Meg watched Castiel from behind the door's glass. His posture was stock still, hands clasped in his lap, unmoving. His deep blue eyes only gave away the fact that he was feeling anything. They were panicked, darting wildly across the room. Far from the bright gleam that was usually seen in all those dick-bag angels. Castiel was the exception for once. He looked dulled and raw, like an exposed nerve leaving space for the pain to enter, accepting it in. Meg felt sad at that (though she would deny it in any courtroom or torture dungeon they stuck her in), it was just pitiful to see the broken husk he'd become.
She looked back to when she'd first met him, a fallen angel. He wasl so set against Lucifer, the only angel like him; fallen, wanted as a fugitive. So prideful. So pompous. So hot, but that was besides the point. The next time they'd met he still had that pride. He walked about as a shield to the Winchesters, giving them an escape plan from working with her (or demons in general). Then all plans failed and they were all trapped in that hallway. She'd kissed him to steal his angel knife-sword whatever, but she was definitely not expecting him to return the favor. Did she say hot before? He was sexy, so sexy. And then he was gone again. The next time was different. He was himself, yes, (minus his memories) but he seemed... raked. Like someone had taken a steel scrub brush and scraped away that pride that held him so high.
Of course she'd known what he'd done. She just didn't realize what it had cost him, and she didn't like it. He was always strong, he was an angel, he wasn't supposed to make a deal with Crowley. It was too human. Too demony. Angels were dicks, but that was not a move they were supposed to make. Watching Castiel fall that low... if Meg had a heart, it might've broke for him.