The other day I was listening to a panel that Rachel Miner was on, and someone asked the a question about where she hoped that Meg had came from, and her answer was somewhere in the Renaissance time. I thought that would be a really cool idea, and wondered what it would have been like if Castiel had known her while she was still human. Now, Meg Masters was the human girl possessed by the original demon, so I changed the name to Mabel, and in my mind Mabel is the soul that will be twisted into that demon who is known and loved by us Supernatural fans (if that makes any sense, if not let me know) All feedback is welcomed, so please review, favorite, follow, whatever. This is my first Supernatural fanfic, and it has been a while since I have done any writing like this. The name of this comes from a poem by Lousie Labe, one that I highly recommend be read, because it is beautiful.

(The language of this will not be authentic, and for that I apologize, however I still think this is a story that deserves to be told. I hope readers can over look that and still enjoy. )

Our story begins with Castiel after Meg's death in Goodbye Stranger, but before the mess of the finale…

Prologue:

The trees were blurring together outside the bus, cars going the opposite direction zoomed by; a momentary blimp on Castiel's mind. The angel tablet was safe in the duffle bag, nothing more he could do until he thought of another plan. But for now, his mind was somewhere else. On someone else.

When he had left Dean in the chamber where the tablet was found, Castiel felt it was a victory. He choose a bus at random, no destination in mind as to better conceal himself from those with ill intentions. Dean was alive, the power Heaven had held over him was broken, the battle had been won.

However, just as Castiel was boarding the bus, an intense pain overcame him. There was nothing wrong with his vessel; this came from his own essence.

It was in that moment that he know Meg was dead.

Never needing sleep and being on the run adds up to a lot of time to think. He thought of those last few hours together, wrapping her wounds. He brought to mind her battered face, the blonde hair matted with blood. He thought of how she had stayed with him in the mental ward. "His caretaker", as he fondly thought of her. She was a demon, he an angel, but that ceased to be of importance. However, the more time he spent with her, the more persistent the nagging feeling scratched in the back of his conscious.

He felt as though he had known her from a long time before.

Being brainwashed is a drag. There were memories, he could feel them, just trapped under the surface, and a face so similar to the demon that he had come to admire, to trust, that lingered, like a picture underwater. He only had to reach it.

Cas allowed his mind to sink, to get closer to that image… and was surprised as the memories unfolded.