2691/Mother May I Pt 2

Mother May I Pt 2
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 wasn't 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 it's own right, and most specifically, the night he'd 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 he'd been uncertain before, that he wasn't 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 wasn't observing the niceties of human hours

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

It's 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. He's 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 doesn't 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 he's 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 he's giving most every time he engages in conversation.

When she seems ready, or maybe he's only had enough time to ponder his response, the angel moves 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."

It's quite possibly the least informative answer he could have given, knowing the circumstances of why he's 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:
May's displeasure washes over the angel without any particular acknowledgement. In the face of things snarky he's 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 isn't sure what her problem is with how he speaks anyway

"Are you aware of how the man drinks?" Castiel had seen Dean's 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 he's sought her out on this matter.

And given that he's not the most socially aware crayon in the box, the import of all that may yet hit her if it hasn't 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:
Castiel's 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?"

It's 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 he's 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 isn't 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 man's eyebrows furrow themselves even further. "I want you to listen. And to discuss?" Hes most certainly perplexed at how she's 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 he's aware he's 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 wasn't 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 Castiel's brows remains in place. "I do not understand. You said not to wait with Dean. I did not wait." He doesnt mention he'd 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 angel's 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 wasn't lying. Castiel just wasn't 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:
Castiel stands there, holding his beer out like he's just suddenly remembered he has it and now has no clue what to do with it. There's probably two or three more swallows in the bottle, but for whatever reason, the angel is keenly aware that maybe he might not want to finish it right now.

It might be the teakettle. Or the sudden shift of tension in the woman. Or just the lack of whiskey and the fact that the liquid in the bottle is now warm. Not that the vessel had proven to be particularly discerning in the past, even with its fondness for the boilermakers - a thing he still had not sussed out the meanings of. Yet another human mystery to ponder.

So he stands, bottle held out to May, or close enough that it looks like he's offering it to her. It wasn't like it had been all that graceful a thing in his hand for the bulk of his visit so far..

"It was not tonight," his gravelly rumble filling the space between them. "I do not know tonight's mishap. Only that he called." Called, muttering he didn't want to die, fair into having drunk himself past stupor into stomach pumping regions. The wound on his head was serious, but not quite so likely to kill him.

But that isn't what she's asked.

"He drinks alone," Castiel offers, more on track. Body held in stillness as he contemplates how to convey things he understood only as intuition, and less with cognizant understanding. "I did not wait." His next coming after long enough were he another, one would have expected his thoughts complete. "I do not think he meant to be so.." Words fail the angel, leaving him only to finish, "He may not remember everything he said."

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."

Castiel has posed:
The angel's 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 Dean's darker guardian if such a thing could be said of the demon.

Melinda May has posed:
Damn Crowley back to the eighth level of Hell that he came from. "I get the feeling that that's going to become a reoccurring theme, and something to keep watching for." She stands again, and after setting the infuser basket filled with tea leaves onto a saucer near the tea kettle, she brings the whole teapot over. She gestures to Castiel's empty mug and if he holds it out for her she'll fill it about halfway before doing the same with her own mug.

"What is Dean's physical condition right now? Is he sleeping or something else? You do know that alcohol in sufficient quantities can kill a human, right?"

She doesn't immediately take a sip of the tea. It's still insanely hot, just short of boiling.

Castiel has posed:
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.

Melinda May has posed:
Is he meditating over the tea? What the hell? May watches as the angel seems lost in thought somewhere. But he snaps out of it quickly enough so she doesn't ask.

May frowns at the mention of 'the woman'. But she tried to exorcise Castiel, so she's on the Hunter's side at least. Was it Harvelle, then? "Did you knock and wait for permission to enter the apartment? If not, that would be why she tried to exorcise you. Describe this woman, or give me her name."

Deciding she's waited long enough for her tea to cool, she takes a small sip while still watching the rumpled angel over her mug. And waiting for him to say who it was that tried to exorcise him. She's not sure if she wants to find that woman to scold her, or congratulate her for good reflexes.

Castiel has posed:
Did he wait?

There's a scowl and a sudden snap from the angel, "He called for me, you idiot. Did you not listen? He kept saying he did not want to die. Would not give him the satisfaction."

The angel gives her a long look, watching May sip the liquid, and lifts his cup to his own lips, *almost* sipping, before a thought seems to register, and the cup is drawn down again, and he's bristling further. "You can not tell me not to wait and then tell me to wait. Dean does not ask." Except this time he did. "You know that." She should; she told him that very same thing. And that alone should be something to make this event an eyebrow raiser: Dean, who didn't ask anyone for help had called Castiel.

"She belongs to Sam." Which is a quaint way of saying she's Sams girlfriend, if it werent for the total affrontery of the phrasing.

Now he does sip the tea. The gesture an irritated one that has him taking too large a sip of his tea. The liquid a burn across lips and tongue and down his throat where it sat in uneasy companionship with the warm beer.

Melinda May has posed:
May blinks at Castiel's vehemence. And he's right. "If Dean asked, you did the right thing no matter how confusing I'm being." Though he will NEVER AGAIN get away with calling her idiot.

She belongs? May lowers her own mug to tell the angel off for his phrasing, though she then stops and parses the rest of what he said. "Her name is Winifred Burkle. And that is her home as much as it is Dean's. She's going by the same human interaction rules I've spelled out to you, but without the understanding that you're going to help Dean when called, no matter what." Maybe that will at least help him understand why Fred reacted as she did.

"So maybe it would be in your best interest to share that information with her and Sam next time you see them, so they won't respond to any sudden appearances the way I did. All right?"

Castiel has posed:
"She did not harm me," Castiel remarks with more his usual quiet gravel. Only the barest hints of the irritation remaining, as he, too considers the evening most recently past. "She did know I was healing him. There are wards enough. She should know a demon could not just enter."

Then again, technically with what was in place there, Castiel couldn't get in uninvited either.

Regardless, he and the woman had made an uneasy truce of the matter. "She is somewhat confusingly fascinated with Paul." The feeling obliged to offer, "He was an ass." The thought drowned in a sip of tea, the liquid found to be more pleasing than mere water. Something about the hot made it almost pleasant.

"This is.. not distasteful," Castiel remarks, expression quizzical as he peers into his mug before allowing himself another sip. "She did not finish the incantations. It was.." The angel searches for the right word, stilling in thought. Not an iota of movement from him until he finds a word. "Sloppy."

A particularly human expression, considering the source.

Melinda May has posed:
Paul? As in McCartney? That can't be right. May mentally dismisses that for the more important parts of what Castiel has told her. "She is still new to this whole fighting demons business, and a civilian besides. Give her the chance to learn." Of course, now May is contemplating recruiting the angel to help train SHIELD and WAND agents in fighting enemies that can instantly teleport from place to place. But that's a thought for daytime.

"This," she lifts her mug slightly to indicate the beverage contained in it, "is tea. Many people prefer it over most other hot beverages." And those who don't are just uneducated barbarians. That's her own personal opinion, though, and she's long since learned to keep it to herself.

Then she has a thought and reaches to open a drawer on the desk in her room. She pulls out one of her spare burner phones and turns it on to check its battery level and quickly program in some numbers. Specifically, Dean's, hers, and Sam's. Then she offers it to Castiel. "Here. This is a phone. You can use it to contact me or Dean or Sam without appearing places that will startle people and make them try to exorcise you."

Castiel has posed:
The bit of technology May offers is given a long look. Castiel's blue eyes peering at the thing as if trying to solve the mysteries of the universe. As far as gadgets went, it was sufficient. But it wasn't his forte. "You understand I can just be - "

The mind catches up with the body, and Castiel stops himself. Mulls her words in silence before there's a quiet venturing of, "You wish me to be more human." Which, ultimately did not fit poorly upon the angel in man's clothing. He might look a rough fit for the rest of humanity, what with his oversized trench coat and otherwise ill fitting and poorly thought out ensemble - but none of that was what the agent meant.

One hand curls around the device, which he did not immediately pocket, settling instead upon the matter of tea. "The vessel recalls something darker." The teacup lifted to indicate what he means. Something darker than tea. He does not share what else the vessel recalls. It's still a thing too fragile and new to fully realize. Not a thing he wishes to force.

There's a sip of tea in silence, the phone still held in his other hand, that hand yet to come to rest in a pocket. "It would be best to show me how." The meaning made less cryptic as his attention drifts to the hand with the phone, fingers uncurling to allow the device to merely sit in his palm, expectantly.

Melinda May has posed:
"Coffee, most likely. It is another extremely common hot beverage. Usually consumed with morning meals, though the are people that drink coffee as if it were water." Which is something she'll never understand, and doesn't really have any interest in trying to comprehend.

Wait. Vessel? Like a demon's meat suit? May's eyes sharpen instantly, and the mug held in her hand casually is abruptly a potential weapon.

"I will explain how to use the phone, though I would like to ask a question first." If his answer implies a meat suit -- a human body he is controlling without the human's consent?

Castiel has posed:
"Coffee." The single word is tasted in his mouth and not found to be wanting. The feel of it, the sound of it - it all sits well with what the body remembers. As does the other. The mention of morning. There's the feeling of a shift inside the angelic, like another piece of a puzzle falling into place. Though he's not had enough of them to comprehend what they could mean. Just that the vessel once drank coffee, in the morning.. and that there was the sound of laughter.

He felt profoundly sad and at peace all at once.

"The tea is acceptable," he is able to say before the tense reaction of May comes into play. The woman nothing but wary in front of him. And while he knows she can not harm him with her mug, at least in not any lasting way, the vessel's flesh can be harmed. The liquid is hot enough to burn. The vessel can be damaged to the point of no longer being habitable. Both things he does not desire.

Neither does he wish to harm the agent, though she is rightly easy enough to deal with as he had Dean on the hood of the Impala.

"You are always free to ask," Castiel answers after a long pause where he continues to regard May, considering what it is that might have set her on guard again. There is a likely cause - this has now happened enough that the angel begins to see a pattern. Whenever he refers to the body he is in as other than himself, it seems to cause any of a number of reactions on this end of the spectrum. "You wish to know of the vessel."

Melinda May has posed:
"Yes. Is ? the vessel working with you willingly? If your answer is going to be no, then we are going to be disagreeing very strongly again. For almost all humans, the thought of being unable to control their own actions is amongst the worst evils imaginable. It goes beyond a violation of the physical form. It's a violation of the mind. What makes each person who they are."

She can only think of Barnes as she says that. More than seventy years of his mind not being his own. It would be enough to make her shudder if she hadn't trained that kind of reaction out of herself decades ago.

"And even if he is, does he have family -- loved ones -- that might not know where he is now, and are wondering if he's okay?"

Castiel has posed:
Castiel sits with his answer long before he gives it. His tea slowly growing colder in its mug. The phone holding hand dropping to his sit, fingers a light curl about the thing that barely hold it tightly enough to keep it from falling to the floor. The tiny piece of technology forgotten for the moment.

There is no obvious indication of the questioning going on inside the man other than the distant cast to his gaze. What did the former occupant of the body have? There had been none of that angled light of sunshine on a tiled kitchen floor in what the angel had stumbled upon. No lightness of laughter. None of that sharp pull upon his gut that said there was something there. When he had found the vessel, it truly was a compassion that had prompted the angel to offer an alternative. The man, if not eager, more than agreeable to take the deal. The mind of him at peace within while the soul of what had once been a man, and nothing more a man, was tucked away.. Elsewhere was the best word. Neither here nor there. Merely a stasis until the body was no longer needed. Unaware of the time of waiting. In all ways but that of the sorrow of not being in the Lords presence while awaiting the cleansing of the soul in order to enter His kingdom, the soul was in Purgatory. A kinder, gentler one, though.

"He," the angel begins softly, features gentling to betray him. "would have made other choices. Irrevocable ones. I offered an alternative. Do not fear, Agent May, I do not wear him lightly."

And in some ways, ways the angel is not aware of himself, the vessel wears him.

Melinda May has posed:
Watching Castiel as he appears to give her question very serious thought, May studies the man -- the vessel -- while she can do so unobserved. It's the deductive reasoning skills that Sherlock Holmes of fiction and Natasha in reality use to read the people around them. The rumpled, oversized coat looks more like an afterthought than a part of the rest of the man's attire. The suit underneath, what she can see of it at least, is generic off the rack polyester and the sort of thing a person would wear to a job interview. Nothing like the custom-tailored designer suits that some senior agents choose to wear because they can. The tie and shirt clearly go with the suit, as do the shoes, none of his clothing really offering her much insight into the vessel's life or occupation.

Her eyes then focus on the man's hands as the next best source for information about the vessel. Are there the callouses of someone who wields particular forms of equipment regularly? Scars on the knuckles as if from brawling, though she highly doubts it? The less and less common callous of one who writes with pen and paper frequently?

Cataloguing everything she sees, she focuses on Castiel's face again as he starts to speak. She watches his expression, understanding his implication with the completeness of someone who had been close to making that same irrevocable choice herself once. And she, likely for the first time that the angel has seen if his eyes are open to notice, offers an ever so faint quirk of a smile.

"I think it's just a tiny bit mutual there."

Castiel has posed:
He almost shrugs, the angel giving a faint gesture of shoulder movement that pulls at the fabric of the trench coat only enough to suggest he'd adjusted his posture. But the angel rarely moves without purpose, always a stillness. Too much stillness. When a gesture is made there is always purpose.

That, or as her very observant eyes have seen, his movements are borne of the body. What remains of the man within the vessel. Echoes and remnants of who once inhabited this shell. Bits and pieces that cant be banished by mere act of inhabitation, and sometimes not even by will.

"Perhaps," Castiel rumbles. Voice still in those gentled registers. "It was beneficial to both. It may yet be again."

Melinda May has posed:
With her concerns about Castiel's vessel assuaged, May's on-the-verge-of-violence posture relaxes again, and she picks up the teapot to offer to add a little more to Castiel's cup. If he declines, she's drinking the rest herself as she's pretty sure she's not getting back to sleep again tonight.

"So, while we're sharing and caring here, other than helping you with that phone are there any questions I can answer for you?" No, she'd not forgotten about the phone. And she won't forget. It's not like her to forget.

Castiel has posed:
"Sharing and caring?" His head is turned fractionally to the left, tilted in inquiry. "I do not understand."

The angel does hold out his cup though, allowing for a warming top-up of the liquid within. It might not be a boilermaker, but the body allows it may be acceptable. Even if he now wishes to try the coffee. If only to see what the body remembers. These moments he has are new, and unexpected. To deliberately try to cultivate one.. that thought is also new to him.

When she's poured and settled, he still stands there, cup held with all the grace of a grown adult holding a tiny cup from a child's tea set. As though hes been invited to such a party. Only the cups are not tiny, and May is no child. But the rest remains, though. The slightest of uncomfortable scowls given when he brings the cup to his lips, still expecting the liquid within to taste of water. A liquid he already knows he does not find pleasant.

"How may I help?"

It might not be the question she expects, but it is the one given.

Melinda May has posed:
May pours the last of the tea into her own cup after refilling Castiel's. "Sharing and caring is a colloquialism for having a conversation, typically about difficult or sensitive topics." Now that she understands a little more about Castiel and why everything he does looks like a bug in an Edgar-suit, she doesn't so much as bat an eyelash at the awkwardness of his drinking the tea.

But next time, she will insist that he sit his ass down.

How can he help? She takes another sip of her tea while she considers the best way to answer this question.

"Continue doing what you've done the past few days. Monitor Dean, be there when he needs assistance." She's pretty sure he needs someone there more than ever now, especially with the whole mess going on with Sam and Crowley.

"And contact me if you have any questions or don't understand something. Though, it would be best to do so using that phone most of the time. My boss and coworkers would very likely not understand if you just showed up to ask me a question."

Understatement.

Castiel has posed:
Again his tea is sipped, though it's clear he does so out of some sort of mirroring of her own. This is what you do. May drinks tea, and holds this.. care and share.. and you drink tea. The finer points of the liquid are not yet appreciated, and he may never be a connoisseur, but the angel is willing to accept this situation for what it is. Like drinking with Dean, this is how you speak with the agent.

"Then we are understood," Castiel rumbles in his gravelly voice. Still looking slightly at odds with the nature of tea drinking, but back to his more usual contemplation of the world. Watch the man. Keep him safe from himself. Keep him safe from all the other myriad of things that could go wrong.

It's notable she doesn't say to watch after them. Both the brothers. Just Dean. Even if hell do it anyway. And the girl, Winifred. And the woman he's sharing tea with. All for various reasons.

"You know," he offers around a sip of tea, "that if you call I would come." He barely looks her way over the rim of his mug, the eye contact casual and only to gauge her reaction.

Melinda May has posed:
May didn't mention Sam as well because she kind of thinks of the brothers as a package deal. Watch over one, watch over both. And there's also the fact that Sam has willingly joined SHIELD and is in the process of working with their R&D people to hopefully get that blood addiction under manageable control. So the younger Winchester has far more backup currently than the elder, and the discrepancy had not gone unnoticed.

And then Castiel offers that last and her eyes sharpen just a bit again. Though not in an 'impending violence' sort of way, more of a 'where did this come from?' way. "Good to know." She uses that inflectionless tone of voice that makes her actual thoughts on the matter very difficult to discern for anyone who doesn't know her well. "Though if you have to choose between me and Dean you had better go to him first." If for no other reason than he's younger, and he deserves the chance to live just that little bit longer.

Finishing her mug of tea, she stands and takes it and the teapot back to the tiny counterspace excuse for a kitchenette. And it somehow indicates the end of something. "Is there anything else that you need to discuss?"

Castiel has posed:
When her eyes widen, Castiel takes the final sip of his tea. It's almost smug the way he does it. It certainly does much to hide his gaze, which is most often the most expressive part of him. If there was something to read in the depths of the blue of his eyes, it's gone by the time he looks up again, and holds out his mug - empty but for a swallow left in the bottom.

"I know what my choices are."

It's neither an agreement nor a disagreement of her command to him. He'll go where he goes given situations. Though there are levels he can appreciate her priorities. It will make his job easier. ..and harder. But those are things he does not share.

Cup divested of, there is nothing left for the angel to impart. And without so much as a by your leave or a goodbye, he merely is elsewhere, leaving the agent to contemplate the news he brought to her. There were other matters to attend to.

Melinda May has posed:
May turns back to suggest to Castiel that it's time to say goodbye, but he's already gone. She glances around, then hmphs. After standing there for a moment longer she takes her shoes off again. If she can get three more hours of sleep before the next crisis, she'll be far better off. No less cranky, but better off.