A/N This is more me examining Meg's character than anything.

No copyright infringement intended.

Waking up with an angel beside her took a while to get used to. The first morning it happened, Meg was curled up beside him, her hand and head lazily resting on his chest, and he was stroking her hair. She murmured something that sounded like 'good morning, Angel' and then screamed, reappearing halfway across the room, barely clothed. "Whoa, whoa, whoa," Her angel had soothed, standing up from his side of the bed, hands raised to suggest he wasn't going to hurt her. "Meg, what's wrong?"

Meg, after shaking her head in her hands to clear it, looked up, rubbing her forehead. "It's nothing. Playing house is obviously going to take some more getting used to than I thought." She pushed past him to get back in the bed and crawled to her side, Castiel following after her. "I'm not built for this." She paused, curling back up against him. Castiel resumed petting her head and Meg's eyes, heavy with sleep, fluttered closed. She wondered how she'd had come this far. "Is this right? Us, I mean."

Castiel stopped petting her hair, his hand paused at her crown. "I don't know if I'm the best person to ask that to."

Meg laughed quietly, although her heart wasn't in it. She had forgotten. Her angel had done some pretty messed up shit too. Playing God by consuming all of the souls in Purgatory, he made her look like the angel. Yet, somehow, the way he lay beneath her made her forget. The way he felt beneath her hand made her forget. Momentarily, Meg wondered if he felt that way around her too: if the way she smiled made him forget the evil hunting them, if the way she never said his name except when she dreamt of him made him feel special. He was a machine of love, but was he in love with her, she who was born out of fire and hatred?

She would never ask.

Meg knew that whatever she felt, the feeling was mutual. Ever since his crazy days in the hospital, she could guarantee that she knew there was something there. It was in the way he said her name. He didn't say it like it was an ordinary name, he said it with such respect and delicacy, as if it was something to be revered, as if she wasn't a mutilated soul, but an angel, like him. Like she could never be. He said her name the way she had once said Lucifer's. Meg pulled herself closer to her Angel, a pleasant warmth spreading in her chest.

She didn't want to let go of him. Not now. Not ever.

Even that year that she was locked up in Crowley's bathroom, Meg had found an odd peace in thinking of Castiel. She couldn't pray, no demon can pray, but she directed her thoughts in his direction, seeking comfort in talking to the version of him made up by her imagination.

She pulled tighter. Now that she had him here, she never wanted to let go.

As it turns out, waking up next to her Angel took no time to get used to at all. On the second day, Meg woke up curled up in her bed again, but with her feathered friend curled around her. She noticed that their hands were entwined beneath the white sheet and smiled. Yesterday, her instincts had told her to get up and run, there is an angel in your bed! But today, evven with that niggling feeling in the back of her head, she turned around and wriggled closer to him. He kissed her cheek affectionately. "Morning, Big Spoon," she said, propping herself up on her pillow.

"Morning, Meg."

"You were out late. I waited up." The concern in Meg's voice was hard to mistake.

"The boys insisted on making sure the town was safe for the night. I was stuck there for a while."

"Well, I don't care how late you stay out, feathers, but I want you here in the morning, you hear?" Cas nodded once. "Everyday, Clarence, I want to wake up beside you."

A/N Damn, Meg is hard to write! How do you guys do it? :)