(Untitled)

[ever_noteful]

Meg's half-held her breath every time she's gone through a door for nearly a week now, but they've all gone right on leading to where they usually go

Comments

[thursdays_angel]

When Castiel descends the stairs into the bar, and almost immediately sees Meg (carrying a mug and walking toward a table) he cannot help but think that God approves of this plan, and will help them see it through successfully.

It is encouraging.

Castiel wastes no time in reaching his goal. One moment, the way in front of Meg is clear. In the next, a trench-coated figure is directly in her path.

"Meg."

In case the teleportation hasn't gotten her attention.

[ever_noteful]

And one moment, her shoes are clean and dry, and in the next, she's splashed apple cider onto them.

However he got it, he has her attention now.

"Castiel.

"Are you . . . are you all right?"

[thursdays_angel]

Castiel has been gone a matter of weeks from one view. A matter of decades from another. He has not changed.

Except in some small ways. His shoulders are a bit more square. Bearing more military, it might be said. A small smile that might have emerged more easily before does not appear.

But even with angels, the eyes can give things away. Castiel is glad to see Meg. For a number of reasons.

"I am well," he says, skating by the question of his own well being rather dismissively.

"I am in need of your assistance."

[ever_noteful]

Well? That's it? Well?

Meg sets her half-empty mug down on the closest table, and turns her attention to Castiel.

"I . . . "

She feels just ever so slightly dizzy.

"With what?"