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a wild hope everything will be all right
Sometimes, it helps to see things written down.
So Meg sits at the desk in her borrowed room, and opens to a new page in one of her blue notebooks, and tries to write down everything Castiel and Michael have told her to do.
Only to discover . . . it's not much. Aside from various requests for secrecy, it basically boils down to:
1. Be kind.
2. Be as you always are.
3. Remember that you are loved -- and so is he.
Not a long list.
She stares at it for a while, and then turns to a new page and writes all three statements down again, in a different order.
And then in a third.
It's when she goes to translate them into French that she notices.
Be kind.
Kind. Adjective. Of a sympathetic or helpful nature.
As opposed to nice. Adjective. Pleasing, agreeable.
They're not quite the same thing.
Maybe the key to being kind is to know when your primary concern has to stop being agreeable. To act, instead of reacting.
Be as you always are.
She's quite capable of being a little pushy when she thinks she ought to be. And in her experience, it's almost always easier if both parties walk towards each other, rather than one standing still and waiting for the other to walk the whole of the distance.
Meg makes a short trip down to the bar, and returns this time not with a book, or a magazine, or music with headphones. Those may may be human experiences, but they're also all things you do alone.
When you get right down to it, leaving him alone isn't really what she was asked to do.
So, this time, she has a tray.
Remember that you are loved -- and so is he.
Meg takes a deep breath, squares her shoulders a little, and then and for the first time in four days, knocks on Dean's door without waiting for him to knock first.
She turns the doorknob just enough to disengage the tumblers.
And waits.
So Meg sits at the desk in her borrowed room, and opens to a new page in one of her blue notebooks, and tries to write down everything Castiel and Michael have told her to do.
Only to discover . . . it's not much. Aside from various requests for secrecy, it basically boils down to:
1. Be kind.
2. Be as you always are.
3. Remember that you are loved -- and so is he.
Not a long list.
She stares at it for a while, and then turns to a new page and writes all three statements down again, in a different order.
And then in a third.
It's when she goes to translate them into French that she notices.
Be kind.
Kind. Adjective. Of a sympathetic or helpful nature.
As opposed to nice. Adjective. Pleasing, agreeable.
They're not quite the same thing.
Maybe the key to being kind is to know when your primary concern has to stop being agreeable. To act, instead of reacting.
Be as you always are.
She's quite capable of being a little pushy when she thinks she ought to be. And in her experience, it's almost always easier if both parties walk towards each other, rather than one standing still and waiting for the other to walk the whole of the distance.
Meg makes a short trip down to the bar, and returns this time not with a book, or a magazine, or music with headphones. Those may may be human experiences, but they're also all things you do alone.
When you get right down to it, leaving him alone isn't really what she was asked to do.
So, this time, she has a tray.
Remember that you are loved -- and so is he.
Meg takes a deep breath, squares her shoulders a little, and then and for the first time in four days, knocks on Dean's door without waiting for him to knock first.
She turns the doorknob just enough to disengage the tumblers.
And waits.
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Dean's voice is less rusty than it has been, but he still sounds like he just woke up.
And a second later --
"You okay?"
It sounds like he's moved closer to the door, but he makes no move to open it.
Not yet, anyway.
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"May I come in?"
She doesn't move to open the door, either.
Even though the tray is getting kind of heavy.
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He doesn't mean to sound suspicious, but --
Well.
It's what he does.
But he opens the door anyway -- careful not to be standing right in the doorway when he does so.
"Hey."
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Meg lifts the tray slightly.
"I thought we could have lunch.
"I brought burgers."
And onion rings and root beer and hot fudge sundaes.
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And then beyond Meg's shoulder -- just in case.
"Yeah. Sure."
Startled is one word to describe his expression. But a second later he pastes on the beginnings of a crooked smile.
"I think we're gonna need another chair."
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Easy enough.
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And he's pretty damn careful.
It's a start.
"Sure. Lemme know if you need help."
Not that she would, but --
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It really only takes a second to grab the chair from her desk.
And she sets it carefully on the opposite side of the table than the chair that is already there.
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It keeps his hands busy.
Especially while he's trying to think of something to say.
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Hers is the smaller one, with swiss cheese and mushrooms.
"I hope the onion rings aren't overkill with that, but I wasn't quite in the mood for French fries."
It's idle chatter, but it's a starting place, right?
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He demonstrates by taking a ridiculously huge bite of the burger.
And chewing.
And chewing.
Okay, so maybe he overestimated a little.
Oh well.
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"Music and food aren't nearly the same thing, sweetheart."
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"Cassette tapes do not go well with ketchup."
Well, they don't.
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But still, it's a laugh.
"Truer words. Not like I tried it, though."
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"I'm going to let you wonder if I ever did or not."
(She didn't. She can't honestly think that anyone ever has.)
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"Yeah, I don't think I'm gonna be spending much time on that. Somehow."
He'll spend more time with his burger.
(Not like that.)
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Beat.
"How are you?"
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But after swallowing --
"Dying of boredom."
He cracks a slight smile.
"Most of the time."
Uh.
"Not that the magazines and shit aren't great."
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"It passes the time, but . . . I'm kind of very aware that I'm doing it to pass the time.
"Is there something you'd rather have?"
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Here he winces a little.
"Just a little stir crazy. You know."
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It makes him feel better. A little.
Weird.
"Any word on when I can get out of here?"
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"Do you mean this room here or Milliways here?"
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"Both. I guess."
He sounds more uncertain than he meant to. Goddammit.
"But the room'd be a great start."
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"But the room . . ."
Meg takes the key Castiel gave her out of her pocket and sets it on the table between them.
"Whenever you like.
"That's the key to the front door," she adds, nodding not towards the door between their rooms, but the other.
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"Huh."
Some of that suspicion comes back, but he reaches out and slides the key toward himself, anyway.
(With a quick, instinctive look at Meg to make sure she doesn't object. He'll kick himself for that in a second.)
"That was easy."
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"Since you asked . . ."
She trails off and shrugs.
"If you'd like me make you, I don't know, beat me at cards for it or something, I can."
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"Does that mean you're a card shark?"
Because that could be interesting.
(Dean is definitely one of those. Though he's much better at pool.)
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"Then again, that's probably what I'd say if I were, isn't it?"
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Dean refrains from the finger guns.
Thank goodness.
He also uses this time to take another swig of root beer.
"You really want to play?"
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"Why not?"
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But --
Well.
"That's kinda what I thought. Hope you don't mind if I deal."
You know. After they finish eating.
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"And nothing's wild. It's too easy otherwise."
She's a decent card player. Not great, but decent.
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He is crushed.
Though the affected offense in his tone is a lot more rusty than it used to be.
He'll work on it.
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At least, not without a really good reason.
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Well, now that his burger's mostly gone --
No sense dealing cards with greasy fingers.
Now where did that napkin go?
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"Do you have any M&Ms left?
"We have to bet something, after all."
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None of this is anything like comfortable.
But it's better. And some of the itch under his skin has gone away.
Tucking the key into his pocket only helps cement that fact.
He'll take it.