SPN fic: She With The Power Of Them
Title: She With The Power Of Them
Series: Cyclical Eternity - Part 2
Pairing/Characters: Cas/Meg
Rating: NC-17
Words: ,528
Warnings: Vague het-sex, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, spoilers from [6x22]
Summary: 'It is strange being human'. AU from the end of Season 6 [spoilers]
A/N: This follows on fro You Are The Opposition And The Opposite. HAPPY BIRTHDAY YI MEI ♥♥♥
For many ancient cultures, religion commanded the world. Society was dipped in the blood and gold of the immortal realm, held under the surface until every breath was a gift from the gods. When the world succumbed to night, the sun-god had made his journey across the sky. When the seasons came the gods had allowed them to grace Earth.
The Egyptians had a pantheon of thousands, a god for everything and two for some things. They walked upon Geb; they breathed Shu; they looked to the sky and saw the body of Nut stretched above them. Belief infiltrated their world until their lives could not be separated from the gods, until their politics were their religion and their religion, politics. Until the creators walked with their creations.
In the epicentre of their society was Ma’at, the personification of the Egyptian way, the truth and justice that they held above all else. She was the right path, their figurehead, their Statue of Liberty, written from the divine realms into the mortal. Ma’at was something that Castiel could never comprehend.
He was told what was right, given orders that were divine and to be followed and not questioned. God was his Ma’at but he did not set out guidelines as she did. God said and Castiel did. That was his religion.
That was his religion until his father was gone and Castiel was peeling his skin in a slip-slide of rotting flesh. Until God had forsaken his children and Castiel was holding the souls of the half-damned in his decaying body.
Sometimes he wishes society still followed Ma’at or a modern imitation, wishes someone had written a guidebook for being human. The modern world is not as far removed from the ancient Egyptian civilisations as they believe, even as they dig for mummies in their desert necropolis. This society is coloured by the rainbow of a hundred religions that choke and choke and choke on one another. Even here in this world of digital spaces and efficientsmalleasy, the mortal realm is infected by the immortal.
Even here in the world of biggerfasterstronger, among corporate giants and children in rags, gods walk among humans.
++++
Castiel wakes to butterfly kisses on his eyelids and teeth marks on his ear. Castiel wakes to hands tracing his features and fingernails dragging across his chest. Castiel wakes to skin pressed against his and a weight trapping his body. Castiel wakes and Meg is waking with him.
They fall so easily into a dual life that Castiel imagines is the ‘apple-pie’ Dean talks of. Even with their limited history of knives and smirks and flashing eyes - their previous lives as oppositions - they find a rhythm that fits them to the world.
It’s not perfect, not like the halls of Heaven. They are humans learning emotions and some nights they clash; some days Castiel goes to the library with an eye coloured like the sunrise. It’s not perfect and they don’t fit together like sweethearts made to meet. They are simply broken bookends without books to slot between them. They are car-crash emotions creating a storm over their heads.
It takes Meg less than a day to decide she will stay and perhaps it was never a question. There is a motorbike parking space in front of the building but she bumps her machine onto the pavement and blocks the pedestrians. Her belongings are few and road-worn but they always manage to find a place for them in Castiel’s sparse life. It is strange to see them side by side, leather and suit sharing space.
The careful structure of home sweet home doesn’t last long. They meet in the middle with the clash of teeth and the ripping of clothes. Everything fades to the inout of breath. When they slide to a stop in the slick of sweat and look around, nothing is in its place anymore. Order and chaos.
When they go back to the bar Castiel frequents, they are met by dark glares and confused looks. It seems as though they will get thrown out again until Meg slides her fingers between Castiel’s for the first time and pulls him along to the bartender. Her smile is sugar-sweet and her voice a purr. They leave two hours later with a waitressing job for the ‘new filly’ and Meg’s slender fingers are still woven with Castiel’s.
Some days Castiel will wonder how long this will last as he shelves books in section 302 of the Dewey Decimal System. Surely everything must come to an end, everything must die. That’s a human belief and he’s a human now. Everything must die. He’s a human and some day he will die.
That night he buries his face in the soft skin of Meg’s neck, presses kisses there and whispers her name as salvation. She doesn’t ask why, just curls around him and digs her fingers into his hair. It’s not uncommon, the need for contact that runs through them and sets an itch on their skin. Neither of them know what it means or why it is there. It just is. Tangled together in the dark, they’re learning to be human.
++++
It has been three months since two became company, when the Winchesters swing by to check that Castiel is still alive. No one is ready. Tuned to the Impala’s familiar growl, Castiel wakes as she pulls up outside the apartment block. It is the middle of the night but the Winchesters live in their own time zone.
Before he can think of a plan Castiel is shaking Meg awake. She blinks up at him, alert instantly - an ability born from years of being the hunted one. Somehow even now, when the disapproving family is coming through their door, Castiel cannot help but think she is a beautiful creature, crafted in the pits of Hell to be a loyal soldier to the absent father who never really cared and is any one of them different?
“What-?” Her voice is cut off by the creak of the Impala’s joints from beneath the open window. “Winchesters.” Her eyes go wide in the dark, hand shooting out to grip Castiel’s arm, nails digging in.
“You will have to stay in here and allow me to talk to them.” His voice is hard and cold and when did the Winchester’s become a threat? “They will shoot you on sight.” A tight nod is all the reply he gets. Then Meg is leaning forward and her lips are soft on his. She pulls back, the folds of night-time casting shadows that drape over her body and hide her face.
Castiel can hear the door to the apartment open; the Winchesters not ones for knocking when they have keys (or when they don’t). Climbing from their bed and throwing clothes on, he slips through the bedroom door, closing it silently behind him.
The brothers flip the switch as Castiel steps forward and artificial light blinds him until his eyes adjust. The Winchesters haven’t changed. Dean is still shorter but holding himself like he will always be taller. Sam is still slouching slightly as if feeding his brother’s belief. They look as world-weary as ever, clothes crinkled from life in the belly of a car, shallow bags hanging under their eyes, and a new spread of injuries playing bingo across their bodies.
“Hey, Cas.” Sam’s smile is easy, tacked up with dimples, and Dean mirrors his greeting as they move further into the small apartment. “How‘s life?”
“Hello, Sam, Dean.” Something flutters nervously in his stomach. “It is complicated.”
“Yeah, join the club,” Dean replies and that is a phrase Castiel has heard enough to understand. “Sometimes I think there’s more to hunt than there ever has been.” He flops down on the threadbare couch opposite the door.
“That’s because there is, Dean,” Sam replies patiently. “Purgatory, remember.” Castiel flinches at the reminder, guilt and regret surging up from where they have been dormant. His mind quickly provides him with memories of a warm body against his, soft and real, banishing away the guilt and prompting the confrontation that has to happen. Dean beats him to it.
“What’s this, Cas?” He is holding up a pair of lace panties and silently Castiel curses Meg for throwing her clothes about instead of putting them away. “You hiding a girl from us, Romeo?”
“Yes,” Castiel replies, fingers drumming against his leg in a nervous tick he didn’t know he had picked up. “I have been living with Meg.”
“Meg?” Dean’s face has closed in, voice dropping darkly, slowly rising to his feet. “As in black-demon-eyed-bitch, Meg?”
“She is no longer a demon,” Castiel hisses, flinching at the accusations that still burn his mind if he lingers on them. “There is no need for you to hurt her.”
“She killed Ellen and Jo!” Dean is yelling at him, an imposing shadow, a friend being a threat. “Just because she’s suddenly no longer a demon doesn’t mean she gets a clean slate!” The words hit Castiel like blade on bone. His chest aches with their blows but there is no injury, no blood, nothing to show that he is fighting the pain of words.
“Then you should kill me first,” Castiel’s words are soft and he is almost as surprised by them as Dean is. “I have played God. I have killed hundreds of innocent people and too many of my own brothers and sisters. Surely, of all the humans who should die, I am the one you should kill first.”
The silence falls heavy between them before Sam breaks it. “Cas, he didn’t-” The sentence drops off as the door opens behind Castiel and a warm body presses against his side, fingers slotting between his like pencils in their box.
“Hello boys,” Meg said evenly and Castiel feels a rush of something soft and light that reminds him of a home in the sky and wings brushing against his. She is scared - Castiel can feel it her tight grip and the press of her body against his - but Meg meets Dean’s gaze and holds it steadily. The soft feeling spreads through his body until the sting from Dean’s words is gone and Castiel is no longer an ex-angel/god/murderer. He is just another human again.
“Meg,” Sam replies tightly, nodding to her.
“Bitch,” Dean spits with a smirk. Sam is instantly gripping his brother’s arm, brow lined and eyes full of brown concern.
Meg’s eyes flash angrily and her nails dig into Castiel’s skin. “Good to know you haven’t advanced your intellect, Dean. Still upholding your GED by the sounds of it.”
“Good to know you’re still alive.” Castiel sighs inwardly. He should have known this was going to happen. “It’s going to make it so much sweeter killing you myself.”
“I’d like to see you try.” Sam opens his mouth to interject but Meg raises her voice and drowns him out. “You’ve never quite managed it before after all.”
“You know what they say.” Dean is smirking, teeth knife-sharp. “Third time’s the charm.”
“Oh, you’re at least on your fifth.” Castiel curls his free hand around Meg’s arm as if he can hold her back. “It’s pretty disappointing, Dean.”
“Look who’s talking, bitch.” There is a malicious tone in Dean’s voice that sends shivers down Castiel’s spine. “You’re the demon playing house with an angel of the Lord. How does your daddy feel about that?”
“At least I’m not Daddy’s perfect soldier anymore, Dean.” Now the cruel, twisting tone is in Meg’s voice. “Not that you’ve been much of a good son.”
Castiel isn’t quite sure what happens next but suddenly Dean and Meg are twisting free then they halfway across the room. The hunter has Meg by the throat, her human body suddenly so tiny and frail in his hands. The one-time demon hasn’t given up though and her fists are slammed into Dean’s body.
The fight that follows is half-fought, half-survived. Castiel forgets he doesn’t have angelic assistance any longer and throws himself at Dean. The sudden weight still manages to knocks the hunter off-balance and Meg squirms loose. Instantly she is spinning on the stumbling hunter but Sam is there. Gravity takes Castiel and throws him to the floor, breath driven from his body as he sees Meg reel from Sam’s punch.
She doesn’t fall though, even manages to swing back but Dean has recovered and dived back in, easily blocking her light blow and returning with one of his own. He’s not holding back, not like Sam. Blood explodes from her nose as her head snaps violently to the side. Time seems to stumble as Meg falls and it’s something Castiel is not used to when it’s not him manipulating time.
The record skips again and the next thing he knows, Castiel is flying into Dean, shoving his shoulder into the other man’s gut. Twisting at just the right angle, he feels the stumps of bone protruding from his back jar sharply against Dean’s ribs as they slam into the wall of the apartment. Then they are falling to the ground in a messy pile, Castiel’s head ringing from where Dean’s elbow cracked against his skull.
It takes a few moments to shake the sparking spots from his vision then there is a hand roughly hauling him to his feet and pushing him back into the room, away from Dean’s body. Meg is unsteadily climbing to her feet and Castiel wraps an arm around her, half to help her stand, half to steady himself with her presence.
“Stupid fucking hunters,” Meg is muttering, leaning heavily on Castiel. “Always think they’re better than everyone else.” He doesn’t bother replying, doesn’t bother trying to explain the black-and-white world of the Winchesters, just pulls off his t-shirt and offers it to her. Shooting him a weak smile, she presses the cotton to her nose, white slowly turning red.
“Is he alright?” Castiel asks, turning back the Winchesters.
“Fucking peachy,” Dean growls, shoving to his feet as Sam quickly backs away. “Keep your dog on a leash.” This time Meg just rolls her eyes and turns away, a tired slump settling in her shoulders. Castiel feels the weariness echoed in his own posture.
Sam shoots a glare at his brother before he steps in. “Look Cas, we don’t want a fight, as much as some people make it seem like that. We’re just worried about you trusting a demon.” For a moment his face tightens, dwelling on a thought before he voices it. “I know how it feels to trust a demon and then have them turn on you.”
Castiel glances at Meg, worried that the words might anger her. Instead the ex-demon is slumping further, head hanging in what can only be defeat. The reaction is so alien on her that he wants to reach out, wants to comfort her, and that is an alien thing to want so strongly but they’re only human emotions.
“We’re just looking out for you, Cas.” Dean’s voice is a soft rumble and Castiel is only half listening. “Don’t trust demons even if they claim they’re human.” Without warning Meg is whirling around, burning eyes fixing on Dean with undisguised fury. The shirt is clenched forgotten in her fist, the red-dyed fabric contrasted against her white knuckles.
“Or maybe you should stop telling him what to do!” The ferocious anger in the words stuns even Dean into silence. “All you ever fucking do is order him about. He’s been stuck clearing up everyone’s mess and you never cared enough to ask him if he needed help until he had given you everything he could. There is nothing more difficult than trying to work in the place of an absent father and all you have ever done is tell him what to do.”
Silence falls between them, sudden and deafening after the last screamed words. Castiel is momentarily amused by the terror and awe on the Winchester’s faces before his own emotions kick in and leave him floundering. Somewhere in the middle of the shouting Meg had moved forward, standing between the ex-angel and the Winchesters, so Castiel is staring, awestruck, at the back of her head.
Her words are defending him. Her words understand Castiel better than he understands himself. Her words are of a careless father and bad decisions, words about Castiel or these broken hunters and is any one of them really different?
There is a cracked streak of blood trailing from her nose and a bruise is starting to blossom under her eye but she is standing between Castiel and the Winchesters. Somewhere deep inside, Castiel thinks he understands love now.
“Meg,” his voice is hoarse but the woman seems to snap awake at the sound. Anger vanishes from her body, hard planes smoothing out, and the bloodied shirt falls to the floor. Then she is gone with the rustle of clothing and the flash of brown curls, the bedroom door slamming shut behind her.
Silence falls again until Sam breaks it, curling a hand securely around his brother’s arm. “I’m sorry Cas. We’ll go.”
“Yeah, me too,” Dean mutters. They are halfway to the door when he pauses and turns around, an uncomfortable look on his face. There is another hesitation before he speaks, shoulders shifting restlessly under his leather jacket. “She seems to care about you a lot.”
It feels like it is only a second later that they are gone and Castiel is alone with the balled up red t-shirt that was once white. There is the peculiar feeling that he has lost something although he is not sure what. It is a tender jagged feeling like the wounds that cut guilt into his mind as he looked down on fields of dead angels and the patterns of wings burnt into the green, green grass. It is the overwhelming scrape of despair as he sat in the white, white snow and waited for a father that never replied. It is the emptiness of lost faith.
++++
When he comes in, Meg is lying sideways on the bed, eyes fixated on her fingers twisting and untwisting in the sheets. Castiel doesn’t think, just lies down facing her. They don’t speak, eyes fixed on her hands. Something else has broken between them, a barrier made of glass so Castiel never saw it until the shards were piercing his skin.
It took Castiel a long time to unravel the complexities of human insults. They were compounds of ridiculous stereotypes and obscure references, creative neologisms and foreign slang. Some of them he had come to understand, some of them he never would.
The one that took him the longest to decipher, was Dean’s favourite insult; ‘you’re such a girl’. The elder Winchester was always claiming his brother was another gender when Sam ordered a salad or touched his hair or cried at movies or-
Sam was called a girl a lot. In time Castiel learnt what it meant. It meant showing your emotions was a bad thing. It meant that caring about your appearance or your health or fictional characters was a trait unwanted in a male. It meant that Castiel couldn’t say what he thought if he wanted to be accepted into the world he was chained to.
It seemed ridiculous to him, a nonsensical argument like a tradition of forgotten origins. But it was human so he filtered his words and locked his emotions in an iron cage with a rusty key. He stopped himself from becoming ‘the girl’ that Dean looked on with such contempt. Castiel thinks that Meg’s father or her brother or Alistair taught her the same thing as they roasted her flesh in the molten pits of Hell.
Castiel thinks that is what has broken now and as much as he wants to be human, he is so thankful that it is gone.
“Thank you,” he whispers and finally catches Meg’s gaze. “You did not have to protect me but I am glad you did.”
She looks surprised. An angel of the lord is thanking a demon for protecting him against his friends. A lioness is licking a young gazelle. The world is turning on its head and gods are walking with the mortals.
“You’re welcome.” There is hesitance in her voice and suddenly they are standing on the shards of glass. If they step too heavily they will cut their feet but if they are careful, the celestial and the damned will walk on the edge of broken glass.
So they don’t say anything else. Castiel lets his fingers become the sheets twisted between hers. They twine like vines until their skin cannot touch anymore and then they are each other’s comfort. There’s no need to know why they crave this comfort, no need to talk about the horrors they hide from in the curves of each other. There is only the knowledge that they will wake up the same as they fall asleep. That is their religion and that is enough and perhaps that is what makes them human.
Series: Cyclical Eternity - Part 2
Pairing/Characters: Cas/Meg
Rating: NC-17
Words: ,528
Warnings: Vague het-sex, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, spoilers from [6x22]
Summary: 'It is strange being human'. AU from the end of Season 6 [spoilers]
A/N: This follows on fro You Are The Opposition And The Opposite. HAPPY BIRTHDAY YI MEI ♥♥♥
For many ancient cultures, religion commanded the world. Society was dipped in the blood and gold of the immortal realm, held under the surface until every breath was a gift from the gods. When the world succumbed to night, the sun-god had made his journey across the sky. When the seasons came the gods had allowed them to grace Earth.
The Egyptians had a pantheon of thousands, a god for everything and two for some things. They walked upon Geb; they breathed Shu; they looked to the sky and saw the body of Nut stretched above them. Belief infiltrated their world until their lives could not be separated from the gods, until their politics were their religion and their religion, politics. Until the creators walked with their creations.
In the epicentre of their society was Ma’at, the personification of the Egyptian way, the truth and justice that they held above all else. She was the right path, their figurehead, their Statue of Liberty, written from the divine realms into the mortal. Ma’at was something that Castiel could never comprehend.
He was told what was right, given orders that were divine and to be followed and not questioned. God was his Ma’at but he did not set out guidelines as she did. God said and Castiel did. That was his religion.
That was his religion until his father was gone and Castiel was peeling his skin in a slip-slide of rotting flesh. Until God had forsaken his children and Castiel was holding the souls of the half-damned in his decaying body.
Sometimes he wishes society still followed Ma’at or a modern imitation, wishes someone had written a guidebook for being human. The modern world is not as far removed from the ancient Egyptian civilisations as they believe, even as they dig for mummies in their desert necropolis. This society is coloured by the rainbow of a hundred religions that choke and choke and choke on one another. Even here in this world of digital spaces and efficientsmalleasy, the mortal realm is infected by the immortal.
Even here in the world of biggerfasterstronger, among corporate giants and children in rags, gods walk among humans.
++++
Castiel wakes to butterfly kisses on his eyelids and teeth marks on his ear. Castiel wakes to hands tracing his features and fingernails dragging across his chest. Castiel wakes to skin pressed against his and a weight trapping his body. Castiel wakes and Meg is waking with him.
They fall so easily into a dual life that Castiel imagines is the ‘apple-pie’ Dean talks of. Even with their limited history of knives and smirks and flashing eyes - their previous lives as oppositions - they find a rhythm that fits them to the world.
It’s not perfect, not like the halls of Heaven. They are humans learning emotions and some nights they clash; some days Castiel goes to the library with an eye coloured like the sunrise. It’s not perfect and they don’t fit together like sweethearts made to meet. They are simply broken bookends without books to slot between them. They are car-crash emotions creating a storm over their heads.
It takes Meg less than a day to decide she will stay and perhaps it was never a question. There is a motorbike parking space in front of the building but she bumps her machine onto the pavement and blocks the pedestrians. Her belongings are few and road-worn but they always manage to find a place for them in Castiel’s sparse life. It is strange to see them side by side, leather and suit sharing space.
The careful structure of home sweet home doesn’t last long. They meet in the middle with the clash of teeth and the ripping of clothes. Everything fades to the inout of breath. When they slide to a stop in the slick of sweat and look around, nothing is in its place anymore. Order and chaos.
When they go back to the bar Castiel frequents, they are met by dark glares and confused looks. It seems as though they will get thrown out again until Meg slides her fingers between Castiel’s for the first time and pulls him along to the bartender. Her smile is sugar-sweet and her voice a purr. They leave two hours later with a waitressing job for the ‘new filly’ and Meg’s slender fingers are still woven with Castiel’s.
Some days Castiel will wonder how long this will last as he shelves books in section 302 of the Dewey Decimal System. Surely everything must come to an end, everything must die. That’s a human belief and he’s a human now. Everything must die. He’s a human and some day he will die.
That night he buries his face in the soft skin of Meg’s neck, presses kisses there and whispers her name as salvation. She doesn’t ask why, just curls around him and digs her fingers into his hair. It’s not uncommon, the need for contact that runs through them and sets an itch on their skin. Neither of them know what it means or why it is there. It just is. Tangled together in the dark, they’re learning to be human.
++++
It has been three months since two became company, when the Winchesters swing by to check that Castiel is still alive. No one is ready. Tuned to the Impala’s familiar growl, Castiel wakes as she pulls up outside the apartment block. It is the middle of the night but the Winchesters live in their own time zone.
Before he can think of a plan Castiel is shaking Meg awake. She blinks up at him, alert instantly - an ability born from years of being the hunted one. Somehow even now, when the disapproving family is coming through their door, Castiel cannot help but think she is a beautiful creature, crafted in the pits of Hell to be a loyal soldier to the absent father who never really cared and is any one of them different?
“What-?” Her voice is cut off by the creak of the Impala’s joints from beneath the open window. “Winchesters.” Her eyes go wide in the dark, hand shooting out to grip Castiel’s arm, nails digging in.
“You will have to stay in here and allow me to talk to them.” His voice is hard and cold and when did the Winchester’s become a threat? “They will shoot you on sight.” A tight nod is all the reply he gets. Then Meg is leaning forward and her lips are soft on his. She pulls back, the folds of night-time casting shadows that drape over her body and hide her face.
Castiel can hear the door to the apartment open; the Winchesters not ones for knocking when they have keys (or when they don’t). Climbing from their bed and throwing clothes on, he slips through the bedroom door, closing it silently behind him.
The brothers flip the switch as Castiel steps forward and artificial light blinds him until his eyes adjust. The Winchesters haven’t changed. Dean is still shorter but holding himself like he will always be taller. Sam is still slouching slightly as if feeding his brother’s belief. They look as world-weary as ever, clothes crinkled from life in the belly of a car, shallow bags hanging under their eyes, and a new spread of injuries playing bingo across their bodies.
“Hey, Cas.” Sam’s smile is easy, tacked up with dimples, and Dean mirrors his greeting as they move further into the small apartment. “How‘s life?”
“Hello, Sam, Dean.” Something flutters nervously in his stomach. “It is complicated.”
“Yeah, join the club,” Dean replies and that is a phrase Castiel has heard enough to understand. “Sometimes I think there’s more to hunt than there ever has been.” He flops down on the threadbare couch opposite the door.
“That’s because there is, Dean,” Sam replies patiently. “Purgatory, remember.” Castiel flinches at the reminder, guilt and regret surging up from where they have been dormant. His mind quickly provides him with memories of a warm body against his, soft and real, banishing away the guilt and prompting the confrontation that has to happen. Dean beats him to it.
“What’s this, Cas?” He is holding up a pair of lace panties and silently Castiel curses Meg for throwing her clothes about instead of putting them away. “You hiding a girl from us, Romeo?”
“Yes,” Castiel replies, fingers drumming against his leg in a nervous tick he didn’t know he had picked up. “I have been living with Meg.”
“Meg?” Dean’s face has closed in, voice dropping darkly, slowly rising to his feet. “As in black-demon-eyed-bitch, Meg?”
“She is no longer a demon,” Castiel hisses, flinching at the accusations that still burn his mind if he lingers on them. “There is no need for you to hurt her.”
“She killed Ellen and Jo!” Dean is yelling at him, an imposing shadow, a friend being a threat. “Just because she’s suddenly no longer a demon doesn’t mean she gets a clean slate!” The words hit Castiel like blade on bone. His chest aches with their blows but there is no injury, no blood, nothing to show that he is fighting the pain of words.
“Then you should kill me first,” Castiel’s words are soft and he is almost as surprised by them as Dean is. “I have played God. I have killed hundreds of innocent people and too many of my own brothers and sisters. Surely, of all the humans who should die, I am the one you should kill first.”
The silence falls heavy between them before Sam breaks it. “Cas, he didn’t-” The sentence drops off as the door opens behind Castiel and a warm body presses against his side, fingers slotting between his like pencils in their box.
“Hello boys,” Meg said evenly and Castiel feels a rush of something soft and light that reminds him of a home in the sky and wings brushing against his. She is scared - Castiel can feel it her tight grip and the press of her body against his - but Meg meets Dean’s gaze and holds it steadily. The soft feeling spreads through his body until the sting from Dean’s words is gone and Castiel is no longer an ex-angel/god/murderer. He is just another human again.
“Meg,” Sam replies tightly, nodding to her.
“Bitch,” Dean spits with a smirk. Sam is instantly gripping his brother’s arm, brow lined and eyes full of brown concern.
Meg’s eyes flash angrily and her nails dig into Castiel’s skin. “Good to know you haven’t advanced your intellect, Dean. Still upholding your GED by the sounds of it.”
“Good to know you’re still alive.” Castiel sighs inwardly. He should have known this was going to happen. “It’s going to make it so much sweeter killing you myself.”
“I’d like to see you try.” Sam opens his mouth to interject but Meg raises her voice and drowns him out. “You’ve never quite managed it before after all.”
“You know what they say.” Dean is smirking, teeth knife-sharp. “Third time’s the charm.”
“Oh, you’re at least on your fifth.” Castiel curls his free hand around Meg’s arm as if he can hold her back. “It’s pretty disappointing, Dean.”
“Look who’s talking, bitch.” There is a malicious tone in Dean’s voice that sends shivers down Castiel’s spine. “You’re the demon playing house with an angel of the Lord. How does your daddy feel about that?”
“At least I’m not Daddy’s perfect soldier anymore, Dean.” Now the cruel, twisting tone is in Meg’s voice. “Not that you’ve been much of a good son.”
Castiel isn’t quite sure what happens next but suddenly Dean and Meg are twisting free then they halfway across the room. The hunter has Meg by the throat, her human body suddenly so tiny and frail in his hands. The one-time demon hasn’t given up though and her fists are slammed into Dean’s body.
The fight that follows is half-fought, half-survived. Castiel forgets he doesn’t have angelic assistance any longer and throws himself at Dean. The sudden weight still manages to knocks the hunter off-balance and Meg squirms loose. Instantly she is spinning on the stumbling hunter but Sam is there. Gravity takes Castiel and throws him to the floor, breath driven from his body as he sees Meg reel from Sam’s punch.
She doesn’t fall though, even manages to swing back but Dean has recovered and dived back in, easily blocking her light blow and returning with one of his own. He’s not holding back, not like Sam. Blood explodes from her nose as her head snaps violently to the side. Time seems to stumble as Meg falls and it’s something Castiel is not used to when it’s not him manipulating time.
The record skips again and the next thing he knows, Castiel is flying into Dean, shoving his shoulder into the other man’s gut. Twisting at just the right angle, he feels the stumps of bone protruding from his back jar sharply against Dean’s ribs as they slam into the wall of the apartment. Then they are falling to the ground in a messy pile, Castiel’s head ringing from where Dean’s elbow cracked against his skull.
It takes a few moments to shake the sparking spots from his vision then there is a hand roughly hauling him to his feet and pushing him back into the room, away from Dean’s body. Meg is unsteadily climbing to her feet and Castiel wraps an arm around her, half to help her stand, half to steady himself with her presence.
“Stupid fucking hunters,” Meg is muttering, leaning heavily on Castiel. “Always think they’re better than everyone else.” He doesn’t bother replying, doesn’t bother trying to explain the black-and-white world of the Winchesters, just pulls off his t-shirt and offers it to her. Shooting him a weak smile, she presses the cotton to her nose, white slowly turning red.
“Is he alright?” Castiel asks, turning back the Winchesters.
“Fucking peachy,” Dean growls, shoving to his feet as Sam quickly backs away. “Keep your dog on a leash.” This time Meg just rolls her eyes and turns away, a tired slump settling in her shoulders. Castiel feels the weariness echoed in his own posture.
Sam shoots a glare at his brother before he steps in. “Look Cas, we don’t want a fight, as much as some people make it seem like that. We’re just worried about you trusting a demon.” For a moment his face tightens, dwelling on a thought before he voices it. “I know how it feels to trust a demon and then have them turn on you.”
Castiel glances at Meg, worried that the words might anger her. Instead the ex-demon is slumping further, head hanging in what can only be defeat. The reaction is so alien on her that he wants to reach out, wants to comfort her, and that is an alien thing to want so strongly but they’re only human emotions.
“We’re just looking out for you, Cas.” Dean’s voice is a soft rumble and Castiel is only half listening. “Don’t trust demons even if they claim they’re human.” Without warning Meg is whirling around, burning eyes fixing on Dean with undisguised fury. The shirt is clenched forgotten in her fist, the red-dyed fabric contrasted against her white knuckles.
“Or maybe you should stop telling him what to do!” The ferocious anger in the words stuns even Dean into silence. “All you ever fucking do is order him about. He’s been stuck clearing up everyone’s mess and you never cared enough to ask him if he needed help until he had given you everything he could. There is nothing more difficult than trying to work in the place of an absent father and all you have ever done is tell him what to do.”
Silence falls between them, sudden and deafening after the last screamed words. Castiel is momentarily amused by the terror and awe on the Winchester’s faces before his own emotions kick in and leave him floundering. Somewhere in the middle of the shouting Meg had moved forward, standing between the ex-angel and the Winchesters, so Castiel is staring, awestruck, at the back of her head.
Her words are defending him. Her words understand Castiel better than he understands himself. Her words are of a careless father and bad decisions, words about Castiel or these broken hunters and is any one of them really different?
There is a cracked streak of blood trailing from her nose and a bruise is starting to blossom under her eye but she is standing between Castiel and the Winchesters. Somewhere deep inside, Castiel thinks he understands love now.
“Meg,” his voice is hoarse but the woman seems to snap awake at the sound. Anger vanishes from her body, hard planes smoothing out, and the bloodied shirt falls to the floor. Then she is gone with the rustle of clothing and the flash of brown curls, the bedroom door slamming shut behind her.
Silence falls again until Sam breaks it, curling a hand securely around his brother’s arm. “I’m sorry Cas. We’ll go.”
“Yeah, me too,” Dean mutters. They are halfway to the door when he pauses and turns around, an uncomfortable look on his face. There is another hesitation before he speaks, shoulders shifting restlessly under his leather jacket. “She seems to care about you a lot.”
It feels like it is only a second later that they are gone and Castiel is alone with the balled up red t-shirt that was once white. There is the peculiar feeling that he has lost something although he is not sure what. It is a tender jagged feeling like the wounds that cut guilt into his mind as he looked down on fields of dead angels and the patterns of wings burnt into the green, green grass. It is the overwhelming scrape of despair as he sat in the white, white snow and waited for a father that never replied. It is the emptiness of lost faith.
++++
When he comes in, Meg is lying sideways on the bed, eyes fixated on her fingers twisting and untwisting in the sheets. Castiel doesn’t think, just lies down facing her. They don’t speak, eyes fixed on her hands. Something else has broken between them, a barrier made of glass so Castiel never saw it until the shards were piercing his skin.
It took Castiel a long time to unravel the complexities of human insults. They were compounds of ridiculous stereotypes and obscure references, creative neologisms and foreign slang. Some of them he had come to understand, some of them he never would.
The one that took him the longest to decipher, was Dean’s favourite insult; ‘you’re such a girl’. The elder Winchester was always claiming his brother was another gender when Sam ordered a salad or touched his hair or cried at movies or-
Sam was called a girl a lot. In time Castiel learnt what it meant. It meant showing your emotions was a bad thing. It meant that caring about your appearance or your health or fictional characters was a trait unwanted in a male. It meant that Castiel couldn’t say what he thought if he wanted to be accepted into the world he was chained to.
It seemed ridiculous to him, a nonsensical argument like a tradition of forgotten origins. But it was human so he filtered his words and locked his emotions in an iron cage with a rusty key. He stopped himself from becoming ‘the girl’ that Dean looked on with such contempt. Castiel thinks that Meg’s father or her brother or Alistair taught her the same thing as they roasted her flesh in the molten pits of Hell.
Castiel thinks that is what has broken now and as much as he wants to be human, he is so thankful that it is gone.
“Thank you,” he whispers and finally catches Meg’s gaze. “You did not have to protect me but I am glad you did.”
She looks surprised. An angel of the lord is thanking a demon for protecting him against his friends. A lioness is licking a young gazelle. The world is turning on its head and gods are walking with the mortals.
“You’re welcome.” There is hesitance in her voice and suddenly they are standing on the shards of glass. If they step too heavily they will cut their feet but if they are careful, the celestial and the damned will walk on the edge of broken glass.
So they don’t say anything else. Castiel lets his fingers become the sheets twisted between hers. They twine like vines until their skin cannot touch anymore and then they are each other’s comfort. There’s no need to know why they crave this comfort, no need to talk about the horrors they hide from in the curves of each other. There is only the knowledge that they will wake up the same as they fall asleep. That is their religion and that is enough and perhaps that is what makes them human.