Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.
Description: Fallen From Grace is my story about Castiel taking place after the events of the season 6 finale. It's my story about my hopes and wishes for the characters in season 7 with a bit of AU thrown into the mix just for fun.
Fallen From Grace
Prologue
Meg's POV
In a drunken rage, I stormed down a filthy alley that reeked from the stench of urine and garbage, contemplating my predicament. Contemplating why I would feel such things. Contemplating why I felt "so clean."
Meat suit stumbling, I caught myself against the moldering brick wall of the alley before I could fall. Swearing up a storm with my foul mouth, I steadied myself, before launching my meat suits fist against the rough rock. Pain exploding in my hand, I heard several cracks and pops as my meat suits fingers broke and snapped out of joint.
Raising the broken hand in front of my face, I reveled in pain and at the sight of blood blossoming through the broken skin. For a mere minute I felt like my old self—a bloodthirsty demon who relished at inflicting pain and suffering onto others, of slitting throats and taking pleasure in the blood. However, that feeling passed just as quickly as it had come.
"Fuck!" I screamed at the top of my meat suits lungs as I threw my glass whiskey bottle at the opposite alley wall, watching it shatter in a million jagged pieces and rain down upon the cement.
Things have been wrong, wrong since I teamed up with those Winchester fuck-tards and their feathery lapdog, Clarence—Castiel—to kill Crowley.
It's only been a day since I made my exit from that warehouse filled with blubbering, rabid monsters. Only a day since Clarence burned Crowley's bones into an insignificant pile of dust. Only a day since everything I knew spiraled out of control.
I shouldn't have done it but the urge and the desire overtook me. Plus I needed him distracted so I could fend off those slobbering, hellhound mutts.
I shouldn't have kissed an angel but I couldn't help myself and it was well worth it. Clarence wasn't the mild-mannered, naïve angel I had thought him to be. Instead he was incredibly dominate and aggressive. He made me feel dewy in all of the right places and made me want to do all manner of things with his body and mine—to make pain into pleasure and pleasure into pain. I wanted him inside me in that moment.
Hell, I still fucking did!
I shouldn't have made out with an angel, because I wasn't being flippant when I had stated that I felt "so clean." I did.
Something was different now. I could feel a bright spark in my black, swirling soul that was eating slowly away at the taint like bleach. It was a small spark, a small change, yet even this small of a change tormented me and I shouldn't fucking even feel tormented. I was broken in hell, my humanity stripped away from me piece by bloody piece. No one even knew torment until they've been tortured in hell for hundreds of years. Yet, I felt a small bead of distress gripping me, making me question everything.
However, that wasn't the only thing I felt. I felt a disgusting strain in the pit of my meat suits body, a churning that sickened me to the very core. A feeling that kept coming whenever I thought about that angel.
I felt nauseated about it. I shouldn't even feel an ounce of cleanliness in my soul. I should feel dirty. It was in my nature. I was a badass demon, kicking ass and taking names. I've slit the throats of all manner of beings—humans, monsters, and other demons—even slitting the throat of the bartender who was managing the bar I just stumbled out of. I've rode meat suits to an inch of their lives; the only thing sustaining them was me, a swirling black mass of a soul. I've extinguished so many lives I've lost track. Honestly, it didn't even fucking matter who I hurt or killed because demons don't feel remorse or much of anything for that matter. What we do feel is anger and vengeance and lust and hate. We are fueled by those delicious desires.
Popping my meat suits fingers back into joint, I violently smiled as I took pleasure from the pain. But after a few minutes I couldn't even feel the pain anymore and my frustration grew and mounted until I had to release it in one loud, howling screech.
Feeling a disturbance in the air and hearing the rustling of a trench coat and wings, I slowly turned around, hands on my hips and a seductive smirk playing at my lips, as I said, "Ah…Clarence. Did you come back for more, because just the sight of you makes me all dewy and ready for you, baby."
Clarence stared impassively at me taking no mention of my words. Stepping towards me, he pinned me up against the rough brick wall, body against body. "You have something that I want," Castiel stated in his voice that sounded like gravel, deep blue eyes narrowed and sparking. "And you will give it to me."