SPN: Birth Certificate [Meg]
Title: “Birth Certificate”
Author: Shaitanah
Rating: G
Timeline: Season 5
Summary: What Meg wants is power because power means freedom. [comment_fic fill for the prompt "great or marked ability to do or act; strength; might; force" by xenoamorist]
Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to Eric Kripke and the CW.
BIRTH CERTIFICATE
She doesn’t remember herself being human. She has been in countless vessels and gone by their names just as she goes by the name of Meg (but that’s really more of a memento, since her current body is called differently). It doesn’t bother her that she wouldn’t recognize her real name in the multitude of other, discarded ones even if she heard it again.
Names are just words. Meatsuits are prisons. Her father had delivered her from all that; her real father, not the bag of human bones whose mere presence had long since been blotched out of her memory.
That, she remembers. Being purified until human life was just a vestige of an unpleasant feeling in her heart. Searing pain beyond recognition. Being split open until there was a chasm inside her, a world of emptiness between what she had been and what she would be.
In hell, there is only one way to turn your back on such memories. Meg swore to herself that she would gain this ability to do and act of her own accord. For a moment, when he is finally free and she is by his side, she feels drunk with power and drunk with him, and just for this moment, nothing else matters.
November 30, 2011
Author: Shaitanah
Rating: G
Timeline: Season 5
Summary: What Meg wants is power because power means freedom. [comment_fic fill for the prompt "great or marked ability to do or act; strength; might; force" by xenoamorist]
Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to Eric Kripke and the CW.
BIRTH CERTIFICATE
She doesn’t remember herself being human. She has been in countless vessels and gone by their names just as she goes by the name of Meg (but that’s really more of a memento, since her current body is called differently). It doesn’t bother her that she wouldn’t recognize her real name in the multitude of other, discarded ones even if she heard it again.
Names are just words. Meatsuits are prisons. Her father had delivered her from all that; her real father, not the bag of human bones whose mere presence had long since been blotched out of her memory.
That, she remembers. Being purified until human life was just a vestige of an unpleasant feeling in her heart. Searing pain beyond recognition. Being split open until there was a chasm inside her, a world of emptiness between what she had been and what she would be.
In hell, there is only one way to turn your back on such memories. Meg swore to herself that she would gain this ability to do and act of her own accord. For a moment, when he is finally free and she is by his side, she feels drunk with power and drunk with him, and just for this moment, nothing else matters.
November 30, 2011