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brown paper packages tied up with string
Castiel is waiting in the desk chair when Meg lets herself back into her room from her visit to Dean's. She just barely manages to bite back the scream of surprise.
Castiel puts down the copy of Persuasion he's been flipping through and regards her with his usual placid expression. And asks her how it's going.
Meg's not sure what to say. About the only thing she can say with any certainty about her understanding of Dean's current state of mind is that there's nothing she can say with any certainty about her understanding of Dean's current state of mind.
So she makes her best guesses and keeps it a little vague. Dean seems lucid, he's able to write and speak and communicate, if shortly and occasionally hesitantly. She'd call him unsettled (and possibly unsettling) but probably not unstable. He more seemed to tolerate her presence than welcome it. He asked for books.
Castiel nods gravely and asks if she needs anything, and Meg shakes her head. It's not quite true, but she can get the things she needs from Bar, and she likes having an excuse to slip out of the room occasionally.
She has questions she could ask, but right now the answers are probably more things she wants than things she needs, and she's not sure how to ask them, anyway.
She's tired.
Castiel thanks her and tells her he'll check in with her again and vanishes before she can tell him to knock next time.
Meg sighs and puts Persuasion back in the small, tidy stack of paperbacks on the corner of the desk. Anyone who knows her could guess what is in it, three novels by L. M. Montgomery, three by Jane Austen. Her comfort reads.
She has to admit that Dean's choice of reading material is a bit of a surprise. She's not terribly familiar with Vonnegut, really, but from what she does know, she doesn't think it's what she'd want to read in his situation.
Then again, Meg would be fairly hard-pressed to say what she does think she'd want to read in his situation, because she's all-too-aware that no matter how much she tries to comprehend it, she won't be able to.
And she really can't imagine Dean asking for Montgomery and Austen. Or for the yarn and knitting needles in the bag next to the desk.
Nor are the books and the yarn the only things she's added to the room in the last couple days. There's a little round table next to the bed now, to hold a lamp and a small cassette player, and a half-dozen cassette tapes ranging from The Billboard Top Hits of 1986 to Like a Prayer to the Stern/Bernstein/New York Philharmonic recording of Beethoven's violin concerto.
She's added a blue and yellow plaid throw blanket to the foot of the bed, and an electric kettle to make mint tea in the bathroom.
All the things she uses to fill her time.
Maybe . . . maybe she should take some stuff like that to Dean. Not a blanket, that's kind of weird. And she's not sure that either sharp objects or heating elements are a good idea, but . . . but music. And maybe cards? What does she know about what Dean likes?
Meg sits at the desk and thinks and makes a list. Slips downstairs a little while later and returns with a box containing the Vonnegut novels he asked for, the March through September 1989 issues of Motor Trend, a cassette walkman and extra batteries, Journey's Frontiers and Boston's self-titled album and Led Zeppelin's Physical Graffiti, a legal pad and another pen, a deck of cards, and two one-pound bags of M&Ms, one plain and one peanut.
Rather too much to slide under the door like a note.
She considers taking them to him, or knocking on the door and handing him the box, but . . .
Well, maybe it's selfish, and maybe it's cowardly, and maybe it's not what she should do, but . . .
She's just not feeling up to it.
So instead she writes another note, and sets it on top of the things in the box.
Dean,
Here are the books you asked for and a few other things.
Let me know if you want anything else. I'll be around.
Meg
She knocks very, very faintly -- the kind of knock that's not intended to actually get his attention, but to be just enough of a warning that the door is going to open in case he notices it.
And then she slides the box into his room, just beside the door, and pulls it shut again.
Castiel puts down the copy of Persuasion he's been flipping through and regards her with his usual placid expression. And asks her how it's going.
Meg's not sure what to say. About the only thing she can say with any certainty about her understanding of Dean's current state of mind is that there's nothing she can say with any certainty about her understanding of Dean's current state of mind.
So she makes her best guesses and keeps it a little vague. Dean seems lucid, he's able to write and speak and communicate, if shortly and occasionally hesitantly. She'd call him unsettled (and possibly unsettling) but probably not unstable. He more seemed to tolerate her presence than welcome it. He asked for books.
Castiel nods gravely and asks if she needs anything, and Meg shakes her head. It's not quite true, but she can get the things she needs from Bar, and she likes having an excuse to slip out of the room occasionally.
She has questions she could ask, but right now the answers are probably more things she wants than things she needs, and she's not sure how to ask them, anyway.
She's tired.
Castiel thanks her and tells her he'll check in with her again and vanishes before she can tell him to knock next time.
Meg sighs and puts Persuasion back in the small, tidy stack of paperbacks on the corner of the desk. Anyone who knows her could guess what is in it, three novels by L. M. Montgomery, three by Jane Austen. Her comfort reads.
She has to admit that Dean's choice of reading material is a bit of a surprise. She's not terribly familiar with Vonnegut, really, but from what she does know, she doesn't think it's what she'd want to read in his situation.
Then again, Meg would be fairly hard-pressed to say what she does think she'd want to read in his situation, because she's all-too-aware that no matter how much she tries to comprehend it, she won't be able to.
And she really can't imagine Dean asking for Montgomery and Austen. Or for the yarn and knitting needles in the bag next to the desk.
Nor are the books and the yarn the only things she's added to the room in the last couple days. There's a little round table next to the bed now, to hold a lamp and a small cassette player, and a half-dozen cassette tapes ranging from The Billboard Top Hits of 1986 to Like a Prayer to the Stern/Bernstein/New York Philharmonic recording of Beethoven's violin concerto.
She's added a blue and yellow plaid throw blanket to the foot of the bed, and an electric kettle to make mint tea in the bathroom.
All the things she uses to fill her time.
Maybe . . . maybe she should take some stuff like that to Dean. Not a blanket, that's kind of weird. And she's not sure that either sharp objects or heating elements are a good idea, but . . . but music. And maybe cards? What does she know about what Dean likes?
Meg sits at the desk and thinks and makes a list. Slips downstairs a little while later and returns with a box containing the Vonnegut novels he asked for, the March through September 1989 issues of Motor Trend, a cassette walkman and extra batteries, Journey's Frontiers and Boston's self-titled album and Led Zeppelin's Physical Graffiti, a legal pad and another pen, a deck of cards, and two one-pound bags of M&Ms, one plain and one peanut.
Rather too much to slide under the door like a note.
She considers taking them to him, or knocking on the door and handing him the box, but . . .
Well, maybe it's selfish, and maybe it's cowardly, and maybe it's not what she should do, but . . .
She's just not feeling up to it.
So instead she writes another note, and sets it on top of the things in the box.
Dean,
Here are the books you asked for and a few other things.
Let me know if you want anything else. I'll be around.
Meg
She knocks very, very faintly -- the kind of knock that's not intended to actually get his attention, but to be just enough of a warning that the door is going to open in case he notices it.
And then she slides the box into his room, just beside the door, and pulls it shut again.