A.N.: So here I am again, writing and hoping you guys read. This idea came to me shortly after 7x21 aired and wouldn't leave me alone until I just put up and wrote it. It's the first story I have ever tried from Meg's POV and I hope you all like it. I know that some people hate Meg and all that she has done and she's so terrible and a demon and so on and so forth, but right now she is an ally to the Winchesters, and I sorta like her. Plus no body in that group has clean hands... if you know what I mean. But anyway, if you don't like Meg don't read this. Thanks! Oh and one more thing. This story is dedicated to Sharlot, the first time I dedicated a story to her (A new animal) she was just some really cool writer that happened to like my stuff and now, she's a very dear friend who has enriched my life immensely. Thanks Sharlot, this one's for you.
Disclaimer: Only the idea is mine.
She doesn't expect him to call. Not really.
She hasn't seen hide nor hair of him since she hightailed it out of the cabin the Winchesters were holed up in.
Not that she hasn't thought about him and that bothers her. He bothers her.
It's been nothing but torment and bloodshed for so long that she is caught off guard by the nagging feeling of emotion that she is afflicted with.
She shouldn't feel this way, can't feel this way, isn't capable of feeling anything other than hatred and evil glee since she first took the express bullet train down under in the first place.
No wait; there had been fear…a lot of it. Somewhat less fun when you were on the receiving end of it.
But she isn't human, hasn't been human in so long that her memories have been bled from her body, crackling, damaged pictures that cause nothing but discomfort to crawl under her skin.
So what is it? What is it about him?
Something about his blue eyes, years younger and older than they have any right to be all at the same time.
He bothers her.
The way he speaks, moves, his recent fascination with touching everything in arm's length as if it's the first time he has every touched anything, all of it bothers her.
So, she should be glad he has disappeared, glad that he isn't around making things confusing for her, happy that she's not keeping company with an angel anymore, because how fucked up is that? Is she?
But she's not. She's…if she had to place the emotion she would say she is worried. Close to feeling 'almost' concerned.
She's has spent the last couple of weeks keeping an eye on him and then after he woke up several hours replacing the light bulbs as he obsessively had her pull his finger, grinning boyishly as the glass rained down on them. He was never like this before and she feels…protective?
It's not right, none of this is.
I mean, there are plenty of logical reasons for her to keep an angel in her pocket, with the dickbag angels, douchebag Crowley and now the chompers all out in the world, she can't be too careful.
She stares at her cell phone with a hushed chuckle. He's a big boy, he can take care of himself, and she's not his keeper.
And that is why she does not feel relief when it buzzes in her pocket two days later.
"Hello?" she questions.
"You okay?" she asks before she can stop herself.
"Yes. I'm fine. Are you?"
She huffs uncomfortably, switching the phone to her other ear, choosing to ignore him.
"Where have you been?"
"Everywhere." He replies.
"I watched a woman give birth, she seemed perturbed about that. "
She stifles a chuckle. "I can imagine."
"I saw the Grand Canyon; its name is ironic for being a tear in the earth. And Niagara Falls is little more than a trickle. I have seen grander things, but something about this planet is…" he pauses and she can imagine the fond smile that is curling his lips. "Endearing."
It's not the only thing that's endearing.
She grimaces against that thought as he continues. "Where are you?"
"In a gas station by Hayward, Wisconsin. Why? Where are you?"
A flutter of sound is all that precedes the line going dead as she sighs and closes the phone.
The keys jingle in her hand as she goes to open the door to her stolen car, her eyes spying the familiar rumpled trench coat in the distance.
He's sitting with his back turned facing her, his whole body exuding a peace that beings with purpose are never allowed to feel.
She takes a step towards him, watching as his hand reaches into a paper bag to scatter breadcrumbs at his feet. A flock of pigeons hops over to him and he turns his face to smile at them.
Without being conscious of the motion she finds her herself standing at the back of the dilapidated bench, her hands resting just inches from his back. The birds take off in a flurry of feathers as they feel her presence as well.
What the hell is she doing? She's a demon, a corrupted, vile, creature and humanity…
Humanity is a disease, a disease she has been fighting to end her whole existence.
"Hello Meg," he smiles over his shoulder at her. "I missed you."
His eyes shine with innocence as he pats the spot next to him.
"You're too sentimental." She grumbles, placing herself on the edge of the bench.
"Yes," he states with a chuckle. "I suppose I am."
"So, what's next?" she questions, palming her keys.
"We should go see Sam and Dean, see if there is anything else we can do to help."
"Dumb and dumber? You've found enlightenment and you want to go back to those bastards?" she scoffs before rolling her eyes. "And they call me a masochist."
"Yes, because that is what you do for the people you love."
She's captivated by the clearness in his eyes, the message pure.
Her eyes travel down to her keys in her hand, the metal catching on the sun.
"Meg? Is everything alright?"
She fists the contents in her hands. "What are we waiting for?" she questions. "With you and the Winchesters absent I haven't gotten in my daily dose of insults."
Castiel smiles dreamily at her, ruffling his coat over his hospital clothes. He reaches out and taps her nose and she blinks in surprise at him.
"I told you I don't like to be touched." She grouses.
"There are many things you don't like." He shrugs with a small smile.
And one thing she does.