"Listen, I may not be able to carry the burden that comes along with these trials, but I can carry you."
Sam stared at his older brother driving the Impala, Dean's gaze fixated on the road ahead of them. It was typical Dean, playing his familiar overprotective older brother card. Sam recognized Dean was absolutely genuine about this—he always had been, ever since the night their mother died. And considering everything that happened to them over the years, Dean had every reason to be concerned. Who was Sam to argue?
Verbal affirmation was redundant. "You realize you kinda just quoted Lord of the Rings, right?" Sam asked instead.
"C'mon, man, but it's the Rudy hobbit. Rudy hobbit always gets a pass," Dean justified. Sam scoffed at Dean's attempt to sound less dorky than he liked to think he was. "Shut up," the eldest Winchester weakly retorted, twisting the radio dial for music; that meant he was done with the subject, at least for the time being.
As they drove, Sam stared out of the passenger window and into the blackness that zoomed past the Impala. He would never have a normal life, not permanently. The life of a hunter was his normal. He accepted that, but there was always that faint hope for the apple pie life. He almost had it with Jess, back at Stanford, but he never truly belonged there. He thought he had it with Amelia, but at that time, he thought Dean was gone forever. That normalcy was so sweet. Would he ever meet someone like Amelia again? Was there another unicorn out there for him to find?
Unicorn. Sam almost snorted at the word before remembering the conversation he had with Meg outside the abandoned warehouse just less than an hour ago.
"So some chick got you off hunting, huh?" Meg smugly inquired. "Tell me, how'd you meet this unicorn?"
At first, Sam was uneasy talking to a demon about the time he spent with Amelia. And of all demons, it had to be Meg, who once tried killing his father, possessed him, and was influential in Ellen and Jo's deaths. But this was also Meg, who was now so dedicated to killing Crowley that she allied herself with the two who were technically responsible for Crowley's usurpation. She was so dedicated that she stayed with Castiel in the psychiatric ward when the Winchesters couldn't, and even helped them take down Leviathans. Meg had always been honest with the Winchesters. She was never a friend. But she wasn't much of an enemy any more.
And as he talked, Sam nearly forgot he was pouring out his soul to a demon. It was nice to have a pair of ears that weren't Dean's.
"Wait, go back, there's one part I don't understand," Meg interrupted. "You hit a dog and stopped. Why?"
Sam raised an eyebrow at her. "Really?" Leave it to demons to not care about feelings. "That whole story and that's your takeaway?"
"No, I heard you," Meg answered. "You fell in love with a unicorn. It was beautiful, then sad, then sadder…I laughed, I cried, I puked in my mouth a little." Her twisted bluntness made him cringe. That was a waste, Sam thought.
"And honestly," Meg added, her voice lower and absent of mockery, "I kind of get it."
Sam eyed the demon beside him, her meat suit's head just barely meeting his shoulder. She looked up at him, no teasing smile on her lips or mischievous glint in her eyes. Instead, Meg was frowning, and her eyes stared directly into his. It was the same stare she gave him and Dean back in Rufus's cabin long ago, when she was expressing her cause.
"Really?" he asked, but Sam already knew the answer. Meg heaved a sigh—she was preparing to speak, but something held her back.
"We've got company."
"There's something else we have to address," Sam opined to Dean, moving his gaze from the sprinting darkness outside the passenger window to his brother.
Dean didn't remove his eyes from the road, but they widened a little. "Oh, and that is?"
"When we cross paths with Cas again—which could be a while—we have to break the news about Meg."
Sam anticipated denial from Dean, followed with a profanity-laced rant. Instead, Sam received a suffocating silence.
"Dean—"
"Sam."
Sam let out an anguished sigh. "Dean, he deserves to know. He asked me to protect her."
Dean rolled his eyes. "No, Cas doesn't deserve to know anything right now. Weren't you fucking listening when I told you what happened in the crypt? And don't get me started on that bitch—"
"She fended Crowley off for us!" Sam cried.
"Yeah, I'm not fucking blind, I saw the dick stab her. And I'm not denying that's what happened, I give her props to that. But you seem to be forgetting everything she's done to us in the past," Dean spat. "Dammit, Sammy, I thought you'd know by now you can never trust a demon."
Sam glared at his brother. "I'm not forgetting all of that shit, and I'm not forgiving her for it. But things changed, and she did stuff for us, too." He paused to glance at Dean, but the eldest Winchester remained unwavering. "When Cas was in the psych ward, Meg was there for him when we couldn't be."
"Yeah, I distinctly remember you weren't happy about that arrangement when we made it," Dean retorted acidly. "She only agreed to it because she needed to be on our good side so she could kill Crowley." He snorted at the irony. "Well, looks like that didn't help her."
The younger Winchester could feel a headache developing, uncertain if it was from this argument with Dean or if it was a side effect from the trials—possibly both. Ignoring it, Sam pressed on. "But Meg means something to Cas, and he will ask about her."
The silence returned, causing the headache to wash over Sam's skull. Dean would rather be quiet than admit the truth, especially when he already knew it.
"Do you think we can trust…Megstiel?" Dean asked in the basement of the late historian.
"No," Sam answered.
Oh, how things changed within a few hours.
"She loved him, you know."
The words unexpectedly spilled out of Sam's mouth; even he was surprised at the sudden blurt.
"Wait, Meg? Demon Meg, who has been a pain in our asses for years now—loved Cas, an angel? What gave you that shitty idea?"
"She told me," Sam bluntly replied. "Indirectly—just before Crowley's lackeys and the asshole himself showed up. Hell, she basically told me right before I came to get you."
Dean shook his head. "That's fucked up. I mean, I always knew Cas had some weird attachment to her. But Meg having feelings for Cas? Flirting was Meg's weapon of choice. Are you sure she wasn't just saying that to screw with you? Demons do that, in case you haven't noticed."
Sam recalled Meg's eyes. "No, she was honest. Meg was always honest with us."
"Unfortunately."
"He was her Amelia."
"What?"
"What Amelia was for me," Sam began, irritated by his brother's occasional ignorance, "Cas was for Meg."
Dean quickly glanced at the passenger seat. "What, so Meg was willing to stop her…demon-ing to be with Cas?"
Sam shrugged. "Something like it, I guess."
"Go. Save your brother, and…" Meg slightly hesitated, as if she was embarrassed to continue, "my unicorn." Sam fought the urge to stay and help her—just for tonight, Castiel put the demon in Sam's care, and we wanted to uphold that. But her words were a command, and her eyes bode him farewell. His suspicions were correct, and he understood. She was sacrificing herself, even though she didn't know what their plan was. Sam finally turned around and ran into the warehouse, the distinct feeling that it would the last time he would ever speak to Meg again.
The thoughts were unfiltered now. "When she told me to go after you, I realized—she might've 'befriended' us so she could get to Crowley, and that was always her goal…" Sam trailed off, wondering how he was to articulate the rest of his pondering, "but she ended up finding a second cause."
"Cas?"
"Yep."
"Son of a bitch."
"We have to tell him."
Dean side-eyed his younger brother. "Only if he asks. Otherwise, we keep our damn mouths shut."
There was no arguing with Dean, especially when he was upset. Right now he was upset at Castiel, and Sam couldn't blame him for that. But Castiel was also their friend, an adopted brother, and they owed it to him.
"Alright."
Sam was certain the angel would inquire that night they found him wounded on a highway, or the morning after as he was healing. He didn't ask. Every time they saw Castiel afterwards, Sam dreaded the question, "Where's Meg?" He dreaded telling the truth, and dreaded Castiel's reaction. Maybe there were more pressing matters. Maybe Castiel already knew. Knowing Castiel, the latter seemed more likely.
But he never asked.