Castiel sits straight up in bed at exactly twenty-three minutes past one in the morning, and it wakes Meg up, and she knows what’s coming, giving a quiet, tortured groan as she hides her face in the pillow.
"My dear, darling doctor, I have solved the case!” Castiel pronounces, his low voice echoing through the room, in the odd, archaic way he often speaks when suddenly awakening in the middle of the night when Meg is trying to sleep.
"Is that so?" Meg asks in a mumble, slowly and lazily making her way onto her side to look at him. Castiel is naked and she looks at his back where he’s sat straight up, the muscles in his shoulders and the scars on his skin looking oddly ethereal in the gentle moonlight filtering in through the blinds.
"Yes," Castiel turns, and the joy on his face is immense, as it always is. "You see, our victim was-"
"Shut up." Meg interrupts him, holding up a hand. Castiel’s mouth closes with a click. "Lie back down." Castiel does, lying down and then turning on his side so they’re both facing each other. He looks like a kicked puppy without being able to tell her all about it, and Meg closes her eyes before doing what she always, always does, and sits up, leaning on her hand and resting on her elbow. “Okay, shoot. But speak quietly, and we’re not actually doing anything other than remain in this bed until that alarm clock goes off in the morning. Do you understand me?”
"Yes, Meg, of course I do. Now, our victim-" Castiel talks animatedly, despite running on barely two hours’ worth of sleep, and despite herself Meg smiles as he explains his new theory. Castiel is a sweet man, pretty and earnest, but God, his detective thing is tiring.
Not that Meg would give it up for anything else in the world. By God, it - and indeed, Castiel himself - was the best thing that’d ever happened to her.
FILL,Team Crowley/Sam, Awakened
"My dear, darling doctor, I have solved the case!” Castiel pronounces, his low voice echoing through the room, in the odd, archaic way he often speaks when suddenly awakening in the middle of the night when Meg is trying to sleep.
"Is that so?" Meg asks in a mumble, slowly and lazily making her way onto her side to look at him. Castiel is naked and she looks at his back where he’s sat straight up, the muscles in his shoulders and the scars on his skin looking oddly ethereal in the gentle moonlight filtering in through the blinds.
"Yes," Castiel turns, and the joy on his face is immense, as it always is. "You see, our victim was-"
"Shut up." Meg interrupts him, holding up a hand. Castiel’s mouth closes with a click. "Lie back down." Castiel does, lying down and then turning on his side so they’re both facing each other. He looks like a kicked puppy without being able to tell her all about it, and Meg closes her eyes before doing what she always, always does, and sits up, leaning on her hand and resting on her elbow. “Okay, shoot. But speak quietly, and we’re not actually doing anything other than remain in this bed until that alarm clock goes off in the morning. Do you understand me?”
"Yes, Meg, of course I do. Now, our victim-" Castiel talks animatedly, despite running on barely two hours’ worth of sleep, and despite herself Meg smiles as he explains his new theory. Castiel is a sweet man, pretty and earnest, but God, his detective thing is tiring.
Not that Meg would give it up for anything else in the world. By God, it - and indeed, Castiel himself - was the best thing that’d ever happened to her.