Meg stands.

And steps into the room.

If, admittedly, not very far into the room.

[hopeitsworthit]

Dean doesn't look like he minds.

He also doesn't look like he knows where to start, either.

Or if he wants to.

[noteful]

"What made you decide to invite me in?"

[hopeitsworthit]

"Does it matter? You're in."

What more does she want?

Oh.

Right.

To help.

[noteful]

Whether or not it matters probably depends on why he did it.

Meg simply studies him for a moment, and then sits down in the chair.

"So I am."

[hopeitsworthit]

Dean stays standing.

With his hands at his sides.

Farther away from Meg than he was a few seconds ago.

"All right."

[noteful]

All right.

Meg decides to try direct questions, with what she hopes are simple answers.

"Are you hungry?

"Thirsty?

"Do you want a book or a magazine or a radio or whatever the Milliways equivilant is, given that we're probably out of range of any station I know of?"

[hopeitsworthit]

Old habit would have Dean smirking and asking for a copy of Busty Asian Beauties, Meg or no.

Except --

"You think you could snag me some Vonnegut?"

Dean Winchester has come unstuck in time.

[noteful]

"Any particular work?"

[hopeitsworthit]

Right. Specifics.

Only --

"The one with the Ice-nine. And -- the time travel one. But not Mother Night."

[noteful]

"I'll ask Bar," she says.

She stands.

"Do you want me leave you alone for a while now?"

[hopeitsworthit]

"Yeah."

The response is immediate.



















"Thanks."

It wasn't quite dragged out of him, but the feeling is similar.

So it goes.

[noteful]

"All right.

"I'll see what I can do about the Vonnegut.

"And . . ."

She gestures to the door.

"Just knock, if you think of anything else."

Or if he wants to talk.

[hopeitsworthit]

"Sure," Dean says.

And this time it is flippant.

It's a start.