It was a horrible day anyway and Castiel was itching to be home.

The hunt was a bust, and again, the Colt was nowhere in sight. It wasn't that he doubted his informant, but something seemed suspiciously odd with how many demons were guarding absolutely nothing.

"You need to talk to her," Dean told him. "Because you're the only one she'll listen to."

With a sigh he slung his forty-seven off his shoulder and shoved it in the backseat of the small truck, grunting when Dean passed by and practically slugged him in the back.

"Remember the demon."

"Yeah."

He hated cars, and hated driving more. Mostly because he had to be sober but overall they were cramped and tight spaces made him panic slightly.

That's what happened when an angel is stuffed in a meatsuit for the rest of his life.

Yanking open the glovebox he frowned at the empty cigarette packs strewn all over and the final joint he had stuffed behind a flask and some yellowing paper.

Reminder: talk to Don.

He was glad, however, that this particular raid was so close to the camp, which meant sleep and probably not having to listen to Dean rant about how much of a failure this whole mission was. On top of that, Chuck would probably bother him (since Dean refused to help sort out materials and needs there, stating that "a genius like Castiel would be much better for the job". Ironic), and to be honest, he had one thing on his mind.

Rest. Maybe something to drink.

Pulling into the gate that separated Chautauqua from the rest of the world, a swell of relief blossomed inside him. From what he could see, she wasn't outside, which meant that if he was quick enough, he would be able to avoid everything all together. And the good thing was, he was damn quick.

Shutting the door quietly behind him, attempting to ignore the passing hunters and refugees that shot greetings his way, he felt his grin widen as he managed up the front steps to his cabin, the rotten wood smell and the strange tinge of sulphur almost assaulting him as he bounded in.

"'Bout time you got back," a voice almost whispered, and he turned to see Meg, naked, propped up on her elbows and watching him. "I was starting to think you'd gotten ganked."

"No, not yet, at least," he scratched at his short beard, blue eyes never leaving her. "The hunt was a bust."

"What?"

"The Colt wasn't there."

"Damn it!"

"Dean thinks you knew it wouldn't be there."

Meg's eyes narrowed. "I told you. One-hundred-percent honesty, or I'll let you all kill me."

He sighed. it wasn't long ago that the demon was collateral, a prisoner of a mission. She'd managed to gain both his and Dean's trust, or what little of it he was willing to give.

She'd proved to be a loyal asset, working as a double agent and the camp's own demon detector, and even somehow managed to win the hearts of a few of the hunters here.

"So I didn't screw that up. They must have gotten you some other way."

"Alright."

"You believe me?"

"Of course I do. I don't have reason yet not to."

He watched her smirk as she swung her legs off over the bed, brown eyes shifting to black while she walked towards him, sliding off his jacket and pressing a kiss to the side of his neck.

"Prove it."

He found her lips and kissed her, the demon tugging at his shirt while he ran his hands down her shoulders. he felt her dark power nip at his skin and he broke away to lift his shirt along with her, leaning his weight down so that she fell back first against the old bed, little clouds of dust puffing out under the stress.

Sliding her up to the top, Castiel rejoined her, hands supporting him on either side of her head as sharp nails grazed down his front.

"You reek," she muttered when they broke apart again, Castiel's eyes squinting in confusion. "Don't get me wrong, Clarence, the smell of smoke is to die for, but that damn smell-"

"I didn't even have one today."

Meg scoffed. "Your pupils are as big as the fucking moon and you're a terrible liar. And is that..." she sniffed him. "And is that absynth?"

He shrugged, tiredness starting to weigh him down as he dipped his head again, her hands moving from his chest down to tug at his jeans.

"Tired," he muttered against her lips, and with a defiant shove Meg had him pinned down on his back.

"Who said this was for you anyway?" she whispered, undressing him completely and straddling his abdomen. "My info was false. I'm a little pissed about that.

"And i need something to take it out on."

She scooted back against his cock, feeling how hard the organ was under her cunt, and with a smirk she watched Castiel roll back, moaning against her movements.

"Not so righteous anymore, are you?" she mused, watching him grab at the sheets. "Gotta love it though. Broken angel with a splash of kinky. I like."

She felt a groan vibrate down his chest when she lifted herself over his hips, sliding down his cock while leaving tiny rivets down his chest with her nails. Castiel looked almost in pain, and she couldn't fault the powerless angel for leaning back and shutting his eyes.

"Open those, Clarence."

"What?"

"I want you to watch. I want you to scream so loud the fucking Croats will come charging the gate."

He felt her rock harder against him and he forced his eyes open, rolling his head back and gritting his teeth together. He felt his will slipping away, as well as perhaps his own sanity, blue eyes fixed on the demon as she rolled her own head back, Castiel's pain quickly becoming her pleasure.

She felt him lose control earlier than she expected and with a disappointed hiss she felt him come inside her, the former angel letting out a silenced scream through closed teeth.

"That was exciting," she muttered sarcastically.

"I'm sorry," he breathed, rolling his head to the side and reaching for a green bottle that rested on it's side on the nightstand. "I'm tired."

"Obviously."

She watched him not even bother to pour himself a glass as he sat up and shakily downed the alcohol, the sweet numbness causing his eyes to squint and vision to blur.

"Well, that's rude."

"Better than..." he rummaged at the little brown bottles he had stashed in the drawer, finally grabbing one and squinting so hard at the label that she doubted he could even see it at all. "Whatever the fuck this is."

She released him and stood on her knees before falling back on his legs, the entire moment gone as he took another sip. Long ago she would be joining him, taking her own swigs from the bottle.

She expected him to be this giant knight in shining armor like the angels were supposed to be. but instead she had a powerless mess, one that seemed to collapse at any minute.

She watched him grab a joint off the floor and prepare to light it.

"Not tonight," she said, yanking it from his hands. "Can't deal with the smell."

"That's still so ironic, coming from you."

She glared at him, watching his eyes slightly widen as she climbed over his body to lean over the bed and grab the ratty old comforter and flow it out over them.

"You're staying?" he asked her, unable to watch her anymore as his eyes closed.

"Yeah, why not," Meg muttered, resting her head on his chest and feeling am arm rest over her back.

"You're so strange."

"So are you."

He didn't respond, and she didn't expect him to.