It was finally over. His worthless exsistance, his lost cause. And he rejoiced for the first time in years. Happiness filled his body as he tied the rope around his ceiling fan, pulling it over him and he stood on his toes in the desk chair. No one would mind if he was gone. Heaven was in shambles, Sam and Dean were dead, and his purpose was gone.
Hell didn't seem like such a bad place. Surely it was where he was destined. It was his fault. Everything was his fault.
And so he took in one last breath, and kicked the stool out from under him, he struggled at first, but forcefully relaxed as his lungs pleaded for air. What was that thing she said? "We're going to Heaven…"
"Clarence!" as black blossomed over his vision, a familiar voice cried out. It was probably Leena, here to collect rent, only to find her tenant hanging from the fan. But her voice was different. It was…beautiful.
The next thing Castiel knew was that he was on the floor, the restraint of the rope gone and air flying into his lungs. As his vision slowly returned, he saw a woman's face shaking him.
"God damnit Castiel!" He real name. No one knew his angelic name.
And then he saw her face in perfect clarity. "Meg?" he rasped.
"What the fuck were you thinking?"
He didn't have an answer. Instead he stared up at that face he never saved, the one demon he trusted and lost. "Meg."
"Yeah."
"You came back."
"It wasn't easy," she was helping him up, concern evident in her brown eyes. "What the hell were you thinking? Were you trying to kill yourself?"
"No," he lied. All of the lies. "How did you know where I was?"
"That's not important," she muttered, glancing around his small apartment. "What, already give your stuff away?"
"There was nothing to give, and no one to give it to."
Meg grunted, standing up from her crouch. Cass looked like hell, thinner than he used to be. His brown hair was also graying, which made him look older than he was. And then it hit her. Angels don't age.
"You're human."
He shrugged, not even bothering to acknowledge her surprise. A lot of things can happen when you spend fifteen years in hell. Castiel rummaged around his small living room, picking up his cut rope and undoing the knots.
"What are you gonna do with that."
"It's for me," he replied, using his teeth to get out the fifth coil. "I'm tired, Meg. I'm useless, and I just want it to be over.
She sighed, snatching the rope from him and tossing it. Figgin idiot. "I didn't claw my ass outta hell just to see you kill yourself. Look at you, Cass! You look like a freaking elephant sat on you! You think your life is so bad because you don't have wings anymore? Well tough, I'm not letting you do it."
He looked from his empty hands to her face. "You're serious."
"Damn straight. Look," he keeled beside him again, running a hand though his hair. His neck was bruised, which turned her on a bit, but she had to keep herself under control. For him. "I just got outta hell, and I'm hungry. You look like you haven't eaten in days. Let's get you something to eat, people have to eat."