a/n: Ah, someone caught the Witches of Eastwick reference! So glad. I toss these things in as Easter eggs for keen-eyed readers, and I'm glad you guys are paying attention. :D
For those of you who are enjoying this one and like Cas-filled goodness (and, frankly, who doesn't?) you might consider checking out my fic "The Girl Without a Name." It's Cas/OFC, b/c it took me a bit to get on board w/ the Megstiel thing, but it's finished, so, ya know. Something to gnaw on while you're awaiting updates here. I won't always be able to roll them out like I have been. Probably.
Chapter 8: A Wing and a Prayer
I can list each crippling fear like I'm reading from a will,
And I'll defy every one and love you still.
I will carry you with me up every hill.
And if you die before I die,
I'll carve your name out of the sky.
I'll fall asleep with your memory and dream of where you lie.
-The Airborne Toxic Event, "The Graveyard Near the House"
Dean opened the bunker's heavy door to find a gray, drizzly Kansas afternoon, silent and chill, and by all appearances empty. He pulled a pair of black rimmed Buddy Holly style glasses from his jacket pocket and slipped them on. Squinted out into the gloomy day before taking a few cautious steps outside and securing the door behind him.
"Hello, Dean."
He jumped about a mile and spun toward the sound of the voice. "Fuck me, Cas, what have I told you?"
"I wasn't sneaking. I was waiting." The angel peered at him. "Is there something wrong with your vision?"
"What? Oh." He snatched the glasses off and shoved them back in his jacket. "No. I'm fine. What the hell are you doing here? We haven't heard from you in months."
"Ah." His brow furrowed. "After what happened.…Well. I felt I had some soul-searching to do."
Dean looked him up and down, brows drawn together and mouth tight. He looked…like Cas. Worried and calm and just a little worn around the edges. He seemed to be cradling something in his coat, and his expression was troubled and preoccupied. The angel of Thursday, post-Purgatory.
"What did happen, Cas? Why'd you kill Alfie? We went to a lot of trouble to bust that kid out just to have you skewer him. And what happened to you in there? You lost it big time, like full-on PTSD."
His mouth opened. He realized he had no answer, and it closed again. "I have no explanation," he said at last.
"Yeah," Dean said with a resigned sigh, "I figured you'd say that."
"I would explain if I could, Dean. If I knew. I honestly don't. It's all…very vague. A voice keeps telling me Samandriel was compromised, and I believe it, but…it doesn't sound like my voice. How could that be?"
"Jesus," Dean said and scrubbed at his face with both hands. "You haven't run into any blue-lipped warlocks lately, have you?"
"Dean," he said, "don't be absurd. The blue-lipped warlocks are a myth. If they ever did exist, they would have died out millennia ago."
He blinked. Twice. "You're kidding."
"No," he said, mildly.
"Jesus," he repeated. He shook his head and paced away. Did a lap around the car. "Cas, why are you here? How did you find us?"
"I didn't. I was following a prayer."
"Not mine. I've been callin' you for weeks."
He shifted. "As I said, I needed time. I didn't want to return before I had answers. I don't want to put you or Sam at risk. Not again. Dean, if something happened.…" He let the thought die, but the strained lines of his face filled in the blanks.
"Whose prayer, Cas?"
He looked up. Met Dean's hard gaze. "Meg's. The demon Meg. She's near here, but I can't get an exact fix. Understandable, as things tend to get lost near the center. It's a dead space. But she called, and I have to answer."
It was what he'd been expecting, but still it came as a mild shock. He absorbed it, swallowed, and spoke through a throat that was still tight with anger and disbelief: "Why?"
"I owe her."
"I mean, why her? Why Meg? Not only is she a demon, but she killed Jo and Ellen. She possessed Sam and tried to get Bobby to kill me. She's the first demon we ever met, our first actual enemy. She's Yellow Eyes' daughter, for fuck's sake. Why, if it had to be a demon, did it have to be Meg?"
He cleared his throat. Studied Dean through narrowed, puzzled eyes. Tried to make sense of his friend's obvious fury. "I'm not entirely sure I understand the question, but I will attempt to answer it as well as I am able."
"Great. I'm all ears."
"The first time I met her was, regretfully, the day she killed Jo and Ellen. I was trapped in holy fire, and she taunted me. I saw her as nothing more than an abomination, a vile and evil thing created for little more than death and destruction."
Dean lifted a hand—and?
Cas frowned. Here was where things got fuzzy. He remembered their first meeting with perfect clarity, but from then on it all became far less clear. He wasn't sure why he trusted her so much, why she seemed so familiar to him, and he didn't know exactly how to answer Dean's questions.
Desdemona stirred against his chest, and he soothed her with a quiet word.
"It's simple, Dean," he said. "I was wrong. We both were. She is a demon, a creature born of evil, but she is so much more. Could she ever be good, in the way…the way the stories define it? No. But could she be decent? Could she be brave and true the way you and Sam are? Yes. She has that spark within her."
Dean looked away. Back. "You really believe that?"
"I do." He paused. "So do you."
"That's funny, Cas. What gives you the idea I would ever think a demon could be decent?"
His eyes lightened, a hint of a smile that didn't touch his mouth. "You let her drive your car."
"Okay, look, just calm down a second."
"Let me in, Dean. I have to see her. She called me."
"I get that, Cas. I need you to understand what's happening to her first."
"Dean?" Sam said and scrambled to his feet. "What's going on?"
Dean rolled his eyes and motioned for Cas to follow him down the steps to the main floor of the bunker. "Look who I found lurking around outside," he said to Sam.
"Cas? What are you doing here?"
"Meg called me here. The wards around this place prevented me from tracking her all the way in, but Dean said she's here. Is that true?"
Sam glanced at his brother, and he gave a subtle nod. "Yeah, Cas, it is. But Dean's right. You need to know what's going on before you just burst in. First of all, can you heal a demon?"
He frowned. "Small things, sometimes. My Grace is painful to them, of course, but if the wound only touches the vessel…yes. A demon itself? No. I would do more harm than good."
Another worried look passed between the Winchesters.
"Tell me what's going on."
"You should probably sit down," Sam said.
"I do not feel fatigue."
"It's not really…yeah, okay, good point," Dean said. "I think I need to sit down." He pushed aside a pile of books and perched on the edge of the table. "There's no easy way to tell you this, man, so we'll just spit it out." He shifted his weight, ran a hand over his mouth, and offered a small, tight smile.
Finally, "Meg's been in Hell this whole time, Cas. The whole time we were in Purgatory, and the whole time we've been out. Crowley's had her, and he did a real number on her. Destroyed her vessel, that sassy little number from Cheboygan. Her new one's cute, though; you'll like her. Has a real nice rrr...hair. Nice hair."
He gave a slow blink. Looked hard at Dean. At Sam's flushed and worried face. Back at Dean's odd little not-a-smile. "It is…unfortunate about her vessel. I can't imagine what Crowley must have done to render a demon's vessel unusable." His expression twisted. "Meg is strong. She got out. She's here."
"Yeah," Sam said. "She didn't so much get out as Crowley let her go."
"I don't understand. Why would he do such a thing?"
"Tell us what you know about the blue-lipped warlocks," Dean said.
"I told you," he said in a distracted voice. "They're a myth. What do they have to do with anything?"
"Everything, buddy. Time to start remembering your bedtime stories." Dean explained what Meg had told them about the warlocks and the brain worm, and with each word Cas' face grew bleaker.
"I'll tell you all I know, but I need to see her."
"Cas, there isn't time," Sam said. "She's dying."
"I understand." He closed his eyes. Pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead before he looked up at them with pleading in his midnight eyes. "I must see her now."
As if summoned by his words, a small black cat jumped out of his coat and landed neatly on the floor at their feet. They stared at her while she smoothed the fur along her spine and behind her ears with a small pink tongue. Then she rubbed her head against Cas' leg. Ignored Dean with studied disdain. Sniffed a moment at Sam's shoes. Glided delicately across the tile floor to stop at Meg's door.
"Cas," Dean said, "did you just pull a cat outta your pocket?"
"That's Desdemona," he said as though cats appeared from his coat every day. "She was sleeping."
She blinked back at them through brilliant amber eyes. Turned to the door and pushed against it with an elegant black paw.
"It's closed," Sam said. "She won't—"
The door swished open on silent hinges, and the cat paused only to offer him one short, withering glance before she disappeared into the room.
"She's not your average cat," Cas said. He followed her, and behind him Dean glared at his brother.
"Don't even look at me like that, Sammy," he said. "We're not keeping her. Sick demons, freaky cats, blotto angels. This is the Bat Cave, not a home for wayward orphans!"
Flash
A hot bath had seemed like a fantastic idea at the time, but Meg thought now that maybe she'd miscalculated. The water seemed too hot. The steam was too thick. She shifted in the tub, but she couldn't get comfortable. Her skin felt tight, and the oils she'd added weren't soothing at all. The scent was cloying and awful, and she thought she might be sick. Demons didn't get sick, so that was absurd.
She tried to pull herself out of the tub, but a wave of dizziness hit and she slipped back into the scalding water. It seemed even hotter than before, and she whimpered every time it touched her. No. No. This wasn't right. This wasn't the memory. What was happening? What…?
Flash
"Meg. I'm here." He touched her forehead and his brows drew together in a deep scowl. She was burning up with fever, higher than most humans could sustain. Her vessel probably couldn't take much more, and the demon within wouldn't last long in this place without her vessel's protection.
Castiel ran a hand down her face and the lines of pain smoothed a bit. Desdemona turned a circle and then curled up in a small black puddle against Meg's stomach. Taking his cue from the cat, Cas shed his jackets and slipped into the space between the slight woman and the wall. The cot was small, but he held her tight against him and they fit.
Flash
She turned her head and saw him through the steam. He looked down at her with a bemused little smile.
"What are you doing?" he said.
"Taking a bath, genius. What does it look like I'm doing? A little privacy might be nice. Don't you ever knock?" She settled back in the water and closed her eyes. Maybe if she ignored him he'd go away.
His eyes roamed the length of her, what he could see peeking from beneath the clouded water, and his brows quirked. "It's quite warm in here."
"You're the King of Obviousania. Baths are better hot, contrary to Roman belief."
He hesitated. Frowned. "Why are you cross?"
"I'm not cross. I was just enjoying the quiet. Besides, I'm a demon. I'm supposed to be cross. Remember?"
"I can be quiet."
"Can you? Good. Prove it." A moment later she let out a shriek of annoyance as her tub was filled with khaki-clad angel. Scented water splashed everywhere, and several candles guttered out in protest. "Clarence! What the fuck? You just doused my bathroom!"
"I would rather be quiet from here," he said.
"Castiel. For fuck's sake." She laughed a little, a frustrated half-chuckle. "You're still dressed. You have your stupid trench coat on in my bathtub."
"Oh." His clothes disappeared and now her tub was filled with naked angel. Better. She was feeling less cross. "Here," he said and settled in behind her. Pulled her against him and wrapped himself around her, arms and legs. "That's better, yes? Now I can be quiet."
She let her head fall back to rest against his shoulder. "Better," she said quietly. "It was…too hot before. I couldn't breathe. It's better now."
"I'm here," he whispered into her hair. "It's okay now. I'm here."
Flash
"I'm here," he said. He sent tiny threads of his Grace into her vessel in an attempt to soothe the fever without hurting the demon within. "I'm here," he whispered into her hair. He closed his eyes and the scent he'd been missing back at the hotel washed over him. So did the sense of peace, and after a time he felt her temperature begin to stabilize and her body relax.
"No dying, Meg. You made me a promise. No dying."
Flash
She turned to face him. Water sloshed over the edge of the tub and more candles sputtered. She didn't care. She pressed her hands to either side of his face and stared into his eyes, darkened nearly to black in the half-light of the few remaining candles. "You went away," she said.
"I'm sorry. I had to protect you. If they knew—"
"Who? If who knew?"
"The other angels. If they knew about us. How I feel about you—"
"Hush, Clarence. None of that. Feelings, ugh."
His mouth quirked. "Don't pretend to be so hard."
"I'm not pretending. Demon, remember?"
"How could I forget? Your thorns sting me every time we touch."
She blinked. She'd had no idea. "Your Grace—"
"I know. I'm sorry." His eyes clouded. "They know anyway."
"The angels?"
"Yes. I was foolish to think I could hide it. They know, and they've threatened to kill you. It's more important than ever that I forget."
She leaned away and her dark eyes roamed the steamy bathroom. "This isn't real, is it?"
"Meg—"
"I don't care," she said fiercely. She ran her fingers through his hair and pulled him to her. Kissed him hard and hot, her teeth nipping at his lip even as his hands ran the length of her water-slicked body.
"Meg," he murmured against her mouth, "Meg, we shouldn't. You need to wake up. We need to stop the worm's poison."
"Will you remember when I wake up, or will you still be protecting me?"
His eyes were troubled, and they told her everything she needed to know. "Then not yet," she said. She moved against him, the oils she'd added to the water making it slippery and spicy-smelling, and when next he spoke, it came out a surprised and breathless gasp.
She mouthed beads of moisture from his neck and collarbone, enjoying the unique taste of him, the heat and texture of his skin. His hands were everywhere, sensitive and skilled, familiar and knowing. He murmured her name again and again, a mantra that contained a thousand things in a single word. She said his name just once, and the word was still warm on her lips, her body still trembling and shaking, when he grasped her hips and lifted her onto him.
They sat joined for a time, neither moving, and the water went still around them. The candles flickered. His eyes were a starless midnight sky, hers the deep brown-black of fine coffee without cream. He started to speak, but she cut him off with a hungry kiss. Whatever he had to say, she didn't want to hear it.
She already knew anyway.
He moved beneath her and she flicked her tongue over his mouth. He buried his hands in her hair and her legs tightened around him. His Grace burned hot and her thorns pricked sharp, but neither noticed. Time slowed, stopped, and the world exploded into a thousand exquisite shards of light.
In the nature of dreams they somehow ended up on the bed, mostly dry and tangled in the sheets and each other. She fell against him with none of her usual quips or commentary, and he held her like she might shatter.
"I don't want to wake up," she whispered against his chest.
"I know," he said.
"I don't want you to forget again."
He closed his eyes. Opened them again and ran a hand down the smooth line of her arm. "I'm sorry, Meg."
She turned her head to look at him. Grabbed his chin so that he couldn't avoid her penetrating gaze. "You say you want to help me, right?"
"Of course I do. That's why I came."
"Okay, then. Let me help you, too."
"Help me with what?"
"Your angel problem, moron," she said with an impatient huff.
"Meg, I'm not sure—"
"Right, I know. You're a big bad angel, and I'm just a lowly demon. It's above my pay grade." Her eyes narrowed, and he knew he'd said the wrong thing without saying anything at all. "I'm a Queen among my kind, remember? Fuck angels. Fuck them up their stupid asses. I've killed angels before, and I can do it again. You need a bodyguard, Clarence, you've got one."
He shifted. "It's not that I don't have faith in your fighting ability. You are ferocious, and Hester was no match for you."
"You bitched at me for never calling you."
Doubt flitted across his features.
"This is me bitching at you for never calling me. I can help you, Castiel. I could've helped you before, against Raphael. Against Crowley. You never asked, and look what happened." She held out her hand. "Ask now. Stop forgetting me. Help me and let me help you."
His expression was troubled, but after a long hesitation he slid his big hand into her small one. "It would destroy me if something happened to you."
"Yeah," she said with a droll quirk to her mouth. "Life's a bitch and then your demon girlfriend gets skewered by an angel. Get over it, Clarence. Shit happens. Sit in the corner eating your hair or man up and get a hot piece of ass in the bargain. Which'll it be?"
He blinked at her, befuddled. "I'm not sure what a donkey has to do with anything."
She threw back her head and laughed, a sound of pure unfettered delight. "God, you're cute." She pushed him back into the mattress and leaned down to run her tongue up the side of his neck. "One more time, sexy wings, for the road. Not sure when I'll feel like doing this again, all things considered."
He flipped them both over and kissed her forehead. The tip of her nose. Her smiling mouth, long and lingering. "I think I could be persuaded."
You know what I realized that's now distracting as hell? Lady Mary on Downton Abbey is like a taller, thinner-faced version of Meg from Supernatural. Seriously. Go watch it. They could be sisters.
Anyway. Remember to review, lovely readers, because my Muse eats them like candy. Also, look! I delivered Dean-in-glasses, and I'm working on the Cas-eating-watermelon thing. I managed Cas-in-a-bathtub, and that was nice, right?
