2689/Mother May and I

Mother May and I
Date of Scene:	04 October 2017
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Castiel, Melinda May

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Castiel has posed:
It wasnt too many days after Castiel had met May that he drops in on her. Specifically, its after the night he spent with Dean at the Crossroads - which was disturbing enough in its own right, and most specifically, the night hed come home drunk, bleeding from a head wound on his own living room floor and called for Castiel himself

The angel had dealt with the elder Winchester, and left knowing that whether hed been uncertain before, that he wasnt now: Dean was a danger to himself. And of the human beings he knew currently, most apt to be helpful to both himself, and the Hunter, the woman May was tailor fit for the job.

Of course, he wasnt observing the niceties of human hours

He had observed day and night rituals for the creatures. He wasnt unaware it was late. Very late. He just.. felt the need overrode the possibility that she might not understand and appreciate his concern.

Its probably a good 2.. 3 am when the angel drops in on May, wherever she might be.

Melinda May has posed:
May has never been a deep sleeper -- hazard of the job. Since Bahrain that has become even more pronounced, to the point that she wakes on a hair trigger. And she's ALWAYS been prone to waking up mean.

Today is no exception.

Even if he has made no sound whatsoever upon appearing in May's quarters, she instantly sits up with a pistol in hand that is unerringly aimed at Castiel's head. It takes her longer to realize who it is that's standing there, and she huffs in annoyance as she lowers the pistol again.

"Don't ever do that again," she tells the shabbily dressed angel. "Next time call me on the phone or something." She can't help but think it's a good thing this was one of those nights she fell asleep still at least mostly dressed.

Castiel has posed:
The angel is an unconcerned stillness in the room, even with the gun aimed at his head. Hes aware of most weapons that could do him actual harm, and there is nothing of that here. Nothing in her possession that would extend beyond a minor annoyance. The irony of that thought, of being a minor annoyance, is lost upon him.

Castiel waits patiently while May doesnt shoot him and collects herself. The lack of light in the room not a concern of his. Though when her eyes adjust down upon him, and see the angel rightly, she would notice the bottle of beer held in his right hand, that arm cradled to his side with the elbow tucked in at his waist, so that his arm is quite awkwardly extended from himself as he stands there and regards her.

I do not have the technology, he remarks. This could not wait.

Melinda May has posed:
May's eyes study Castiel again and this time she registers the bottle and oddly-held arm posture. And she's standing and moving to get her shoes. "Tell me what's going on."

It's almost like she's had to deal with being woken up at odd hours for emergencies before. Or something.

She takes another, more evaluating look at the angel again as she puts on her shoes. Is the way he's holding his arm indicative of an injury, or more like the way a little kid holds something they find unpleasant but have to keep in their hand or else?

Castiel has posed:
Castiel is silent for long moments, much as if hes waiting for the woman to finish her dressing process. Almost an act of politeness. Though, with him, it could merely be another of those long, pregnant pauses he seems totally unaware hes giving most every time he engages in conversation.

When she seems ready, or maybe hes only had enough time to ponder his response, the angel move his shoulders ever so fractionally in the barest suggestion of a shrug. The gesture doing nothing to reduce the awkward posture of him, standing there with his half drunk bottle of beer.

Dean, he offers in a mildly irritated rumble, Is an idiot.

Its quite possibly the least informative answer he could have given, knowing the circumstances of why hes come, but he hasnt seemed all that bothered by his roundabout way of coming into things before now. It seems this will be no exception.

Melinda May has posed:
Finishing with her shoes, May looks at the man as he offers the lamest explanation that has ever been lamely offered. "Really. You could not wait to tell me something that I knew within the first three minutes of meeting the man?" She crosses her arms and seems ? mildly displeased.

"Explain to me in complete sentences of more than six words each. What has brought you to this conclusion?"

Because angel or not, if this guy woke her up from the first chance she's had to sleep in over twenty-six hours for THIS...

Castiel has posed:
Mays displeasure washes over the angel without any particular acknowledgement. In the face of things snarky hes dealt with in the past days, she barely registers. Even if you account for the gun that had been pointed at his head.

Her complaint does register, though. I speak perfectly fine.

He chooses not to be offended, though. Other matters weighing more heavily than critiquing his speech. And he really isnt sure what her problem is with how he speaks anyway

Are you aware of how the man drinks? Castiel had seen Deans state at the Crossroads. Had healed his state in the apartment.. And had been victim to a barrage of thrown beer bottles for his troubles as it happens. More to the point, the Winchester apartment was not lacking in ammunition of that sort, their place littered with empty bottles.

For a moment, the man seems about to add a thing, his posture straightening, and his mouth moving in what turns out to be an aborted consideration. Castiel to content to let that be his opening volley in actual information dissemination.

Melinda May has posed:
Okay, that gets May's posture to change. And, sadly, she should have suspected that even with as much experience as Dean has had with creepy crawly nasties that do more than go bump in the night, there are some things that people just don't get over easily. So this news, while not truly a surprise, still garners a faint curse in Mandarin.

"I was not until you told me just now. Is he at his apartment currently?" She moves to heft her black leather-like jacket, the inner lining and the sheer quantity of items concealed in it briefly visible as she puts it on.

Without really waiting for the man's reply, she turns to leave her quarters. Because Hell's Kitchen is a bit of a drive away, and she doubts she can pull a quinjet for this.

Castiel has posed:
Now the angel moves some - but only his beer holding hand, the gesture not fulfilling his intent of acting as a hold, given the bottle there. The bottle he now stops to stare at, its presence suddenly being brought to the forefront of his awareness. His eyebrows knit into an irritated line while he ponders its existence, and what he plans on doing with it.

In the end, the bottle remains, and he settles more firmly in place, stance adjusted to hold his feet shoulder width apart. The beer in his hand left an awkward punctuation at his side. His jaw set. We are not going there. Yet. The possibility exists in his own mind that the two may yet return and pay Winchester the elder a visit. But first the woman needs to understand exactly what shes dealing with. Exactly why hes sought her out on this matter.

And given that hes not the most socially aware crayon in the box, the import of all that may yet hit her if it hasnt already.

Melinda May has posed:
May stops and turns to look at Castiel again, her eyes now heading toward piercing. "Then where are we going?" Because if this weirdo just popped into her private quarters to CHAT, she is going to demand that WAND find her an ANGEL banishing ritual. It is way too damned late at night for this bullshit.

"Look, I know you've been tasked with watching over those two danger-prone monster-magnets, but if we're going to be working together in this or any other capacity, you're going to need to work on your people skills."

Oh hell, she just quoted the Fifth Element. She privately is glad that a particular other senior agent had not been here to hear it, he'd never let her live it down.

Castiel has posed:
Castiels head cants to one side - just enough that it is a tilt, and nothing more. The furrow of his brows takes on a confused cast as he inquires with absolutely no irony, My people skills?

Its not a thing he dwells on, though.

I was not tasked. I chose. Much as I chose you. His head has returned to upright. His tones matter of fact. As much as how could she have been confused on this matter. Even if hes not quite shared with her all that he and Crowley discussed. Though that, too, remains an immediate possibility for discussion - what he discussed with Crowley. Crowley most certainly /will/ come up.

We can be where you wish. Literally. Though she may not be aware, yet, of the danger suggesting a place proposes. Of course, if she resists, more mundane methods will need be employed. He isnt all that mundane, though, and the thought of driving there hasnt crossed his mind.

Melinda May has posed:
Oh for?. Clearly they are NOT understanding each other at all. May somehow manages to not sigh as she crosses her arms.

"Castiel. You are in my private quarters at an hour of the night when most people are sleeping, and you tell me worrying news about Dean. Are you wanting me to DO something? If so, where do we need to be to get this done? If you're just here to complain, you need to leave, right now. And then we can talk when it's daylight outside."

Holy cats, if she has to explain everything to this man like she's talking to a five year old, she is going to lose what little patience she has very, very quickly.

Castiel has posed:
The mans eyebrows furrow themselves even further. I want you to listen. And to discuss? Hes most certainly perplexed at how shes not understanding this. Did he not come to her quarters in the middle of the night to speak to her?

With totally unconscious ease, he buries his confusion in a swig of beer from the bottle in his hand. The gesture entirely too smooth to be something hes aware hes doing purposefully. The bottle holding hand returning to his side and taking up a more relaxed posture.

This should not wait. He called me. He did not want to die.

If she wasnt frustrated before? She might just throttle him now.

Melinda May has posed:
"So you did just show up here and wake me up to talk." May is actually starting to look just a little bit angry. "Human interaction lesson number one, Castiel, and remember this one." She says the following slowly and distinctly, as if doing so will help her keep her temper in check. "If a human is in their private quarters," she gestures to the room around them, "and is already asleep, do not bother them. All you will earn is their anger, not their willingness to listen."

"Human interaction rule number two. NEVER enter a human's private quarters without first receiving their permission unless you have to do so to save someone's life. If the door to a person's room is closed, you knock. And then you wait for them to reply. If they do not reply, knock a second time and wait again. If they do not reply after a third knock, then either they are asleep -- see rule one -- or they do not want to speak with you. Do NOT intrude."

She looks at Castiel with a level of flat disappointment that might possibly make a Harvelle reach for the rock salt. "Either acknowledge that you understand these rules, or leave and I will meet you at Dean's apartment tomorrow when it has been daylight outside for at least four hours."

Castiel has posed:
The confused line of Castiels brows remains in place. I do not understand. You said not to wait with Dean. I did not wait. He doesnt mention hed considered that to apply to her as well.

The beer holding arm gestures in a vague manner, ending with the angel taking another swig while he ponders how to set this back on the path hed expected. Not for the first time observing inwardly that humans were a lot more complicated than hed anticipated.

And a lot crankier as well. There seemed no end to the things that irritated them.

The swallow of beer seems to accomplish something, the angels features becoming less than set in stone. Even his brows unknit from their tight little line of consternation. He summoned Crowley. Or close enough. It was a fine semantical difference. Enough that he wasnt lying. Castiel just wasnt quite sure if he was telling the truth.

The Devil was in the details.

Melinda May has posed:
At the mention of Crowley, May takes a deep breath. "Next time, start with that." She crosses her room and plugs in a device that beeps once. She spends a minute getting a teapot ready before turning back to Castiel. "Please sit." She gestures to the only chair in the room situated in front of a small desk that has a closed laptop sitting on it. She herself sits on the corner of her bed facing the angel.

"Begin at the beginning, Castiel. Where did this happen?"

Castiel has posed:
The angels relief at being divested of the beer bottle manifests in Castiel shoving his hands deep within his trench coat pockets. Until May almost immediately returns with the mug, which he takes from her, looking between woman and mug. It is empty.

Always with the Captain Obvious.

You do not understand. It was necessary to render Dean unconscious. There was danger of further deals. Not that in human terms the deals were all that bad.. That lifespan Crowley was offering? It may well be that May would side with that choice. Castiel could not know. What he did know is that the more beholden Dean was to the King of the Crossroads, the harder the rest of things would be for the man. That counter to what it might seem, those choices would lead him to Michael sooner than later.

It was untenable.

He does not yet tell her what he and Crowley discussed. That remains still a thing between himself and Deans darker guardian if such a thing could be said of the demon

Melinda May has posed:
May does actually sigh now. This sounds far worse than she could have guessed. "Then you were right in not waiting to contact me. BUT. That does not give you permission to just let yourself into my private quarters without knocking. It would have taken less time than we wasted on your less than stellar social skills. So the rules still apply."

The teakettle starts playing a little electronic song and May stands again to pull that beer bottle from Castiel's hand before going over to pour water into the teapot. She returns to offer the angel a currently empty ceramic mug, setting a second one on the corner of her bed as she sits again.

"SHIELD has very strict rules about agents whose mental health is compromised to the point that they are causing themselves harm. If Dean is to that point, I might be able to make a case to have him admitted to Medical. But he's not full SHIELD, only a WAND contract asset. So if he refuses to accept treatment, there's nothing we can do to help. And as much as he's damaging himself, he's also at risk of injuring others while intoxicated."

May can only be inwardly relieved that her own trials never led her down that path.

Castiel has posed:
@emit

May gestures, so he hold his mug out. It's an automatic response, one the body knows and does without his say. When the tea is in the mug, the ceramic warming his fingers, he draws the thing closer to himself and peers into the depths of the thing. "It is hot water?"

The vessel didn't hold a fondness for water. That he knew. But this water was brown. And hot. There was a vagueness of a memory in the vessel. Something alike, but not the same. Darker liquid. Still hot. Early morning light filtering through windows. A shadow cast along a tiled floor. The tinkle of a woman's laughter..

Castiel's eyes close, the body memory a wash he struggles to purge, even as something within him - something not the vessel, something of him, the angel - grasps at the memory and tries to pin it within himself. To hang it in a place where it might make sense. That sudden surge of feeling that was not unlike the purity and clarity of His presence.. only muted. Blunted by flesh. If he could only understand it..

Only May's questions cut through and Castiel is left only holding his mug at a distance precisely too near and too far from himself to be a statement for or against drinking it.

"He was healed of all insult and injury when I left. I believe he intended to sleep. I do not know what the cause of his injury was. The woman made conversation difficult." After a pause of thought, he tacks on, "She tried to exorcise me." After she pelted him with beer bottles and yelled. The angel doesn't mention those things, though.