12.01 “Keep Calm and Carry On” Coda.
“The concept of counting in months was foreign to me at the time… I did learn later that it was September… September 18th, eight years ago.”
Mary smiles. “I get the feeling that it wasn’t a coffee date.”
Cas tilts his head then lowers his eyes. Pink dusting his cheeks. “No. It wasn’t.”
“Tell me about it?” Mary asks, Castiel’s coat draped over her lap. It’s too chilly in the bunker for her, so he offered his coat while Dean checks the thermostat.
“Well,” he clears his throat, fondness and nostalgia lining his words. “I was, ah, unfamiliar with how to approach people so as to not alarm them.”
Mary laughs, leaning back in her chair and propping her feet up on another. “Go on.”
Cas describes the dilapidated barn, the bullets and sparks and showers of light. “I told him I was the one who gripped him tight and raised him from perdition.” Cas quirks his lips at Mary’s bemused expression. “And then he stabbed me,” he says with a huff. “I pulled out the knife and said, ‘We need to talk.’”
“Oh.” Mary bites her lip, though out of speechlessness or her effort to stifle a laugh Castiel isn’t sure. Perhaps it’s both. “I taught him better than that,” she clicks her tongue, her blue eyes soft. “He had such good manners when he was four… He’s gotten better since, I hope?” she smiles.
“Certainly,” Castiel laughs. “Much better. He can be very sweet.”
“Good,” she says contentedly. “That sounds more like my boy.” She smooths a hand over rumpled, tan fabric then looks back up, her eyes meeting Cas’. “So, that’s how you met then, huh?”
“That was the night I met your son.”
She regards him thoughtfully, a bit assessing but mostly trusting. “You know… I used to tell Dean that angels were watching over him.”
“I was,” Castiel assures her, then add like a promise. “I still am.”
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