Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.

Requiem for the Damned

By: DemonClowSorceress

More Megstiel for everyone! AU after "Torn and Frayed" because I'm on a "Castiel rescues Meg and kicks ass" kick at the moment.

Night had completely fallen as Castiel stood at the edge of the compound and stared at the demons prowling around the warehouse's perimeter. The structure wasn't even warded against angels; obviously nobody had expected one of his kind to invade this particular piece of nowhere. Tired blue eyes swept over the entire area, seeing and counting the twisted souls within the possessed meatsuits. At his count, there appeared to almost a hundred demonic presences. And no low-level dregs either; there were some powerful demons skulking around in the shadows.

One lone Seraph against one hundred demons. The odds weren't favorable.

Which meant he was in the right place.

The loss of Samandriel - Your fault, his damnable guilt whispered - had shown him just how weak he truly was. A failure, despite the awesome power the Seraph possessed. The feelings were too much to bear. He had to do something, save someone, to prove that he still deserves a chance. Because he was desperate to prove his worth, if only to himself.

It's that line of thinking that's brought him to this run-down scrap of nowhere outside of Tulsa, ready to take on a horde of demons with only his angel blade. It's why he's flying under the radar, not responding to prayers or summons from his angelic brothers or the Winchesters. No backup, no witnesses, and no well-meaning saviors.

Or maybe he was just too tired and too broken to care about living anymore.

His angel sword slipped from his sleeve, the cool metal a familiar weight against his palm. If he failed again, Castiel would end his existence once and for all, and nobody would be around to see him do it or stop him. And hopefully God, wherever he was, would forgive this greatest of sins by allowing him to rest in whatever peace could be waiting for a failure like him.

He noticed movement within the warehouse. The King of Hell's presence was massive compared to the other demons, providing a perfect destination to hone in on. His tactician's mind quickly plotted the swiftest path from his position to where Crowley's darkness radiated power like a small reactor, dwarfing the smaller speck of blackness that was in the same room. A familiar speck of blackness.

The true objective of his mission.

His crushing hold on his weapon blanched his knuckles bone-white. Hold on, Meg. I'm coming.

It was almost spring, near as she could figure. Give or take a few weeks either way.

Chained to a rack with iron manacles, blood and half-healed lacerations all over her body, Meg could only blame herself for her current predicament. Having chopped down a baker's dozen of Leviathan flunkies outside Sucrocorp, Meg should've bugged out before the last monster's black ooze had hardened. Instead, she'd taken a moment to bask in the pride of having emerged from the fight without dying. She let her guard down for a split second, and that was enough time for Crowley's flunkies to swoop in and snatch her up.

After almost eighteen months of the King of Hell's "hospitality," by all accounts, she should be a broken wreck. But being one of Alistair's best and bloodiest pupils had lent the demon a thicker hide than most of her level. Sheer hate gave her the gall to endure more than most would suffer. A driving need to piss off her captor had Meg laughing off every depravity done to her meatsuit and mind.

"Hello, darling."

Speak of the devil... She raised her head and peered through grime-coated curls at the King of Hell. "Crowley. Always lovely to hear your voice," she gritted out. "So what's on the docket for today? Iron brandings? Holy water shower? Some quality time with a sharp knife and a pair of pliers?"

He didn't reply; in fact, he didn't even turn to face her, keeping his attention on the table of torture implements in front of him. Apparently the King of Hell wasn't in the mood for his usual preface of witty foreplay. If anything, he seemed almost distracted. As if this really wasn't where he wanted to be.

A master interrogator even when on the rack herself, Meg's eyes narrowed. "Sorry. Does my lack of poetry bore you?"

Now Crowley glared at her. "You've got a smart mouth."

"One of my many charms, sweetie."

"You're one tough little bitch, I'll give you that. Didn't really think you'd last eighteen months." He turned to reveal the drill that he'd selected. "But while this has been fun, I think it's time I sent you packing."

Meg cocked her head. "Hasty decision, isn't that?"

"You have nothing left to offer me, except your body. And while that is tempting," he admitted, slowly dragging his gaze up and down every inch of exposed flesh, "I'll have to say no."

She snickered sarcastically. "What a test of self-control for you. But why now? You've had plenty of chances to do it before." Her eyes lit up. "Something's happened." His shoulders tensed, and that's when Meg knew she had it. A new development in his plan to secure power, but good or bad was hard to determine. Only one thing made him so uncertain.

"They're looking for it too, aren't they?" No need to elaborate who 'they' were. Or what 'it' was. They both knew.

The slap came from nowhere, snapping her head to the side from the force. "You're getting very fresh, whore."

"Anyone ever tell you that you hit like a little girl?" Meg spat blood and snickered, bleary eyes alight with mischief as her mind started racing. If the Winchesters were up to something, this meant she could make her move. The smarmy dick had a bad habit of getting distracted when the Doublemint Twins did something unexpectedly damaging.

Crowley moved to strike her again, but the sounds of screaming stopped him in his tracks. The scent of burned ozone and scorched feathers reached Meg's nostrils, making them flare as her battered mind recalled the last time she smelled that particular combination.

"Huh," said Crowley, his eyebrows quirking up in mild surprise. "Seems we have company, pet."

The words barely had time to echo before the double doors were thrown open with a resounding bang. Light streamed into the torture room and made both demons flinch, but the familiar warmth of it caused a honey-sweet, diabolical smile to blossom across Meg's chapped lips. Only one creature she knew would make that kind of entrance.

Bout time you showed up, Clarence.

Castiel took three slow steps inside the room, blood dripping from his blade. The light of his Grace caused his skin to glow like a nightlight, throwing the image of two fully opened wings against the walls in stark shadow. His blue eyes were burning with power, and every ounce of it was focused on Crowley.

"Castiel," said the King of Hell in the calmest of voices, unimpressed boredom predominant in his eyes. "Ever hear of knocking? A year in Purgatory has done absolutely nothing for your manners, mate."

Meg's eyes went wide. Purgatory? He was in Purgatory this whole time?

"I was in a hurry," the angel replied.

"I see you've got your marbles back. Shame, I liked when you were bonkers." Castiel only blinked, expressionless as a blank mask. Sighing, Crowley spread his arms. "As you can see, I've got no more captive featherbrains."

"I know." Those Grace-filled eyes moved to catch Meg's earth-colored ones. "I'm here for her."

If the previous words had startled Meg, those four absolutely ripped the floor out from beneath her. It wasn't as if they had any sort of special connection - every time they'd been forced to work together, it had been an uneasy alliance at best. Even when he'd been a broken wreck, she hadn't thought that his silly crush would hold out after he regained his sanity. She couldn't understand why an angel like him would come full-tilt at the King of Hell for something as insignificant as her.

Eyes comically widened in pure astonishment, Crowley glanced from Castiel to Meg and back. "Are you still mental? You're here for this scrap of trash?"

"You can let her go now, or I shall reduce you to a scorch mark and do it myself." Castiel didn't look away from the captive woman, but his voice held the utmost conviction. The power emanating from his body only served to make his threat all the more final. "Either way, she is coming with me."

Crowley was nothing if not protective of his own hide. A snap of his fingers and Meg's restraints were gone; another snap, and he followed suit. Castiel moved instantly to catch her as she fell off the rack. Safely cradled in the angel's arms, Meg inhaled his crisp, clean scent as she buried her face into the fabric of his trenchcoat.

"Hold onto me," he murmured into her hair. "I'm taking you someplace safe."

Damn if that didn't make her feel warm and protected. Not that she'd ever admit it to anyone. After all, a demon needs her lies. They're all she has.

The motel room wasn't the Four Seasons, but at least it was clean and warded against everything. Meg sighed in relief as Castiel lowered her onto clean sheets, stretching her body out to take up the whole bed. "Ah, sure beats iron racks and holy water showers," she purred. The fabric felt like heaven against her bruised skin, and the comparison made an amused smile unfold on her lips. What would a demon know of Heaven?

"You're recovering well," he remarked as he watched her lounge, head tilted in that adorable curious-puppy way.

"Trust me Clarence, I need more than just a comfy bed and a power nap. But for now, I'll take what I can get." Closing her eyes, Meg sighed in pleasure as her tortured muscles loosened and relaxed. One hand patted the mattress. "Care to join me, hero?"

When no answer came, she looked up at Castiel. He was tempted to accept her offer; she could see it in his eyes. But he hesitated slightly, face twitching with something that looked vaguely like...was that fear? He was afraid? Of what?

Turning on her back, Meg looked at him with half-lidded eyes. "Why'd you come for me?"

Fear morphed into guilt, darkening his eyes to the murky blue of a winter lake. He looked away from her, eyes staring at the floor with a despondent look she wanted to smack away. It made him look defeated and weak, and although it secretly turned her on, the allure was damaged by the fact that she wasn't the one to put it there. Meg wanted to make him look like that.

At least, she used to want that. Now, she wasn't quite so sure what she wanted from Castiel. Okay, she did know what she wanted, but there was no way the angel would sully himself by sleeping with a demon. He wasn't that far gone.

"Much has changed in the last year. I - " She waited as he swallowed and organized his thoughts. "Earlier this year, I - I wanted to save another angel, one captured by Crowley. The Winchesters and I managed to rescue him, but the torture had broken him. I had to defend myself." Those soulful eyes met hers with quiet anguish. "His name was...Samandriel."

Meg had heard the name before. Some adorable angel Crowley had snatched up to poke and prod for information, he'd actually spat out the existence of the angel tablet. Her own torture routine had been jacked up to major hurt once that happened. "So what, I'm your penance?"

"Yes."

While somewhat harsh to learn it wasn't of his own free will, Meg didn't take it personally. Angels don't rescue demons of their own volition, just like fish don't read poetry. He had no reason to save her now that he was playing with a full deck again.

Not to mention something else was bugging her. Namely the missing pair of boneheads usually hot on this particular angel's tailfeathers. Glancing around the hotel room, Meg could see no trace of either Winchester's presence. "There's no way the Wonder Twins let you fly off on this solo. Especially not when Crowley had half his entourage camped outside like opening weekend of the last Harry Potter movie."

"They...would have objected," Castiel agreed. When he didn't elaborate, Meg looked up to see the truth clear in his eyes.

"You went in there alone." Her lips parted in realization. "Jesus, are you actively trying to kill yourself?"

That got a bit of a rise out of him. "Don't take His name in vain."

"I'll take in vain whatever goddamn name I fucking want to!" Meg cursed. Rage gave her a surge of strength, enough to sit up, grab his blue tie, and pull him down to her level. "You didn't expect to make it out of there alive, did you?" He didn't bother insulting her intelligence by denying it. Meg scoffed and released her grip. "Have you descended to a new level of stupid since I've been gone?"

"You don't understand my reasons - "

"Oh don't I?" Meg arched an eyebrow. "You're still seeing blood on your feathers, ain't ya? I'm your pathetic attempt to even out the scales."

"I must repent for my sins!" Castiel shouted finally, losing his temper completely. His Grace bled into the air, raising the temperature ever so slowly. "Those angels I murdered during the war in heaven, those humans I slaughtered when the Leviathans consumed me - I am responsible for their deaths, and I must do what I can to atone for them!"

"And what if you happened to die while on this stupid penance?" she flung back.

He never blinked. "I'm prepared to die."

Meg got to her feet, ignoring the protests of her battered body, and got right in Castiel's face. "I'm pretty sure forgiveness only counts if you live long enough to be forgiven by the people you've screwed over. What you're doing is commonly called displaying suicidal tendencies."

"You don't know anything, Meg."

"Don't I, Castiel?" she challenged. "There's a place in Hell, a place specifically for those who commit suicide. I've worked the racks there, broken those souls into little bitty pieces using the guilts they carry with them into Hell. I've seen what misguided penance looks like a million times over." She savagely poked his chest with her index finger. "And you, Clarence, are the fucking poster boy."

She didn't know what to expect from provoking him. A spiel about his penance, a stab through the gut to finish the job, a smiting that would turn her into a scorch mark on the carpet. What she definitely had not expected was Castiel grabbing the back of her head none too gently and pulling her in for a hard, open kiss that made her moan like a woman already on the edge of release.

I've really got to stop thinking this overgrown pigeon will ever do the predictable thing, she thought as he pushed her back onto the bed.

Several hours and a couple empty boxes of pizza later, Meg snickered at the state of their motel room. "Moving furniture with you is something else, Clarence."

"It was a very educational experience," he admitted. His fingertips grazed over her sensitive skin, sending shivers of delight through her body.

"You're pretty good in the sack. For a tree-topper." She tried to shift, but his grip tightened slightly around her waist to keep her body pressed to his. "Clingy thing, aren't you?" She turned so that her body draped over his, flushed skin pressing against his bare chest. Castiel's grip changed accordingly, his hands clasping at the small of her back in a caging embrace. "Very clingy thing."

"Where are you going?"

"Fraid I'll leave you like a one-night stand?"

"No, but you are in no condition to go anywhere at the moment." His arms tightened again. "And I am not about to let you."

"Wow." The demon couldn't help her small, catlike smile. "Feeling frisky already, Clarence?"

A glint of smug mischief appeared in his eyes. "I think we've established that you know my real name, Meg."

Meg chuckled and shook her head, drawing invisible patterns on his skin. "Crowley's gonna hunt me down if I don't make like smoke."

"Where will go you?"

"Everywhere. Nowhere. If you've got no place to go, there's no place to start looking for you."

His mouth opened slightly, but a sudden shudder made his body tense up beneath her, head lifting like a dog that's heard its master's whistle. Meg gave a defeated smile. "The dynamic duo sending out the Bat-Signal?"

"They are praying to me, yes." But he didn't zap himself away from her.

"Aren't you gonna flutter off to their aid?"

He shook his head. "They will be fine. They have handled worse without me." Castiel brushed back a sheaf of hair from Meg's face. "You are more in need of me than they are."

She bristled at his gentle touch. "I'm not a damn damsel in distress."

"But you are alone, just like I am." His hands cradled her face and brought it closer to his own. "Before we part ways again, we need a little more time together. I have - missed you."

Those words undid some small part of her resolve, and Meg shook her head in defeat. "You can't save me, you know that?"

"I wouldn't ever presume to do so." Castiel's lips hovered just beyond her reach. "But you can't save me either."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Clarence."

Sinking back into his embrace, Meg took his mouth with hers. Neither felt the need to speak again for several hours.

Yeah, I'm still not over the whole "Meg is actually legit dead" thing. Can't you tell?

Review please!