(In which Meg hates burns because they remind her of hell, and Castiel tries to make it better:)

"There appears to be something troubling you, Meg."

"Oh, fuck off, Clarence."

"No, Meg, please," Cas, says, putting a hand on her shoulder that the leather-clad girl immediately shrugs off, "I wish to know what is upsetting you."

"You wouldn't get it. It's stupid," Meg snaps curtly, in a tone that anyone could read as: end of discussion.

Well, anyone with adequate social skills, that is.

"I am sure it is not foolish. If it is bothering you, then it is valid," Cas insists. Relenting, Meg sighs and pulls up the sleeve of her leather jacket to reveal the long, thin burn on her forearm. "Oh."

"See, I told you it was stupid," Meg tugs the sleeve back over her burn, as if to protect is from Castiel's searching gaze.

"Oh," Cas repeats, as the realization dawns on him. "Meg, you do not need to be afraid of burns."

"I can't help it, all right?" Meg surrenders helplessly to the conversation, "Every time I get a burn, it reminds me of the time I spent I hell. And suddenly, I'm flashing back, writhing in the flames, being scarred by hellfire again."

And then, unexpectedly, Cas is crushing the demon to his body in a hug. Meg tentatively wraps her arms around the angel to reciprocate, feeling the blades of his shoulders, where his wings grow from his back.

"It will be all right, Meg. I've got you."

"I don't suppose you could use your angel mojo to fix it," Meg smiles sadly at Castiel, knowing what the answer will be.

"No, Meg, I'm sorry. You are aware I've been cut off from heaven."

"Yeah. I know," sighs Meg wistfully.

"Is there any way I could assist you that would ease your discomfort?"

"Well," Meg grins deviously, "You could always kiss it better."