And if the greetings this season will bring/
Leave you searching for meaning/
You will look to the words I have written/
And you'll be set free.
-All I Can Give You (John Lancaster)

Stairs were a nuisance and Castiel didn't like them. In fact, he disliked them so strongly that it had been his preference to employ his wings to avoid them, back when he was still able. Every time he entered or exited the Bunker, he was unpleasantly reminded of what he had lost, though he would probably not have used his wings there even if he had been able to, because he had noticed long ago that Dean and Sam found it disconcerting when he flew, so he generally avoided doing it when they were looking unless they were proving to be especially irritating that day.

Castiel had recently discovered that stairs were worse if his vessel was damaged. It hurt to navigate them, and it did things to his sense of place in relation to the rest of the universe that he wasn't comfortable with and which most often manifested physically as dizziness.

No, he didn't like stairs even a little bit.

But television! Castiel liked television. He didn't understand it most of the time, but he liked it. He could sit and be content for days at a time just watching television. At times, Dean had accused him of having unhealthy relationships with the cheap televisions found in many motel rooms.

Castiel had woken up shortly before they reached the Bunker, and was well content to be deposited in the room that had gradually become his by unspoken consent, where he could just lie on his side and watch the television. He didn't really mind what was on, just so long as the pictures moved and changed and the speakers made sounds and some man in a suit periodically tried to sell him car insurance or a woman professed love to a cleaning utensil during the commercial breaks.

When Castiel had let Lucifer in, watching television in his own mind had been his only escape, the only way to distract himself from thinking about the awful things Satan might be doing in his body, and the only way to tune out the Devil's incessant and perpetually off-key singing of terribly repetitive songs in his head. Lucifer had mostly ignored him, occasionally sat on him, but was unable to break Castiel's concentration on the television without also losing control of the vessel involved. In effect, television had protected Castiel from some of Lucifer's worst fits of temper. And there had definitely been some serious fits of temper, especially once God was involved.

It seemed to profoundly worry the Winchesters that Castiel hadn't yet spoken to them or healed himself, but that could hardly be helped. Even once the claws of the spell had been dug out of him, he was still mentally scrambled, and things like healing his vessel and speaking through its vocal apparatus were too much effort. In fact, had Dean not begged, cajoled and bullied him down the stairs, he would have still been sitting in the Impala in the garage, because stairs were most assuredly way too much trouble.

But, on the other hand, now he'd gotten into the Bunker, there was television, and that was good, especially as it provided adequate distraction from what a human would probably define as the emotional turmoil and raw nerves that the spell had left behind, both things that would take time to recover from. Castiel remembered quite clearly the state Rowena's spell had left him in even once it was deactivated. This was different, but similar enough that Castiel was almost comfortable with it, inasmuch as it was possible to be comfortable with something that tore into his being and left jagged wounds in his very essence.

At least there was television. That was some consolation.

A knock on the door stirred him from his tranquil state, but he didn't actually have to do anything about it. The door hadn't been latched, and for the moment the Winchesters felt free to come and go as they pleased. Castiel didn't understand fully why that wasn't always the case. Generalized privacy was something he had limited understanding of, though Dean had done his best to explain why it was important. Even being human hadn't really done much to clear the confusion for Castiel, though he had learned most of the basic rules fairly quickly and done his best to follow them.

He was not surprised that it was Mary who entered now. Sam and Dean were as inclined as ever to leave him alone to heal, which was just fine with him. Unlike a sickly or injured human, he had no need to get in and out of bed multiple times a day, or be turned over regularly, or be fed or watered. He could just lie where he was, utterly motionless, for days at a time.

In fact, that was exactly what he intended to do, and had already done for a period of time that wasn't worth measuring (but which -delightfully- he now could measure). It wasn't like he really had a choice. He was too weak to even stand on his own at the moment. Besides, what he really needed now was quiet, and time to heal.

Mary was only trying to help, and Castiel realized that she was concerned about him for some reason (a reason which persistently eluded him), but her insistence on coming in and checking on him periodically through the day was a nuisance; it broke his concentration, which was harder to come by than usual. It also prevented him from fully immersing himself in the job of trying to put himself back together, because he never knew when she was going to come in and ask him if he needed anything, apparently seeking reassurance that he was okay. While his sense of time was innate and essentially infallible, it seemed that Mary's was anything but, as her visits appeared to be completely randomly timed. Besides which, while the boys were effectively cloaked to Angels, Mary was not, and he found the way she kept pacing around the Bunker very difficult to ignore.

He didn't have energy to spare trying to figure what human reasoning was at work here. Mary could do nothing for him, and he couldn't offer her anything either, so he could see no purpose behind her frequent but erratic visits, and was even less able to determine her motivation in persistently asking questions she already knew the answers to. The entire exercise was thoroughly perplexing, and he just didn't have the resources to spare trying to suss it out.

As usual, she asked him how he was feeling. As usual, he didn't try to answer except by looking at her, then returning his attention to the television. In a strict departure from what had become usual, she came in and sat down in the chair beside the bed.

Resigning himself to the fact that she wanted to talk at him even if he wasn't going to verbally respond to her, Castiel reluctantly looked away from the television and met her eyes. He saw a profound concern in her gaze, but he wasn't sure what it was about.

"Sam and Dean should be back in a couple of hours," Mary said.

A couple visits ago, she'd told him that Sam and Dean were returning to Austin to retrieve his truck, which seemed like an awful lot of trouble for an imminently replaceable vehicle. Somehow, he didn't think that was what she was now worried about.

There was a long pause, while Mary thought of something else to say which was not what she'd actually come to say, but which was apparently easier for her to say than whatever that was.

"I suppose you know it's Christmas Eve now," was what she eventually decided on.

Even had Castiel been unable to gather it for himself, the television programs and commercials would have been quick to give him that information. Repeatedly. He found the carefully timed repetition in television reassuring for reasons he was happy not to have to explain to anyone.

"I... uh... wasn't sure what to get for you," Mary confessed, and it sounded like she'd come close to saying what she was here to say, but somehow also managed to miss the heart of the matter entirely. More complicated than it had to be. Typical of humans, and Winchesters in particular.

Castiel was confused for a moment until he remembered the whole gift-giving at Christmas thing. He hadn't thought about it since that windless night on I-35 when Dean had called. Evidently, Mary had been expected to get a gift for him, as he had been expected to get one for Dean. To his great relief at the time, Dean had let him off the hook. He really didn't understand the Secret Santa business, or anything about this holiday except that it seemed to be somehow important to Dean, despite his barely ever mentioning it before his mother's resurrection. Castiel hadn't been able to figure that one out either.

"Sam said you'd probably accept the death of Lisa Harrow, even though I couldn't wrap that," Mary smiled fondly at this recent, dear memory of positive interaction with her offspring, then her smile faded, "But... well, I wasn't the one who killed her. And, anyway... I owe you more than that."

More than his life? Castiel wasn't sure what to do with that statement, especially since Mary didn't owe him anything, and he couldn't think why she would believe otherwise.

"When I first met you I... was afraid of you. You know that," what she was saying seemed to be difficult for her, because she stopped for a little while before going on, "But... I was also jealous. You knew Sam and Dean in the way I should have and... you meant the world to them. They trusted you. Loved you as if you were their brother. Always had you in mind even when you weren't around. I envied that... and I never thought to question what you'd been through to earn it."

Castiel was surprised by Mary's admission.

He'd never thought of himself as someone to be envied. Castiel knew Dean had frequently used him as a buffer between himself and Mary, but it hadn't occurred to him how Mary might have viewed that. As though Dean preferred Castiel over his own mother.

"But the reason they love you is the reason most children love their mother or father. Because you've given them everything, and you don't expect anything from them in return. You understand love better than any of us," it seemed a strange view to take, but humans were prone to doing that sort of thing, so Castiel merely accepted it as Mary continued, "There aren't enough words to apologize for how I acted... the things I thought about you. And there definitely aren't enough to thank you for all you've done for my boys... and for me. We owe you our lives... I don't even know how many times over."

Castiel was uncomfortable with the praise. He hadn't really done anything to earn it. In fact, anyone paying attention knew he was a colossal screw-up. He frequently made hugely world altering mistakes that he couldn't fix, and he'd said and done countless things he regretted but could never take back or undo. His broken wings were a permanent and painful reminder of just one of many such mistakes. Mary didn't owe him anything, and neither did Sam or Dean. Their recently spiking overt concern for him was a jarring change from the accepted norm, and it only served to confuse him.

"I just..." Mary faltered, looking down at her hands in her lap, then taking a deep breath and meeting Castiel's gaze forthrightly, "I wanted you to know that I count you as one of my boys now. And... I should have from the start. But I didn't know who you were."

Even though Castiel didn't understand what he'd done to earn Mary's change of perspective, hearing the acceptance and affection in her voice felt wonderful.

For so long, Castiel had found himself standing alone, not truly one of the Winchesters, yet no longer accepted by -and all too often actively at war with- his Angel brothers and sisters, belonging nowhere. Even God Himself had barely looked at Castiel after The Darkness had removed Lucifer from his body. Not that Castiel could blame Him for that. Castiel was largely a failure as an Angel of the Lord, and of course no one knew that better than God Himself.

What Mary said didn't make Castiel feel any less lost, didn't offer him any more purpose in his increasingly directionless existence, but if his only reward from here until the end of his days was to be able to know the Winchesters, to help them, to be allowed to love them... he supposed he could accept that. That they would love him in return was beyond anything he could ask for.

"I suppose I could have written that on a singing card," Mary said with a wry smile, "But I thought it might sound better coming from me than it would being read over a cheap rendition of Jingle Bells."

Castiel realized at this point that he had to make an effort to respond. So he cleared his throat, which provoked a look of profound surprise from Mary, and did his best to gather his communication skills and use them, though he was not really quite ready to do so, and it was harder than it should have been.

"As long as I don't have to sit on top of that ridiculous tree in the library, you have nothing to apologize for," he said.

Mary had not expected him to talk. And she certainly had not expected him to make a joke, however feeble.

She sat for several seconds before realizing that Castiel was referring to the fact that many Christmas trees were topped with a decorative angel figurine. Castiel understood that actual Angels were not expected to sit on the trees, but his lack of comprehension of human eccentricities had been an obvious source of amusement for Sam and Dean on multiple occasions, so sometimes he purposely feigned ignorance with the precise intention of entertainment. It served in place of his virtually nonexistent comic ability.

Finally, Mary got the joke, and her smile became broader and more genuine than it had been heretofore. Castiel knew she had been afraid of him in a new way, quite different from before. She had been afraid that he would not forgive her initial cold rejection of him.

"I think that can be arranged," Mary told him with a laugh in response to his statement.

Really, there was nothing to forgive. She was human, fear and confusion were only to be expected. The reality of Angels was world-view shattering for most humans, even those who were religious. And, in truth, she had reacted far more positively and warmed to him much more rapidly than was typical of the species when one of its members discovered and was subsequently forced to deal with the reality of Angels.

"Good," Castiel said, feigning relief with a sigh.

For a time after that, silence reigned.

Then, hesitant but curious, Mary asked, "Did Dean really shoot you with rock salt when he met you?"

"Yes," Castiel replied dismissively, then realized that might paint Dean in a poor light in his mother's eyes, so he continued, "In his defense, he didn't believe in Angels at the time."

Mary shook her head, apparently in some wonder at the audacity of her son.

"And Sam?" She inquired after a little, "What did he do?"

"Well, he didn't see me until some time later," Castiel said with a sigh, resisting the urge to look at the television, which would have been easier, "And... to be honest... we didn't exactly see eye-to-eye."

Mary seemed to remember something, "He said you called him an abomination."

"I was hoping he'd forgotten about that," Castiel admitted, this time unable to maintain eye contact, though he did succeed in not looking at the television.

"Why did you call him that?" Mary asked, and he was surprised to hear only genuine curiosity and no accusation in her voice, even more surprised to look at her and not see recrimination in her eyes.

"I was extremely hungover at the time," Castiel explained carefully, telling the truth while at the same time avoiding answering the question almost entirely, "Angels normally don't get drunk, much less hungover. I was... not well prepared for the experience."

To Castiel's relief, Mary took the explanation at face value.

"I guess by those standards, your introduction to me wasn't too bad," Mary commented.

"Neither of us died from it," Castiel said dryly.

He'd certainly been mad enough to kill at the time, as well as still reeling from thinking he'd lost Dean, not to mention being wound tight with fear for Sam. Even though he'd already known what she looked like, Castiel had been so distracted that he hadn't even recognized Mary for who she was until Dean put name to the face. Only after slowing down and proverbially taking a breath had Castiel even begun to think about what that meant. But there really hadn't been time to sort it out, not then.

"I came within an inch of shooting you," Mary remarked, as though that were any kind of revelation, and apparently it was for her as she added, "Just like Dean did."

"It wouldn't have hurt me," Castiel told her.

"Still," Mary said, "It would have been the wrong thing to do. And I'm glad I didn't get the chance."

Castiel was surprised to hear himself say, "So am I."

He was even more surprised by how good it felt to see that his remark made Mary smile. Looking at her, he decided that he didn't really care why his words had made her smile, or why it made him feel good when she did. He was just glad for it and for her presence in his life. Sometimes things didn't need to have a reason. Sometimes things just were. Sometimes, it was enough to just... be.

And those times were the ones that made all the rest of it worthwhile.