«Do you ever miss the Apocalypse?»

It seems like no time at all has passed since they were sitting one across from the other, their hands between them and Castiel's fingers wrapped delicately around Meg's.
And blood, staining the bandages the angel was silently covering her wounds with- Blood staining her cheeks, dried up and dark against her pale skin and blonde hair.
It seems like just moments have passed.

It takes a moment for Castiel to recognize her, although it also takes him a bit to admit it is actually Meg. She's lying on the ground, crumpled and broken and something is screaming inside the angel's head: "Run! Save her!" She's going to be fine, it's only minor wounds, I'll heal her.
Only he knows he won't be able to. He knows she's long gone and they'll never talk about moving the furniture around or about how much easier it was during the Apocalypse, or just... The first thing Castiel realizes when he kneels down next to her body, is that her lips are curved ever so slightly in a small smile; he can't help but mirror it, thinking that she'd be so proud. So proud of what he's become.
And it doesn't burn anymore, to feel happy because of a demon's approval. It doesn't bother Cas anymore, knowing that angels and demons can learn from each other and can be equal to humans when it comes to feelings.
He falls to his knees and pulls her gently towards him, so her head rests on his lap.
«You were mistaken, Meg.»
He says softly, leaning over her- And it's a sort of blasphemous portrait, an angel mourning over a demon, but the whole world has gone to Hell anyways, so it doesn't really matter anymore.
The angel's voice sounds way too loud, in that parking lot; it's like it bounces off the damp building walls only to come back to him.
The fact that he's actually talking to himself makes him frown and question his actions, but he doesn't really care. And it's not like it matters, anyway.
Castiel was a broken angel from the beginning, long before Meg came along and, in shattering him, fixed him better than he'd ever be.
«You were never bad.»
He continues, wondering if this is really something he should be saying to a corpse; it's not her, it never was her.
Words start to fail him. He shakes his head ever so slightly, closing his eyes for one brief moment and hoping that the temporary darkness will grant him the peace he needs. He should have been there for her, he thinks, and memories of all the times she saved him flash against the black of his lowered eyelids. He should have saved her as well.
When he opens his eyes once again, it's way too early and he realizes he's absent-mindedly stroking her tangled hair.

«Do you ever miss the Apocalypse?»

«Yes, Meg.» Castiel whispers, before standing up and letting a soft sigh escape his parted lips. «I do.»
With that, he's gone.
No unnecessary words, because he knows she can't hear them. No goodbyes because they've already been said.