(no subject)

[thursdays_angel]

The ball field is complete.

Crisp white lines of lime. Neatly trimmed grass. A sturdy metal backstop behind home plate. Bleachers that still smell of new wood, and two long benches for the teams.

Deserted this evening.

For the moment.

And in the next, two figures are standing on the pitcher’s mound. A dark haired man in a rumpled trench coat. And a young woman with red hair.

“We are here,” Castiel says, removing his hand from Meg’s forehead. “You can open your eyes now.”

Castiel, and many others, have worked hard on this field. And found companionship in doing so. It is a source of pride in more ways than one.

Comments

[thursdays_angel]

A philosophy that Castiel may, in time, come to appreciate.

"Lines are easy enough to draw."

Castiel stops at second base--it's a good mid-point from which to see the whole field.

"It will be good."

It's almost heady. Creating something.

[noteful]

It's really not Meg's usual approach. But there's no template to follow for How To Organize An End Of The Universe Sporting Event. Meg is making it up.

And then writing it all down.

"Yes, it will," she says. "It's already good."

Because it's not just about the actual game. Not really.

[thursdays_angel]

Castiel smiles slightly. Then reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a baseball.

"I know you claim that you cannot throw."

He holds the ball up.

"I have found practice to be beneficial."

[noteful]

Meg blinks.

"What? Now?"

[thursdays_angel]

"Why not?"

Humans have a saying. No time like the present.

"You can demonstrate how to throw like a girl."

[noteful]

"That, at least, I can probably manage," she says.

Oh, here comes the part where she embarasses herself.

"All right."

[thursdays_angel]

Castiel walks backwards, tossing the ball to Meg as he goes.

"I have no doubt that you can."