Meg fixed a glare on Castiel as he stood just outside the bunker door. Every movement she made was angry and rigid. Ever since Castiel stumbled upon her and Dean's daily cigarette routine ten days ago, he'd started joining them. He never smoked with them; instead, he watched their every move like a hawk. No more Dragon's Breath, no more smoke rings, certainly no more flavored second-hand smoke. All the fun, really, in smoking was gone. The only reason she still smoked was because it was a stress-reliever. She was fairly certain some sort of bodily harm would have come to Castiel otherwise.
"Cas," she growled, though she was passively sitting on the ground. "You're driving me bat-shit crazy."
"Sorry," he responded automatically, shuffling closer to Dean's perch on the front bumper of the Impala, further away from her.
"No, you're not," she angrily fired back. She just managed to squash the childish desire to throw her cigarette at him.
"Meg," Dean murmured.
"Don't," she snapped, "you dare patronize me, Dean Winchester." She stood up and tossed her cigarette to the ground, stubbing it out with her boot. "Seriously, feather butt," she demanded. "What is your deal?"
"We're already calling each other names," Dean muttered to himself, shaking his head.
"I apologize for my protective nature when it comes to my boyfriend," Castiel calmly replied.
"Oh my God," she exclaimed, running her hands down her face. "Get over yourself!" She huffed out an angry, growling breath. "I get being protective. I get it, I do. But let us fucking breathe, Cas! There's nothing going on between us!"
Cas huffed slightly, his shoulders stiff, but there was no other indication of his getting heated. "I understand and respect that, Meg."
"Then show me some goddamn respect!" she demanded.
"It's not that I don't respect you," he lowly responded, but Meg cut him off before he could finish.
"Oh, no! God forbid you not respect me," she sarcastically fired back, her voice escalating in both pitch and volume. "It's not respect that's the problem. It's trust. You don't trust me, do you, Castiel?" She didn't give him an opportunity to answer. "I've lived with you for how many months and you still don't trust me?"
"I do trust you," he argued, though his calm voice was like a whisper after her violent shouts. "As his boyfriend, I will always be a little concerned-"
"Well, you're concerned about the wrong one, dick-hole!" she angrily exclaimed, cutting him off. Both Castiel and Dean stared at her. Squeezing her eyes shut, she shrieked, "Fuck!" She pressed her fists to her closed eyes, grimacing at the realization of what she just revealed.
"What did you say?" Dean questioned through a stiff jaw, his voice low but powerful.
Meg dropped her hands limply to her side, biting her lower lip. "Nothing," she responded, her voice suddenly small.
"No, no," Dean negated, standing up and tossing his cigarette to the ground. "You said I'm the 'wrong one.'" She offered no response. "Yes?" he growled, demanding an answer. She nodded, slightly unwilling to admit to herself that - even after all this time - his hunter attitude was intimidating and maybe even scary. "Who's the 'right one'?" he asked angrily.
"You know exactly who, fuck-wad," she snapped, her eyes flooding black. "If you're going to say something, get your head out of your ass and say it. Come on, Dean-o," she taunted. "You afraid to say it? You think saying aloud will make it real? Well, it's already real. I'm in love with your brother. I'm in love with the boy king. I'm in love with Sam motherfucking Winchester." She took a deep breath, watching Dean's jaw tick with anger. She barked a laugh. "Having it out there really does make it real, huh? No more escaping it." While her demon eyes still held their churning fury, her voice was suddenly quieter and tainted with sadness. "No more escaping it."