A Brief Visit
Title: A Brief Visit
Summary: Part of the Fusion 'verse. Margery pays Sam a visit, mostly because she's curious about the mysterious new friend who is supposed to be looking after him while Dean is off in the city training his new helper dog.
Characters: Sam, Castiel, OFC
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 3,483
Disclaimer: All of it, Gamble's. Thus, not mine, no harm intended.
Warnings: None.
Neurotic Author's Note #1: I've been meaning to get around to this part of the Fusion 'verse for quite a while now. After all, what ever did happen to Cas? Well, here's your answer, sort of.
Neurotic Author's Note #2: We are well past the point where any of this story will make sense if you haven't read the other stories in the 'verse. Sorry, everyone. You can find the Master Post here. This is set between Home To My Heart and And Death's Dark Shadows Put To Flight, at some mostly undetermined point.
Neurotic Author's Note #3: You're all familiar with my habit of posting unbeta'd fic, right? Right.
Margery doesn’t like to think of herself as a busybody, no matter that Albert likes to tease her about it. That being said, she can’t delude herself that she doesn’t maintain a healthy level of interest about her neighbours and the town in general. Knowing your customers is a good way to run a business: it keeps them happy, and it keeps Margery in the loop about what’s happening.
“Just how many muffins do you think they really need?” Albert doesn’t look up from where he’s reading his newspaper, coffee mug in hand. It's been their routine for nearly five years, now, since Albert took an early retirement. She lets Allison open the shop early in the morning so that she can spend a few hours with her husband, goes in around midday, then closes up late at night. She finds most days that she looks forward to their quiet mornings together.
Now, in the face of her husband's words, she flushes a little bit. “They’re both healthy young men, they need to eat. Besides, Sam likes my blueberry muffins.”
“He can always go to the bakery and buy his own,” her husband points out mildly. It’s not a reproach, but she feels a little sheepish nonetheless. “Just admit you’re curious about his friend, if you've decided that your morning is best spent hand-delivering baked goods to their door.”
“Well of course I’m curious!” she bursts out, still packing the muffins carefully in tinfoil. “We don’t know anything about him.”
“We don’t know anything about Sam and his brother, either. Why is this one different?”
“Oh, that’s not true. Just because the boys are private doesn’t mean we don’t know anything at all about them. Besides, aren’t you curious about the man? It’s almost as if he materialized out of thin air!”
Albert simply flips the page of his newspaper and adjusts his reading glasses. “Suit yourself, dear. Just don’t give the man the third degree just because he’s a stranger. He's liable to take it the wrong way.”
She huffs. “Don’t be silly, Albert. He’s doing those boys a favour, after all, and that makes him a friend. Why would he take anything the wrong way?”
She wraps herself up in her shawl against the late September chill -they haven’t been blessed with an Indian summer this year, but given how unseasonably warm it was over the summer months, she’s not complaining- and sets out, armed with her muffins and a hefty dose of neighbourly goodwill. She spots Janet O’Keefe sweeping her front porch, the edge of her flower-print dress just barely visible under her grey woollen coat, and pulls one hand away from her muffins in order to wave.
Janet pauses to wave back at her, smiling “Going to visit the boys?” she calls out. The wind has swept tendrils of grey hair into her face, and she tucks them behind her ear with a hint of impatience.
Margery laughs and walks up to meet her. “Am I really that transparent?”
Janet matches her laugh. “I brought them a casserole yesterday. Mushroom, this time, since if I were them I’d be entirely sick of tuna by now.”
“And? Don’t keep me in suspense, you tease. How’s Sam? What’s his friend like?”
Janet’s expression sobers somewhat. “Sam seems all right, considering. As for their friend,” she drops her gaze for a moment, though her smile never falters, “he’s an odd one, all right. I don’t think I can do him justice by trying to describe him to you, so I’ll let you see for yourself. He seems nice enough, and good-looking, too.”
“But?”
“Like I said, I’ll let you see for yourself. But I think Sam is in good hands. Dean wouldn’t trust him with just anyone, after all.”
“No, that’s true,” Margery agrees. “Should I stop by after?”
“Absolutely. I want to hear your thoughts once you’ve met him. See if we reach the same conclusions.”
Margery makes a self-deprecating face. “I was trying to tell myself earlier that I'm not a terrible old gossip, but I do think that's a lie, isn't it?”
“A terrible, terrible lie,” comes the confirmation.
She sighs. “I was afraid of that.”
She leaves Janet to her sweeping, trots up the stairs to Sam and Dean’s front porch, and dutifully rings the doorbell. It feels strange to do it, but experience has taught her that Sam is a little too skittish to tolerate people coming in and out of his home at will the way everyone else in this town is in the habit of doing. For a few minutes nothing at all happens and she begins to feel a little silly standing there by herself, but then the door opens and she finds herself staring at a pair of startlingly bright, intense blue eyes.
“Good morning,” the owner of the eyes says, in a voice far deeper than she would have imagined he possessed.
She’s only ever seen the man once from afar, when he first came to town at Dean’s invitation, and as a result she hasn’t yet gotten a good look at him. Not until now, and if she were a younger woman and unmarried, well. He’s very good-looking -fine-featured and pale-skinned, with dark brown hair that seems permanently tousled. He’s better-dressed than the style Sam and Dean generally favour, wearing a white button-down shirt and tie and dark slacks with well-shined shoes. His hands also lack the calluses and scars that Sam and Dean’s have, though something about him makes her uneasy in a way she can’t quite explain. It’s not a bad feeling, just the sense that there’s something lurking under the surface that she might not ever be able to encompass, were she to discover it. Of course, as soon as she thinks that she feels ridiculous. It’s just a young man helping out friends, after all, nothing more portentous than that.
The man’s expression turns slightly more curious. “May I help you?”
She smiles disarmingly at him. “Hello, my name is Margery. I’m a friend of Sam and Dean’s. I brought muffins, since I know Sam likes them, and I don’t imagine that you’ve had much of an opportunity to cook.”
There’s a moment’s hesitation. He glances behind him, then nods as though coming to an abrupt decision, and stands back to let her inside. She slips by him and into the front hall, where she catches sight of an abandoned chess game on the coffee table in the living room.
“I’ll just put these in the kitchen, shall I? Where’s Sam?”
“I’m here,” Sam appears in the entrance to the living room. He favours her with a wide smile, his eyes bright and alert. The sight of it never fails to warm her heart. “Hi, Margery. I see you’ve met Cas.”
“Oh, we haven’t been formally introduced yet, but I did bring muffins. They're blueberry.”
Sam’s smile widens further. “Awesome, I love your muffins. Cas, did you introduce yourself?”
“Should I have?”
Sam gives his friend what can only be termed an indulgent look. “Yes, Cas. Margery lives in town, and she’s one of our neighbours. Her muffins are fantastic -almost as good as her cupcakes, even. Margery,” he turns to her, “I’d like you to meet our good friend Castiel, but he goes by Cas when he’s not on duty. Cas, this is Margery. Margery and Albert -that’s her husband- helped out a lot when we first got here,” he adds quietly. “When, uh, when things were really bad. And after that, too. They’ve been really good to us.”
Cas seems to understand. “It’s very nice to meet you,” he intones. Even though it sounds like something he’s learned by rote, she can’t find it in herself to doubt his sincerity. Sam casts him a significant look, and Cas starts a little as though someone has just poked him. “Oh, of course,” he extends his hand a little awkwardly, as though it’s not a gesture to which he’s accustomed, and shakes her hand with all the solemn dignity of a small boy learning to do it for the very first time and determined to get it right. She bites her lip in order not to smile and discomfit him.
“It’s very nice to meet you too, Cas. Sam, can I put these in the kitchen? They’re still warm, fresh from the oven, if you want to have one now.”
“Sure. Cas, we got any coffee left?”
“I made the coffee to Dean’s specifications.”
Sam shakes his head. “Take that as a no, then. You have time to stay for a cup of coffee, Margery? It’ll take a few minutes, but I do have flavoured creamer, if that’s any incentive. French Vanilla.”
“Your brother would be horrified,” she says, carrying the muffins into the kitchen, Sam and Cas close on her heels.
“Yeah, well, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Sam winks at her as he spoons the coffee into a paper filter, and she surprises herself by blushing a little.
It’s definitely one of his better days. Whoever this Cas might be, he obviously knows what he’s doing, given that Sam is relaxed and communicative even six days after his brother has been away. The last time, she remembers, he had begun to shut down only two days after Dean had left, in spite of Amanda’s best efforts. Now, though, he seems content, comfortable enough to joke with her even though she arrived unannounced on his doorstep.
“Have you heard from Dean lately? We're all starved for news of him.” she asks, liberating a platter from one of the cupboards in order to set out the muffins.
Their kitchen is a cozy one. It’s much smaller than hers, but functional enough by the looks of it. She’s only visited a handful of times in the entire time they’ve lived here, but each time she’s found the place just as spotlessly tidy as the first time. She’s fairly certain that Sam does most of the housekeeping, since it’s unlikely Dean would be able to do much with his bad leg, and she sometimes wonders just how they manage to keep their household running at all, let alone cook and keep things tidy. Lord knows enough perfectly healthy young men live in pig sties.
Sam fiddles with the coffee maker, intent on his task. “Uh, yeah. He calls in the evenings, lets me know how things are. They're good,” he adds hastily. “I mean, he's got a nice dog. Her name is Periwinkle, but everyone's already shortened it to Perry, because otherwise it's too much of a mouthful. Dean says she's a real princess.”
“I'll bet she is. How is he going to get her back? Is there someone to drive him? Surely he won't want to take her on the bus her first time out.”
Sam stares at the little orange light on the coffee maker, tracing it absentmindedly with the edge of a fingernail. “Cas has offered to fetch them back when the training is over.”
In spite of herself, Margery is impressed. She doesn't know many people who'd go so far out of their way to help their friends. “That's very generous of you. So how do you know Sam and Dean, Cas?”
Cas opens his mouth, then closes it again, as though he’s just reconsidered the wisdom of his answer. Sam answers for him.
“Oh, we’ve known Cas for years. He’s as close as we’ve got to family, other than our uncle Bobby. Isn’t that right, Cas?”
There’s no answer, but when she looks over she sees that Cas’ full attention is on Sam. He looks profoundly touched, is all she can think, his expression at once fond and sad and strangely intense, and she wonders just how difficult it must be for him -as it is for Dean- to see Sam like this, rather than how he was before he returned from the war. However that was... she finds it hard to imagine him any other way.
“So you’re a family friend?” she prompts, and Cas tilts his head in acknowledgement.
“A brother in arms, of sorts,” he says after a moment’s hesitation. That’s when she understands exactly where the connection is: there are few bonds stronger than those forged in the fires of battle, after all, and it would make sense that Sam and Dean would have remained friends with their former troop mates, even if they were no longer in active service.
“Are you still a soldier, then?” she asks, and he nods, looking relieved of all things. Yet another oddity.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“And that’s why we haven’t seen you.”
Sam reaches over Cas’ shoulder to grab a muffin, placing a hand on his friend’s arm in a casual way that she’s only ever seen him use with his brother. Outside of Dean, Sam tends to avoid physical contact as much as possible. “Cas is on leave right now, and Dean asked him to stay as a favour.”
“It’s not a favour, Sam,” his friend says, a little sharply.
Sam just shrugs. “It’s okay, Cas. Oh my God,” he swallows his mouthful of muffin. “I swear these get better every time you make them. How is that even humanly possible?”
Cas shakes his head, but he’s recognized the attempt at deflection, it seems, because he deliberately plucks a muffin from the platter and tastes it with an approving nod. “These are very good,” he agrees. “You are a baker by profession, you said?”
“That’s right.”
“We should purchase a pie for Dean, when he returns,” he says to Sam, who’s pouring coffee into mugs on the counter.
Margery can’t help but grin at that. “Oh, I bet he’d like that. Why don’t you remind me the day before and I’ll make sure to have an extra cherry pie set aside for you?”
But Cas’ attention is still on Sam, who’s staring at the mugs in front of him, chewing on his lower lip, no longer even listening to the conversation about the hypothetical cherry pie. “Sam?”
Sam keeps chewing his lip for a moment. “I don’t…” he trails off, and immediately Cas is on his feet, standing far closer than most people ever dare to get to Sam aside from his brother.
“Would you like me to put those on the table?” he asks, his voice just a shade softer than it was a moment ago.
Margery feels her throat tighten a bit. It’s easy, sometimes, to forget just how quickly Sam can lose touch with reality. Sam nods a little mechanically, and lets Cas pull out a chair for him. Cas hands Margery a cup of coffee, seemingly paying no attention to Sam’s lapse, and yet Margery can feel the difference in his demeanour, the way he shifts slightly in order to accommodate Sam and keep him balanced, if not entirely there. Often enough, even Dean can't get through to Sam, and there's no point in anyone trying, at least for now.
“Do you take anything in your coffee? Sam offered you the creamer, but I don’t recall if you wished for any such thing.”
“Sugar, if you have it.”
“There is sugar. We purchased some just the other day,” Cas takes a small pot from the counter and places it on the table, waits for her to serve herself, then scoops two spoonfuls into a mug, tops it up with the French Vanilla-flavoured creamer, and stirs it carefully before handing it to Sam. “It’s hot,” he cautions. Sam barely acknowledges him, cradling the mug in his hands, hair falling forward into his face.
Margery sips at her coffee. “How long will you be staying, Cas? Just until Dean gets back, or will you be visiting for longer?”
Cas, it seems, drinks his coffee black, and with the expression and manners of a man who doesn’t drink it often or enjoy the experience all that much. “It’s difficult to say. I would very much like to stay, but circumstances may force me to return home earlier than I would like.”
“I see. Where did you serve?”
He fixes her with a flat stare. “I can’t tell you that,” he says, and for a moment a flicker of fear runs through her. If she had doubts about his being able to kill before, she has none now. Then again, she’s had her doubts about Sam, too, who seems such a gentle soul. But he must have been capable of violence at some point, otherwise he wouldn’t have been a soldier.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”
Cas seems to realize the effect he’s just had. “No, I should apologize. I am… not very good with people. I am sorry if I offended you.”
“You didn’t, don’t worry about it.”
She glances over at Sam, but it’s obvious that he’s no longer in the room with them, at least not mentally. She’s never witnessed the transition from a good day to a bad day before, and she’s more than a little horrified at just how quickly it happened.
“I’m going to have to go,” she says apologetically. “Allison opened the bakery for me this morning, but she’s going to have her hands full soon with the mid-morning rush. Will you be all right?”
“We will be fine,” Cas assures her. He gets to his feet, then bends to speak quietly to Sam. “I am going to accompany Margery to the door, but I will come right back. All right?”
He doesn’t get a response, but he doesn’t appear to expect or require one. Instead he walks her to the door as though he’s done it a million times before -contrasting starkly with his earlier, more stilted manners. Margery is beginning to feel like she’s developing whiplash. She pulls her shawl over her head again and wraps it snugly around her shoulders, gives his shoulder a maternal pat, and smiles at his bemused expression. Perhaps his mother never did that for him, poor thing. She wonders what Janet made of him, is already wondering just what she's going to say herself.
“You’re very good with him. I can see why Dean trusted you to take care of him. It’s very kind of you to do this. Otherwise, I’m not sure Dean would ever have been able to leave for so long, and we all know how much having that dog will help. I don’t think he and Sam been apart more than two days the whole time they’ve lived here.”
His expression softens. “They were rarely apart before this as well -they’ve always been... together. Sam is a good friend, and I owe them both a great deal more than can ever be repaid. Contrary to what either of them might tell you, this isn’t a chore, or a hardship. If circumstances allowed, I would rather stay here.” He seems a little surprised by his own admission, but there’s no mistaking the sincerity there, the depth of emotion,.
She hesitates, then takes the plunge, asks the question that’s been burning in her mind and that she’s never dared to ask Dean. “What was he like before? Sam?”
Cas’ face clouds over. For a moment he says nothing, as though searching for his words. Finally, he settles on “Complicated. Sam has… had a difficult life,” he says, meeting her eyes, and she has the uncomfortable feeling that he’s staring right through to her soul. “He was angry, about a great many things, most of them justified, but I believe he made peace with all of it a long time ago. As for the rest, he hasn’t much changed.”
“Except for those funny turns he takes.”
He tilts his head in that way which makes him look a bit like a bird. She half-expects him to sprout wings, then laughs at herself for her childishness. “Except for that, yes,” he agrees.
“Is he happier now?”
“I believe so. Certainly things are better for them now than they have been for as long as I’ve known them.”
She lets her breath out in a slow sigh. “Well, that’s a mercy.”
To her surprise, he smiles, his eyes suddenly glinting with unexpected delight.
“Yes, I believe that’s exactly the right word for it.”
Summary: Part of the Fusion 'verse. Margery pays Sam a visit, mostly because she's curious about the mysterious new friend who is supposed to be looking after him while Dean is off in the city training his new helper dog.
Characters: Sam, Castiel, OFC
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 3,483
Disclaimer: All of it, Gamble's. Thus, not mine, no harm intended.
Warnings: None.
Neurotic Author's Note #1: I've been meaning to get around to this part of the Fusion 'verse for quite a while now. After all, what ever did happen to Cas? Well, here's your answer, sort of.
Neurotic Author's Note #2: We are well past the point where any of this story will make sense if you haven't read the other stories in the 'verse. Sorry, everyone. You can find the Master Post here. This is set between Home To My Heart and And Death's Dark Shadows Put To Flight, at some mostly undetermined point.
Neurotic Author's Note #3: You're all familiar with my habit of posting unbeta'd fic, right? Right.
Margery doesn’t like to think of herself as a busybody, no matter that Albert likes to tease her about it. That being said, she can’t delude herself that she doesn’t maintain a healthy level of interest about her neighbours and the town in general. Knowing your customers is a good way to run a business: it keeps them happy, and it keeps Margery in the loop about what’s happening.
“Just how many muffins do you think they really need?” Albert doesn’t look up from where he’s reading his newspaper, coffee mug in hand. It's been their routine for nearly five years, now, since Albert took an early retirement. She lets Allison open the shop early in the morning so that she can spend a few hours with her husband, goes in around midday, then closes up late at night. She finds most days that she looks forward to their quiet mornings together.
Now, in the face of her husband's words, she flushes a little bit. “They’re both healthy young men, they need to eat. Besides, Sam likes my blueberry muffins.”
“He can always go to the bakery and buy his own,” her husband points out mildly. It’s not a reproach, but she feels a little sheepish nonetheless. “Just admit you’re curious about his friend, if you've decided that your morning is best spent hand-delivering baked goods to their door.”
“Well of course I’m curious!” she bursts out, still packing the muffins carefully in tinfoil. “We don’t know anything about him.”
“We don’t know anything about Sam and his brother, either. Why is this one different?”
“Oh, that’s not true. Just because the boys are private doesn’t mean we don’t know anything at all about them. Besides, aren’t you curious about the man? It’s almost as if he materialized out of thin air!”
Albert simply flips the page of his newspaper and adjusts his reading glasses. “Suit yourself, dear. Just don’t give the man the third degree just because he’s a stranger. He's liable to take it the wrong way.”
She huffs. “Don’t be silly, Albert. He’s doing those boys a favour, after all, and that makes him a friend. Why would he take anything the wrong way?”
She wraps herself up in her shawl against the late September chill -they haven’t been blessed with an Indian summer this year, but given how unseasonably warm it was over the summer months, she’s not complaining- and sets out, armed with her muffins and a hefty dose of neighbourly goodwill. She spots Janet O’Keefe sweeping her front porch, the edge of her flower-print dress just barely visible under her grey woollen coat, and pulls one hand away from her muffins in order to wave.
Janet pauses to wave back at her, smiling “Going to visit the boys?” she calls out. The wind has swept tendrils of grey hair into her face, and she tucks them behind her ear with a hint of impatience.
Margery laughs and walks up to meet her. “Am I really that transparent?”
Janet matches her laugh. “I brought them a casserole yesterday. Mushroom, this time, since if I were them I’d be entirely sick of tuna by now.”
“And? Don’t keep me in suspense, you tease. How’s Sam? What’s his friend like?”
Janet’s expression sobers somewhat. “Sam seems all right, considering. As for their friend,” she drops her gaze for a moment, though her smile never falters, “he’s an odd one, all right. I don’t think I can do him justice by trying to describe him to you, so I’ll let you see for yourself. He seems nice enough, and good-looking, too.”
“But?”
“Like I said, I’ll let you see for yourself. But I think Sam is in good hands. Dean wouldn’t trust him with just anyone, after all.”
“No, that’s true,” Margery agrees. “Should I stop by after?”
“Absolutely. I want to hear your thoughts once you’ve met him. See if we reach the same conclusions.”
Margery makes a self-deprecating face. “I was trying to tell myself earlier that I'm not a terrible old gossip, but I do think that's a lie, isn't it?”
“A terrible, terrible lie,” comes the confirmation.
She sighs. “I was afraid of that.”
She leaves Janet to her sweeping, trots up the stairs to Sam and Dean’s front porch, and dutifully rings the doorbell. It feels strange to do it, but experience has taught her that Sam is a little too skittish to tolerate people coming in and out of his home at will the way everyone else in this town is in the habit of doing. For a few minutes nothing at all happens and she begins to feel a little silly standing there by herself, but then the door opens and she finds herself staring at a pair of startlingly bright, intense blue eyes.
“Good morning,” the owner of the eyes says, in a voice far deeper than she would have imagined he possessed.
She’s only ever seen the man once from afar, when he first came to town at Dean’s invitation, and as a result she hasn’t yet gotten a good look at him. Not until now, and if she were a younger woman and unmarried, well. He’s very good-looking -fine-featured and pale-skinned, with dark brown hair that seems permanently tousled. He’s better-dressed than the style Sam and Dean generally favour, wearing a white button-down shirt and tie and dark slacks with well-shined shoes. His hands also lack the calluses and scars that Sam and Dean’s have, though something about him makes her uneasy in a way she can’t quite explain. It’s not a bad feeling, just the sense that there’s something lurking under the surface that she might not ever be able to encompass, were she to discover it. Of course, as soon as she thinks that she feels ridiculous. It’s just a young man helping out friends, after all, nothing more portentous than that.
The man’s expression turns slightly more curious. “May I help you?”
She smiles disarmingly at him. “Hello, my name is Margery. I’m a friend of Sam and Dean’s. I brought muffins, since I know Sam likes them, and I don’t imagine that you’ve had much of an opportunity to cook.”
There’s a moment’s hesitation. He glances behind him, then nods as though coming to an abrupt decision, and stands back to let her inside. She slips by him and into the front hall, where she catches sight of an abandoned chess game on the coffee table in the living room.
“I’ll just put these in the kitchen, shall I? Where’s Sam?”
“I’m here,” Sam appears in the entrance to the living room. He favours her with a wide smile, his eyes bright and alert. The sight of it never fails to warm her heart. “Hi, Margery. I see you’ve met Cas.”
“Oh, we haven’t been formally introduced yet, but I did bring muffins. They're blueberry.”
Sam’s smile widens further. “Awesome, I love your muffins. Cas, did you introduce yourself?”
“Should I have?”
Sam gives his friend what can only be termed an indulgent look. “Yes, Cas. Margery lives in town, and she’s one of our neighbours. Her muffins are fantastic -almost as good as her cupcakes, even. Margery,” he turns to her, “I’d like you to meet our good friend Castiel, but he goes by Cas when he’s not on duty. Cas, this is Margery. Margery and Albert -that’s her husband- helped out a lot when we first got here,” he adds quietly. “When, uh, when things were really bad. And after that, too. They’ve been really good to us.”
Cas seems to understand. “It’s very nice to meet you,” he intones. Even though it sounds like something he’s learned by rote, she can’t find it in herself to doubt his sincerity. Sam casts him a significant look, and Cas starts a little as though someone has just poked him. “Oh, of course,” he extends his hand a little awkwardly, as though it’s not a gesture to which he’s accustomed, and shakes her hand with all the solemn dignity of a small boy learning to do it for the very first time and determined to get it right. She bites her lip in order not to smile and discomfit him.
“It’s very nice to meet you too, Cas. Sam, can I put these in the kitchen? They’re still warm, fresh from the oven, if you want to have one now.”
“Sure. Cas, we got any coffee left?”
“I made the coffee to Dean’s specifications.”
Sam shakes his head. “Take that as a no, then. You have time to stay for a cup of coffee, Margery? It’ll take a few minutes, but I do have flavoured creamer, if that’s any incentive. French Vanilla.”
“Your brother would be horrified,” she says, carrying the muffins into the kitchen, Sam and Cas close on her heels.
“Yeah, well, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Sam winks at her as he spoons the coffee into a paper filter, and she surprises herself by blushing a little.
It’s definitely one of his better days. Whoever this Cas might be, he obviously knows what he’s doing, given that Sam is relaxed and communicative even six days after his brother has been away. The last time, she remembers, he had begun to shut down only two days after Dean had left, in spite of Amanda’s best efforts. Now, though, he seems content, comfortable enough to joke with her even though she arrived unannounced on his doorstep.
“Have you heard from Dean lately? We're all starved for news of him.” she asks, liberating a platter from one of the cupboards in order to set out the muffins.
Their kitchen is a cozy one. It’s much smaller than hers, but functional enough by the looks of it. She’s only visited a handful of times in the entire time they’ve lived here, but each time she’s found the place just as spotlessly tidy as the first time. She’s fairly certain that Sam does most of the housekeeping, since it’s unlikely Dean would be able to do much with his bad leg, and she sometimes wonders just how they manage to keep their household running at all, let alone cook and keep things tidy. Lord knows enough perfectly healthy young men live in pig sties.
Sam fiddles with the coffee maker, intent on his task. “Uh, yeah. He calls in the evenings, lets me know how things are. They're good,” he adds hastily. “I mean, he's got a nice dog. Her name is Periwinkle, but everyone's already shortened it to Perry, because otherwise it's too much of a mouthful. Dean says she's a real princess.”
“I'll bet she is. How is he going to get her back? Is there someone to drive him? Surely he won't want to take her on the bus her first time out.”
Sam stares at the little orange light on the coffee maker, tracing it absentmindedly with the edge of a fingernail. “Cas has offered to fetch them back when the training is over.”
In spite of herself, Margery is impressed. She doesn't know many people who'd go so far out of their way to help their friends. “That's very generous of you. So how do you know Sam and Dean, Cas?”
Cas opens his mouth, then closes it again, as though he’s just reconsidered the wisdom of his answer. Sam answers for him.
“Oh, we’ve known Cas for years. He’s as close as we’ve got to family, other than our uncle Bobby. Isn’t that right, Cas?”
There’s no answer, but when she looks over she sees that Cas’ full attention is on Sam. He looks profoundly touched, is all she can think, his expression at once fond and sad and strangely intense, and she wonders just how difficult it must be for him -as it is for Dean- to see Sam like this, rather than how he was before he returned from the war. However that was... she finds it hard to imagine him any other way.
“So you’re a family friend?” she prompts, and Cas tilts his head in acknowledgement.
“A brother in arms, of sorts,” he says after a moment’s hesitation. That’s when she understands exactly where the connection is: there are few bonds stronger than those forged in the fires of battle, after all, and it would make sense that Sam and Dean would have remained friends with their former troop mates, even if they were no longer in active service.
“Are you still a soldier, then?” she asks, and he nods, looking relieved of all things. Yet another oddity.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“And that’s why we haven’t seen you.”
Sam reaches over Cas’ shoulder to grab a muffin, placing a hand on his friend’s arm in a casual way that she’s only ever seen him use with his brother. Outside of Dean, Sam tends to avoid physical contact as much as possible. “Cas is on leave right now, and Dean asked him to stay as a favour.”
“It’s not a favour, Sam,” his friend says, a little sharply.
Sam just shrugs. “It’s okay, Cas. Oh my God,” he swallows his mouthful of muffin. “I swear these get better every time you make them. How is that even humanly possible?”
Cas shakes his head, but he’s recognized the attempt at deflection, it seems, because he deliberately plucks a muffin from the platter and tastes it with an approving nod. “These are very good,” he agrees. “You are a baker by profession, you said?”
“That’s right.”
“We should purchase a pie for Dean, when he returns,” he says to Sam, who’s pouring coffee into mugs on the counter.
Margery can’t help but grin at that. “Oh, I bet he’d like that. Why don’t you remind me the day before and I’ll make sure to have an extra cherry pie set aside for you?”
But Cas’ attention is still on Sam, who’s staring at the mugs in front of him, chewing on his lower lip, no longer even listening to the conversation about the hypothetical cherry pie. “Sam?”
Sam keeps chewing his lip for a moment. “I don’t…” he trails off, and immediately Cas is on his feet, standing far closer than most people ever dare to get to Sam aside from his brother.
“Would you like me to put those on the table?” he asks, his voice just a shade softer than it was a moment ago.
Margery feels her throat tighten a bit. It’s easy, sometimes, to forget just how quickly Sam can lose touch with reality. Sam nods a little mechanically, and lets Cas pull out a chair for him. Cas hands Margery a cup of coffee, seemingly paying no attention to Sam’s lapse, and yet Margery can feel the difference in his demeanour, the way he shifts slightly in order to accommodate Sam and keep him balanced, if not entirely there. Often enough, even Dean can't get through to Sam, and there's no point in anyone trying, at least for now.
“Do you take anything in your coffee? Sam offered you the creamer, but I don’t recall if you wished for any such thing.”
“Sugar, if you have it.”
“There is sugar. We purchased some just the other day,” Cas takes a small pot from the counter and places it on the table, waits for her to serve herself, then scoops two spoonfuls into a mug, tops it up with the French Vanilla-flavoured creamer, and stirs it carefully before handing it to Sam. “It’s hot,” he cautions. Sam barely acknowledges him, cradling the mug in his hands, hair falling forward into his face.
Margery sips at her coffee. “How long will you be staying, Cas? Just until Dean gets back, or will you be visiting for longer?”
Cas, it seems, drinks his coffee black, and with the expression and manners of a man who doesn’t drink it often or enjoy the experience all that much. “It’s difficult to say. I would very much like to stay, but circumstances may force me to return home earlier than I would like.”
“I see. Where did you serve?”
He fixes her with a flat stare. “I can’t tell you that,” he says, and for a moment a flicker of fear runs through her. If she had doubts about his being able to kill before, she has none now. Then again, she’s had her doubts about Sam, too, who seems such a gentle soul. But he must have been capable of violence at some point, otherwise he wouldn’t have been a soldier.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”
Cas seems to realize the effect he’s just had. “No, I should apologize. I am… not very good with people. I am sorry if I offended you.”
“You didn’t, don’t worry about it.”
She glances over at Sam, but it’s obvious that he’s no longer in the room with them, at least not mentally. She’s never witnessed the transition from a good day to a bad day before, and she’s more than a little horrified at just how quickly it happened.
“I’m going to have to go,” she says apologetically. “Allison opened the bakery for me this morning, but she’s going to have her hands full soon with the mid-morning rush. Will you be all right?”
“We will be fine,” Cas assures her. He gets to his feet, then bends to speak quietly to Sam. “I am going to accompany Margery to the door, but I will come right back. All right?”
He doesn’t get a response, but he doesn’t appear to expect or require one. Instead he walks her to the door as though he’s done it a million times before -contrasting starkly with his earlier, more stilted manners. Margery is beginning to feel like she’s developing whiplash. She pulls her shawl over her head again and wraps it snugly around her shoulders, gives his shoulder a maternal pat, and smiles at his bemused expression. Perhaps his mother never did that for him, poor thing. She wonders what Janet made of him, is already wondering just what she's going to say herself.
“You’re very good with him. I can see why Dean trusted you to take care of him. It’s very kind of you to do this. Otherwise, I’m not sure Dean would ever have been able to leave for so long, and we all know how much having that dog will help. I don’t think he and Sam been apart more than two days the whole time they’ve lived here.”
His expression softens. “They were rarely apart before this as well -they’ve always been... together. Sam is a good friend, and I owe them both a great deal more than can ever be repaid. Contrary to what either of them might tell you, this isn’t a chore, or a hardship. If circumstances allowed, I would rather stay here.” He seems a little surprised by his own admission, but there’s no mistaking the sincerity there, the depth of emotion,.
She hesitates, then takes the plunge, asks the question that’s been burning in her mind and that she’s never dared to ask Dean. “What was he like before? Sam?”
Cas’ face clouds over. For a moment he says nothing, as though searching for his words. Finally, he settles on “Complicated. Sam has… had a difficult life,” he says, meeting her eyes, and she has the uncomfortable feeling that he’s staring right through to her soul. “He was angry, about a great many things, most of them justified, but I believe he made peace with all of it a long time ago. As for the rest, he hasn’t much changed.”
“Except for those funny turns he takes.”
He tilts his head in that way which makes him look a bit like a bird. She half-expects him to sprout wings, then laughs at herself for her childishness. “Except for that, yes,” he agrees.
“Is he happier now?”
“I believe so. Certainly things are better for them now than they have been for as long as I’ve known them.”
She lets her breath out in a slow sigh. “Well, that’s a mercy.”
To her surprise, he smiles, his eyes suddenly glinting with unexpected delight.
“Yes, I believe that’s exactly the right word for it.”