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]

"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.