Hey, I'm currently really into Supernatural, and I just love Megstiel. Drabbles that I really felt like writing, I own nothing but the words that I write.
Meg grasped weakly at the hand stretched out for her. She was bleeding, bleeding so badly, clutching the hilt of the Winchesters' demon knife, which was embedded in her stomach. Her eyes traveled up to meet the eyes of the hand's owner.
"Clarence?" she whispered.
Castiel gave her a weak smile. "Hello, Meg." Meg returned the grin, letting go of the knife to brush a bit of her hair out of her face. It didn't really matter what she looked like - she was dying, after all - but it was a familiar, routine, comforting gesture.
"Nice of you to drop by. Could you maybe do something about this? Usually I wouldn't ask, but..." She dipped her head toward the wound. Meg was no fool. It was serious, and Castiel was one of the only people she knew could handle serious stuff. The Winchesters were useless. They knew absolutely nothing about demons, except how to hurt them.
He took a deep breath and shook his head. "I'm sorry."
"Oh." Meg's voice was no more than a whisper; she had to admit, it hurt like hell to even try to speak at a regular volume. Her ribcage felt like it was crushing her heart.
Castiel rubbed her hand comfortingly with a thumb. He'd probably seen people do this when others were sad or in trouble. Why else would he look at her like that? She was a demon, and he was, well, an angel. Not the best combination to have in the same room.
"Meg?" he ventured. "Do you remember when we met?"
"Of course I do."
"And do you remember San Francisco?"
"Best week of my life." Meg smiled weakly, feeling the pain in her abdomen sharpen and then dull, a quick throb of white-hot agony. She gasped silently. Castiel's hold on her hand tightened for a second, and she bit her lip. "Why're you so sweet on me, Clarence?"
It was a question she'd asked many times. The answer was always the same. "I don't know."
This time, though, Castiel hesitated, looking away and opening his mouth before closing it. Searching for words, perhaps? Meg felt a flutter in her stomach. She'd finally get an answer. Or she was just going to die. Probably both.
Cas's mouth opened again and words finally came out. "Do you remember the rain?"
She couldn't even manage sound at this point. A nod would have to do.
"It was so very, very cold. But also... sweet, almost. Giving life and taking it away. I saw a colony of ants drown outside the window while we were watching the rain."
"Your point?" Meg mouthed, a small squeak coming out of her mouth that she quickly stifled. Her grip on the knife's hilt loosened and broke. Castiel's other hand quickly took hers, a sad smile crowning his features. That wasn't how she wanted to see him. As mushy as it sounded - and Meg would be the last person to admit this - she liked it when he was happy.
"The rain reminded me of you. Powerful and gentle at the same time, and... and mysterious." At his answer, Meg tried to laugh, wincing in pain at the attempt. Her eyes rolled up in her head. Castiel grabbed her tighter and held her to him. "Meg!" he exclaimed.
She returned to semi-normality with some effort, giving Cas a wicked grin as she saw the look on his face. "I'm not leaving any time soon, Clarence," she whispered. "And I'll always remember the rain."
The light faded from her eyes and her expression dulled, going limp in the angel's arms.
"I'll never forget the rain, Meg."