The sky became darker with each passing second, and shortly after, the rain began to fall. It cascaded off the roof and down into the garden in front of the house. Meg perched on the edge of the sofa in the living room, liquor in hand. She brought the bottle to her lips, wincing slightly, and tipped it back. She stared down at the bottle, wondering how much longer she had.
Crowley would surely figure out that she was gone. He would come after her and he would make her pay. She was, after all, his favorite piece of meat to slam down on the table and pulverize.
She wouldn't go down without a fight, now that she had something worth fighting for.
As if on cue, Castiel emerged from the moldy basement, a worrisome look on his face. He scanned the room, stopping when his eyes found Meg's. His expression was fixed, making it difficult for Meg to determine what was going through the angel's mind.
"Penny for your thoughts, Clarence?" She asked, bringing the bottle to her lips again. Castiel's eyes lingered on her lips as she took a drink. Her eyebrow quirked up at his prolonged stare.
The angel turned, disappearing into the kitchen. Meg heard him moving around and opening drawers. The faucet screamed as it was turned on then off. He finally returned with a rag and a cup of water in hand. Castiel grabbed a chair and dragged it over to the couch, placing it in front of Meg. He didn't say a word as he gently took the bottle out of her hands and placed it on the floor. Silence, as he dipped the rag into the cup and brought it up to Meg's head.
Meg accepted Castiel's gesture and leaned into the warm rag. It stung, not too much, but just enough to make her hiss and close her eyes. Castiel continued this process of dipping the rag and wiping away the blood from Meg's face. She watched his blue eyes sweeping over her face. She wondered what he was thinking. Why was he being so kind to her, to a demon? Surely her time with Castiel in the looney bin wasn't enough to make him feel for her. Then again she was a demon, what does she know about feelings?
Not much, but she knew just enough.
He threw the rag into the cup and placed it on the floor. Leaning his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together he asked, "Do you have any broken bones? I can heal them if you'd like."
Meg took a moment to feel around and determine if she needed Cas' special touch. She moved her arm and felt a sharp pain in her elbow that shot up her arm and to her shoulder. Castiel noticed her flinch and gingerly took her arm in his hands. He flattened his hands on her arm and warmth enveloped it, like warm liquid pulsing through her veins. The pain was gone instantly, but Castiel held her elbow a second longer. He trailed his hands down to her wrist and back up to her shoulder, checking to make sure everything was healed. Goosebumps crept up her arm where he touched her, putting a smile on her face.
In that moment she felt embarrassment for the first time since her damnation, all because an angel of the lord was holding her arm and wiping away the blood. She could see Castiel's true form, a beautiful creature with golden, wavy hair that flowed past his shoulders and ended in loose curls. His eyes were a milky way of dark blues swirls with hints of bright light. They were truly mesmerizing, but her favorite part of Castiel's true form was his wings. They arched behind his back, a cascade of fluffy feathers; his top feathers were dark, tainted with his rebellion. The feathers transitioned into grays further down the wings, finally ending in a few white feathers at the tips.
Before she could hold herself back, Meg reached out and placed a flat hand on his cheek. Castiel jerked his head up at her touch.
"What do I look like to you?" she asked.
He gave her a quizzical look, contemplating her question, "Why does it matter what I think?"
She shrugged, "Because you are this horrifically, beautiful creature and because everyone has an opinion."
"You're wondering if I find you repulsive," He said knowingly.
Meg bit her bottom lip and leaned in closer to Castiel, "Well…do you?"
He studied her face for what felt like minutes. His eyes followed the shape of her face and swept across it. Back and forth they went, absorbing the face in front of him, studying it as if his life depended on it.
Castiel abruptly stood up, gently pushing Meg back so she rested on the arm of the couch. He bent over and lifter her legs on to the couch. He sat back in the chair, scooting it forward. He leaned over again, this time grabbing her wrist, and he began to clean the wound.
Castiel sighed, "Everyone has their scars. Everyone has that one thing that makes them…imperfect." He began.
"Except you," Meg pointed out. She leaned over and grabbed up the abandoned liquor bottle on the floor. She sipped, waiting for the angel to continue.
Castiel's smile was shy as he tipped his head toward her, "Even I have my flaws."
"Psshh, like what? You have this chiseled face, symmetrical and glowing. Hair that's as soft as silk, eyes that reflect the universe, and don't even get me started on your wings. Don't be so modest, Clarence."
Castiel's smile widened and he stopped working on her wrist for a moment, "But only so many can view my true form. I'm slightly surprised you can, I didn't think you would be able to see past my vessel. See, my perfection is too much for most. I hurt more people than please them."
"When I look at you Meg," he started. His work on her wrist continued, hiding his face from her. "I see a young woman, scarred from years of torture and pain. Beneath your mangled skin, crooked mouth, matted hair, and burned eyes, there is a woman who once had a lively existence…"
"I was a prostitute in New York in the late 1950s…I wouldn't call it lively," She said, interrupting Castiel.
Castiel stopped working again and looked Meg in the eyes, "But you were living."
Meg took another drink and watched as Castiel tore off a strip of his shirt.
"The only thing I can't see is the true color of your eyes."
Meg closed her eyes, thinking back to the last time she looked in the mirror and saw her normal face, "Golden brown," she said, "and my hair use to be soft and dark brown. It was annoying though. I couldn't put it in a braid and have it stay, it always fell out. Stubborn…I was always jealous of the girls who could put their hair up in intricate patterns and updos. Mine always stayed down. Sometimes I would put a bow in it, a yellow bow. It went best with my eyes."
When she opened her eyes, Castiel was watching her, a pained expression on his face. Castiel turned his attention back to her wrist once more; his thoughts consumed by a young prostitute with a yellow bow tied up in her hair. He tried to change the subject, feeling the awkwardness between them, "These wounds have festered," he said, wrapping his torn off shirt around her wrist.
Castiel was telling the truth. Beneath the years of being tortured and doing the torturing herself, there was a pretty woman; a woman who could've had a normal life. Castiel wondered if he could've intervened, if he could go back and save her from whatever horrors she faced the night she died and was sent to Hell. She could have lived a long life, met a decent man, and had children…
There was nothing Castiel could do though. The most he could do was clean her wounds, wrap her wrist, and be her friend.
The corner of Meg's mouth quirked, "You really do know how to make a girl's nethers quiver, don't you?"
"I am aware of how to do that. Although it doesn't usually involve cleaning wounds," Cas said, glancing down at Meg's legs.
"Why are you so sweet on me, Clarence?" Meg asked, watching Castiel work on her wrist.
Castiel sighed, "I don't know. And I still don't know who Clarence is."
Meg rolled her eyes; this man, this angel, making her smile like an idiot and creating butterflies in her stomach, "Would it kill you to watch a movie, read a book?" She took another swig from the bottle. It amazed her that an angel this old has never seen It's A Wonderful Life. She can still clearly remember Christmas all those years ago…
Christmas Eve, 1946, a little girl and her father walked down a snow covered sidewalk. They held hands singing carols and catching snowflakes on their tongues. They were going to see a movie, the little girl's first ever movie in a theater.
"Daddy, can we get popcorn? Or candies?" the little girl squeaked.
Her father squeezed her hand, "Of course, but not too much, momma will have dinner waiting when we get back."
The little girl jumped with joy, her dark hair bouncing under her woolen hat. She hid her face in her father's coat, and nuzzled close to him as they continued their trek to the theater. Her father smelled of cigars and cinnamon and it was her favorite smell in the world.
Once they were settled into their seats in the theater, candies and popcorn in hand, the little girl tugged on her father's sleeve.
"Daddy?"
"Yes, darling?"
The little girl giggled, she loved when her daddy called her darling, "What's this movie even about?"
"Well, I'm not quite sure myself. I do know it has a man named George Bailey and an angel named Clarence, but we're going to have to watch to fill in the rest."
The little girl gasped, "An angel? A real life angel?"
Her father chuckled, "Yes, a real life angel."
The little girl clapped her hands in excitement and turned towards the front of the showing room where the screen flickered to life. The lights dimmed and people were hushing each other around the room. The little girl burrowed into her chair and watched in amazement as the story unfolded before her on the big screen.
Snow was falling as they walked home, just like it had in the movie.
"What did you think of the movie?" Her father asked.
"Oh daddy, it was wonderful! I want a man to lasso me the moon and I want my own guardian angel! Daddy, can we get a bell? The angel said when a bell rings, an angel gets their wings! I want every angel to have their wings!" The little girl talked a mile a minute. She reminisced on the tale that was told, how as long as you have friends you have a wonderful life and you're not lost.
They purchased a small bell and hung it on their tree, and that night she did something she had never done before. She kneeled down next to her bed and folded her hands. She prayed to Clarence, telling him she was glad he got his wings and she prayed that every angel would get their wings.
The next morning the little girl rang her bell and opened her presents, and that night she prayed again. She prayed every night until her fourteenth birthday when her father never came home from work. He had died in a car crash…she stopped believing in angels that day too…
…"A movie, no. But a book with the proper spells - yeah, it could, theoretically, kill me," Castiel said in reply to her rhetorical question.
"You know, you're much cuter when you're shutting up," she said, admiring him, "So, which Cas are you now? Original make and model or crazy town?"
Castiel let go of her wrist and placed his elbows on his knees, "I'm just me."
"So, your noodle's back in order?"
"Yeah, my... noodle remembers everything. I think it's a pretty good noodle."
Meg smirked, "Really? You remember everything?" Her expression was affectionate as she watched Castiel become embarrassed.
Castiel looked down at his feet, "If you're referring to the pizza man... Yes, I remember the pizza man. And it's a good memory."
Meg smiled. Castiel was always so sweet and innocent. He also treated her with respect. The only other man who ever treated her with sincere, honest respect was her father. Many men tricked her, and one in particular had her wrapped around his finger…
She was 17 now, and ready to explore the world. Her and her father always talked about traveling to new places like the Grand Canyon and the beach. Being stuck in a city all your life kind of put a damper on things. There was never any fresh air or room to breathe.
The cars honked and the rain splashed up as they drove by her. She walked down the sidewalk, her coat close to her body. She ducked her head as she passed the bar. Men stood outside smoking their cigarettes and drinking their beer. They catcalled at her, like always, but she knew to just keep walking. Except this night…they followed.
She didn't hear their footsteps over the pounding of the rain. She didn't know they were following her until a hand crashed down on her shoulder and spun her around.
"Hey darling, what's a beautiful lady like you walking these street alone? You could get hurt, ya know." His breath smelled of cigarettes and alcohol and his speech slurred. His buddies all laughed at his idea of a joke. She shivered with disgust and struggled to pull away.
"Get off me you slim ball!" She hissed.
The man and his friends just laughed at her feeble attempts, "Why don't you ever come when we call, darling?"
Her face flushed when he said 'darling' again. No one called her darling, unless it was her father, and to have these creeps call her that, it sent her into an outrage.
"I am not your darling, you scum bag! I'd rather die than be your darling!" She spat in his face and took her chance to pull her arm away and run.
"Come back here you little bitch!" The man yelled.
She started running as fast as she could, but her new heels betrayed her as they slipped on the sleek concrete. She fell, sprawled out on the sidewalk. She tried her best to get up and start running again, but two men grabbed her and dragged her into the alley.
She tried screaming for help, but they kept a strong hand over her mouth. She cried and screamed muffled yells as they tore at her clothes and forced her on the ground. Hands clawed at her back and legs. One man stuffed a rag into her mouth and tied it around her head. She felt a weight on her back. The man who called her darling was straddling her. He leaned over and whispered into her ear, "I'll show you who's a pig. I'm gon'a make you squeal for your daddy."
Bile rose in the back of her throat and tears poured down her face. She choked out a scream as she felt hands grabbing at her thighs, forcing her legs apart.
She wanted to die. She wanted to make all this go away. In that moment, she did something she hadn't done in a while. She began to pray. She prayed to her long, lost Clarence.
"Hey! What's going on back here!"
The weight on the girl lifted and she rolled onto her back. Scooting back into the wall, she brought her knees to her chest, watching as a man chased away the drunken filth. He left her sight for a moment and she panicked.
Would her come back for her?
Just when she was about to stand and take her leave, the man appeared around the corner. He rushed over to her. She flinched as he reached out to her.
"It's alright, miss, I won't hurt ya. Those scums of the Earth are gone." He had a soothing voice, a trustworthy voice.
She took his hand and stood up, "Thank you," she whispered.
"You're welcome, here take my coat." He shook off his coat and placed it around her shoulders, covering her torn and tattered clothes. "Do you need a doctor? Did they…" he looked her up and down.
She shook her head, "You came just in time."
He smiled, a warm, sweet smile, "I'll take you to the station, you can report them. They stand there and harass every woman that walks by." He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and walked her to the police station. He stayed with her through the questioning. He even walked her home and made sure she was okay.
They began dating. He would buy her flowers and chocolates and take her to get new dresses. They went on picnics and one time he even took her to Coney Island. They shared inside jokes, went to dance clubs, and had dinner on the roof of his apartment building. It was a year of romantic bliss…until the summer of '56, when he sold her into prostitution.
She had no idea he was this kind of man. No idea he would deceive her. She was naïve…and she hated herself for it. Her angel had left her again. This time, she promised to never pray as long as she lived, and she didn't. For a whole year she went without prayer.
She fought against the hands that touched her, grabbed at her, but stopped when all she would get in return were bruises and broken bones. So, she pleased men by tying them up and spanking them. Fake moans escaped her mouth every night, but it turned her clients on. They called her honey and baby, but she would never let them call her darling. She learned to accept her new lifestyle. She even became the favorite girl that all the men asked for. It wasn't much of an achievement, but it got her beautiful jewelry and gorgeous hats.
It was a hot night in July in the summer of '57. Her last client of the night had left. She sat at her vanity mirror, inspecting the new piece of jewelry she received. It was a gold necklace with a gorgeous, oval ruby settled in the middle. She placed it around her neck and admired how it looked on her in the mirror. It lay across her scrawny collar bone, sending chills through her body as the cool metal touched her skin. She followed the line of her collar bone, left to right, and then took in every detail of her profile from the neck up.
The purple bruises across her neck stood out against her milky skin. Some men enjoy strangling.
Her chin was scraped from rug burn, though, she covered that up well with make-up.
Her lipstick was smeared in the corner of her mouth.
There were dark bags under her eyes from sleepless nights and hours of crying.
The glow that her golden brown eyes once held was gone; snuffed out from years of lost innocence.
She had a small scrape above her right eyebrow. Her last client yesterday couldn't perform. He was known for his temper.
Her dark, stubborn hair had lost its gleam and was currently a mess from her exploits that evening.
She hated everything. Only 19 years old and she was disgusted with herself. She hated her emaciated body, her box full of the finest jewelry, and her closet full of Europe's latest fashion.
That night she hung herself, her ruby necklace still around her neck and a yellow ribbon in her hair…
Meg blinked back the memory, hiding it away. She tucked her leg underneath her and took another long swig of the liquor.
"You ever miss the Apocalypse?" she asked, trying to distract herself.
Castiel smirked, "No. Why would I miss the end of times?" He was sitting back in his chair now, carrying on with the simple conversation.
"I miss the simplicity. I was bad. You were good. Life was easier. Now it's all so messy," she explained. Castiel looked up at the ceiling as she took another drink.
"I'm kind of good, which sucks. And you're kind of bad - which is actually all manner of hot." She quirked an eyebrow and Castiel gave her a sly smile, obviously intrigued by her comment. Castiel leaned forward, giving Meg all his attention.
"We survive this... I'm gonna order some pizza and we're gonna move some furniture around. You understand?" She said.
Castiel shook his head, "No, I-I –" Meg smirked, suggestively, "Wait - actually... Yes, I –"
"All right. Let's roll, campers." Dean's voice interrupted Castiel's response. Castiel kept his eyes on Meg's, his gaze never faltered.
Hours later, Castiel was at a bus station, waiting for his bus to arrive; the angel tablet tucked safely away in his bag.
He sat on a bench, mentally kicking himself for ever listening to Naomi. Images of Dean's dead body filled his mind. He could still see the blood caked on his face after Castiel's fist had come down on Dean's face.
He looked down at his hands, disgusted by what they had done.
When he left the crypt he didn't exactly leave right away. He stayed behind, hidden, and watched as Dean and Sam drove off, leaving Meg with Crowley.
He silently applauded her as she stabbed Crowley in the arm; then cringed when the King of Hell stuck the demon blade into her stomach. Her body shook as if it was being electrocuted.
When Castiel was sure that Crowley and Naomi left; he gathered up Meg's limp body. He knew the demon wasn't in their anymore, but he couldn't let her vessel lie there and decay without care. He took her to the closest cemetery. It was a small cemetery on the outskirts of town. The gravestones there were weathered down, the names and dates barely visible.
Castiel chose a spot at the back of the cemetery, and under a large maple tree he dug a grave. He placed her in a cedar casket he stole from a local carpenter. He crossed her hands over her stomach, lingering on the wrist he wrapped only a few hours before. After he fixed her hair neatly around her head, he sealed the casket, lowered her into the grave, and covered it up.
He carved a rough outline of a gravestone from a granite wall. He stared at the blank stone. He didn't know what to put on it. He didn't know what name she had while she was living, and he knew nothing of her birthdate or human date of death. Sighing, Castiel inscribed Meg into the top of the stone. Maybe after all this was over, and the gates of Heaven and Hell were closed, he'd have Dean and Sam do some research and find her true name and dates of birth and death. He would do it himself, but he wasn't sure what would happen to him once Heaven was closed….
He curled his fingers into his palms and dug his nails into the skin. He should've saved her. He should've stopped Crowley. He should've been the hero she needed.
Castiel was furious with himself. He stood up suddenly, frightening the young mother and daughter who sat next to him.
"My apologies," he said hoarsely. Grabbing his bag he walked towards the edge of the sidewalk and waited for the bus to pull up.
Why didn't he fight off Naomi? If he would've fought against her, Dean wouldn't feel betrayed and he certainly wouldn't have taken a beating from Castiel. It was Dean's hoarse confession of "I need you," that broke the connection, but Castiel was sure that Dean would be furious with him when he saw him again.
He chose a seat in the back of the bus. As the bus took off and drove down the winding roads, Castiel looked around him. All these people going somewhere, maybe to visit family, or possibly to escape the life they led. Not Castiel…he was on a mission.
An older woman in the front of the bus bent over and asked the bus driver if she could put a movie in. She put a disc into a slot in the front and the TVs around the bus glowed blue. Castiel watched, curious to discover what movie was being played.
Meg's voice echoed in his head, "Would it kill you to watch a movie, read a book?" He smiled to himself.
The movie started, but it wasn't like the cartoons or porn Castiel had watched. It was black and white and the volume was very low, but Castiel's celestial ears could hear it perfectly fine.
Names came up on the screen, most of them meaningless, but one shot showed larger words, It's A Wonderful Life, Castiel assumed this was the name of the movie.
When the movie ended, Castiel starred in shock. This was where Meg got the name Clarence from. She considered him her guardian angel. A warm heat consumed his heart, constricting it. He was flattered.
He stared out the window and wondered if Meg really thought angel's got their wings whenever a bell was rung…because that wasn't true. Nevertheless, he felt like he needed to somehow tell Meg that he finally saw the movie and finally understood why she called him Clarence.
The bus had arrived at Castiel's destination. He got off and found the nearest town. He knew he had to take care of the angel tablet, but sometimes, friends came first.
He needed to talk to her. Her true human soul was still in Hell…so that option was out of the question. He walked by a local cemetery and studied it, hoping to get an idea.
This cemetery was larger than the one Meg was buried in, and the stones weren't as weathered. He walked towards a particularly brightly decorated plot. Flowers adorned the gravestone along with teddy bears and other toys. This was a gravesite of a child, six years old according to the dates on the stone. Under the dates was a quote, "I don't think of all the misery but of the beauty that still remains."- Anne Frank.
Castiel picked up a card lying in front of the stone and read it. The child had died of cancer. She liked something called a Barbie and her favorite animal was a horse. Judging by the flowers and the color of the card, she favored the color purple. He laid a hand on the stone and said a silent prayer to Heaven, asking for the safety of this child's soul and for the family to find peace.
So, humans gave gifts to their dead loved ones. Castiel was confused by the concept. The dead would never receive it or know it was given to them. He assumed it was a way for the living to grieve, to show that they will always love the one who passed away.
Castiel considered this for a moment. Maybe he could give Meg something, to show that someone cared for her.
He found an abandoned barn where he hid the angel tablet within his own vessel. It was the safest place he could think of at the moment.
That night Castiel made a few trips, keeping the travelling to a minimum so he wouldn't draw attention to himself. His last stop, before beginning his game of hide-and-seek with his brothers, was Meg's gravesite.
The sun was beginning to set and a cool breeze blew through the maple tree, shaking its leaves. He stood in front of the stone, and taking a deep breath he bent down to give Meg her 'gifts'.
He started with a quote on her stone. He thought long and hard about the quote. Meg was different, special even. She deserved something that did more than say goodbye.
Castiel stood back admiring his work. Inscribed below her name was a quote from It's A Wonderful Life, it was changed slightly to apply to Meg…
"Every time a bell rings an angel gets her wings." True, she wasn't an angel, but it would've amused Meg.
He smiled and dug around his trench coat to add the finishing touches. He pulled out a small bell from his left coat pocket, and gave it a little shake. It tinkled joyfully and Castiel laughed at how silly he felt; an angel giving a dead demon a proper burial. He placed the bell below the quote and reached into his right pocket. This little gift was a pain to obtain, but Castiel felt it was worth it, and Meg would enjoy it…if she were alive…
Castiel placed the small piece of moon rock next to the bell, "I got the moon for you, Meg."
He sat down cross legged in front of the stone and watched the shadows fall over the grave as the sun continued to set. He prayed for her, just like he had for the little girl who died from cancer. This prayer was a bit different. He knew her soul was damned, so praying for her guidance into a safe afterlife wouldn't be productive.
So he prayed for those who knew her. For the ones who knew her when she was human. For those who betrayed her. For those who misjudged her. He prayed that they would understand that in the end, she didn't die thinking only of herself. Meg died to save the world. She died for Dean, for Sam, for Castiel…she died saving them.
Castiel stood, brushing a hand over her grave, placing a protective charm around the site.
He had something to say, but he felt silly even thinking it. In the end, he decided that this was for Meg, not him.
"I'll always be your guardian angel, Meg."
The sun finally set over an empty cemetery. The only signs that anyone had been there, was a new grave, a little silver bell, and a piece of moon rock.