Title: Deserved Justice and Closing Desires
Summary: With her circumstances changed in ways she'd not anticipated, Meg turns to Castiel for a…request. Castiel/Meg
Disclaimer: Supernatural was created by Eric Kripke. No disrespect is intended.
Notes: I'm on a Castiel kick and I'm not quite sure how it happened…. Oh, and if anyone thinks the rating should be kicked up to an 'M', let me know.
The demon who called herself Meg -- for the sole reason of liking the name -- was a master at the art of saving her own ass.
So when it was apparent that Lucifer's bid for taking over all of creation was an epic fail, she had no problem deserting the fight. The anticipated fail, coupled with the realization that Lucifer planned to slaughter all demons if he somehow did win, prompted flight quickly.
Being despised by one's own creator was a new experience for her. She'd never thought of herself as disposable before.
Meg hadn't gotten far, when a light shone all around her, obliterating the darkness of night. She stood, exposed and shaking, as the sensation of being embraced took her. She felt a heat so hot it was icy and, conversely, a cold so frigid it was fiery. It trapped her, kept her from fleeing the body as well as the battle.
The relieved cry of her host sounded and was gone, an emptiness appearing in the body they shared. It didn't last long, however. Meg had the unpleasant sensory perception of being shoved into a space far too small for her, then being stretched by force to fill it. Even with her predilection for pain it was excruciating.
And then it was gone, the light and hot/cold winked out like the flick of a switch.
She fell to her knees in the grass, panting and sweating. When she calmed, she took a long moment to assess what had happened, coming to the alarming and very confusing conclusion that she had somehow ceased to be a demon in those moments. Trying to leave the body produced nothing, as did all attempts to use her abilities.
She was now human.
How? What sort of being could do that? Why would a being do that?
A pair of jean clad legs came into view and she craned her neck back to look up at the man standing before her. He was blond, with a casual, satisfied smirk upon his lips.
Sitting back on her heels, she waited for whatever he had to say.
"I could have ganked you," he told her, "just slapped my palm on your head and sent you to hell. I almost did, too. But then I had an idea, one I think Dean and Sam will greatly appreciate when they learn of it. And they will learn of it." He crouched down. "I may not be as powerful as my big bros, but I've had many years to play with my abilities, discover the tiny nuances of what's possible with a little creativity. I must say, making a demon human again and taking all her abilities to contact the other side is probably my best accomplishment yet. My brand of justice. You're a dead-spot, Meg. No ritual or spell will work for you now. No talent of any sort on that end. I did leave your ability to see supernatural beings and creatures, however. I want you to see the things that will be hunting you down just like you hunted people. I want you to feel what they felt."
Meg tipped herself back to crab walk away from him, scrambling backwards across grass slick with misty rain.
He watched her, amusement sliding across his features. "It's poetic, don't you think? I think Sam especially will appreciate that. Enjoy your helplessness. You've earned every bit of it."
Over the days that followed, Meg discovered that he was right. She was being hunted and there was only one thing she wanted in the end before she was dragged back to hell.
Regaining his powers wasn't a sudden thing. As they had leeched away, so they returned, in trickles and bursts. It'd still be awhile before he was back up to full strength, yet Castiel appreciated those powers all the more for having been bereft of them.
Outside the motel room, someone approached. He looked up. "Someone's at the door," he told them a bare second before a hesitant knock sounded. Cas left the room, materialized outside behind the woman standing there and brought her back with him, all before Dean had even gone two steps to the door. Why? Because he could do so without fatigue, which gave him satisfaction in the ability.
The woman jerked in his grasp. He released her readily, recognizing her as she tripped over Sam's bag and fell heavily to the floor, her long dark hair in disarray.
Behind him, he heard Dean and Sam scrambling for the demon killing knife, salt, and holy water. He knelt, flicked his gaze over her, noting both the big and the subtle differences in her. "You can relax. She's not a demon anymore," he said, leaning over to study her further. The soul of her host was gone, but Meg herself filled the body, was integrated into it in a way demons weren't and humans were.
Meg pushed to the wall and used it to stand, one hand tucking her hair behind her ears, smoothing it.
Without a qualm in doing so, Castiel invaded her thoughts, read them, discovered what had happened to her, what was after her, and smiled as he stood, though he knew his smile could, by no stretch of imagination, be called pleasant.
That Gabriel, he thought. Always a showman. Always creative. Always willing to bend the rules and play dirty in the pursuit of what he saw as justice.
He moved in close to her.
The sound of Castiel's laughter surprised Dean. It was smug and ugly as he leaned in close to Meg's face.
"Well, look at you. You're…how was it you said it to me?…cut off from the home office and you ain't got the juice."
Dean blinked, exchanged a glance with Sam. She'd actually flinched.
Pressing to the wall as though hoping it'd swallow her up, she cried, "You were right. Is that what you want me to say? You were right."
"Of course I was. All of you lie and he was your maker. Was there any doubt he could lie even better than you to your face?"
Annoyance flickered through her discomfort. "I don't know why I bothered to come here." Meg tried to edge away, Castiel slapping one palm on the wall the barest fraction from her face, the crack of it like a gunshot. Before she could turn the other way to move, he repeated the gesture with his other hand.
"You know very well why you came here."
There was menace in his voice and an odd undercurrent Dean couldn't quite place right away. Something he'd never heard in Castiel's voice before. What was it?
"I need help."
"Of course you do." As though it was obvious. A foregone conclusion.
"I'm being hunted and I can't protect myself. I thought maybe I could convince all of you to help me just once." A pleading tone that rang false.
"Yes. You came here why?" Expectant. He was waiting for an admittance of some sort, brows raising and tongue doing a slow sweep of his lower lip.
Dean thought Meg would try something, anything, but no response was forthcoming. She didn't move, merely kept her gaze at the level of the knot in Castiel's tie, her hands pressing back against the wall behind her.
"Push me away," Cas ordered her.
She licked her lips, glanced at Dean and Sam. "I can't."
He shifted his weight, elbows bending, bringing him closer to Meg. "You haven't tried yet. How do you know you can't?"
"I just can't."
"Tell them, Meg. Explain your situation for them. Lay it out in all of the karmic aspects."
She closed her eyes. "I can't budge you if I tried because I'm human. I have stupid human limitations of strength. My abilities are gone, every last one and it's…they're coming after me." Her eyes snapped open. The hate in them, while intense, was nowhere near the levels of malevolence demon Meg had been able to put into a single quick glance. "The one who did this to me, he said you, meaning Dean and Sam, would appreciate it, that it's poetic and his brand of justice: me being turned human and hunted down just like I've been doing to humans. So there. All laid out with a pretty shiny red bow. Are you satisfied, Castiel? Was that clear enough?"
"You really think we'd give you help? After everything you've done? After you had Bobby possessed and set hellhounds on us that ended with Jo and Ellen --" Dean broke off, shaking his head. "Suck it, bitch. Whatever's hunting you can have you. In fact, I think I'd like to have some popcorn and watch, maybe cheer it on."
"You planning on wearing one of those little cheerleading outfits too, Dean? I bet you've got great legs." Some of the vitriol was missing from her words, as though she wasn't really in the spirit for verbal warfare.
Beside him, Sam was strangely silent, taking in everything in that quiet Sammy way.
"Enough. Leave us. Give us four…no, three hours." Castiel said, in a tone that indicated it wasn't a simple request but rather an order. He turned his head, his hard stare making him seem harsh and alien. "Three hours will be sufficient."
"Three," Meg whispered, then swallowed hard, as though the number had significance for her.
"Sufficient for what," Dean asked, not sure he wanted Castiel's answer.
"Meg and I have a matter to discuss."
Despite the stony visage, that undercurrent Dean had been trying to place was suddenly obvious. The layers of Angel onion had peeled back to reveal a thing he'd never expected: silky seductiveness. There was something very wrong about that right now, he decided. "For three whole hours? That's quite a discussion." His skepticism was met with a minute of silence.
Cas's features hardened further. "Now, Dean. Time is limited."
He let Sam pull him from the room.
"Why did you come here."
It wasn't a question despite the wording. She almost snorted. He knew why. He'd done that mind reading thing. He only wanted to make her beg him. Meg kept her eyes lowered from his. His gaze took in far too much from her to keep eye contact and she felt exposed enough as it was without that added dimension to this interaction. Being this close to him wasn't nearly as thrilling when he had all the powers, though it still got her heart rate pumping. He still excited her almost to beyond reason.
One hand touched her face, fingers stroking her cheek in a deceptively gentle caress. His hands could break this frail human body in two if he wished to do so. "Tell me what you want," he lowered his head until his lips nearly touched hers, "Meg."
He said her name like a caress, low and slow.
"You're not shy. Don't start now. You'll miss your window of opportunity if you don't spell it out for me very clearly."
Meg thought about every fantasy she'd ever conjured up about him, let them fill her mind in a whirl of unfulfilled desires. She knew what she wanted, focused on those particular things, knew he continued to look into her mind, sifting through the information.
Castiel brushed his cheek against hers, the stubble on his jaw scraping pleasantly. "You've an active fantasy life." In one step, his body was flush against hers. "Creative." One hand lowered, slid down her body, stopping at her waist to squeeze.
Meg arched her back.
"Is that your final desire?"
His kiss wasn't gentle and it wasn't tender. In fact, it was hard and bruising with an undercurrent of contempt. It was exactly what she ached for from him.
The entire encounter was what she'd dreamed of: a steamy, sweaty, and satisfying romp that left her drained, bruised, and ultimately pleased with how it had gone.
She was easy to subdue, her struggles perfunctory, those thrashings against him rousing. They shouldn't be. He shouldn't be wanting to do these things to her. Castiel knew it…and still he proceeded, ripping her shirt, tossing away the shreds. He kissed her, loathing and loving the tangle of their tongues together.
How was it possible to experience such diametrically opposing feelings at the same time?
Her skin was soft, her feigned protests just enough to excite the senses.
He wanted her to beg; to plead for the fulfillment of her desire. She didn't disappoint, but he drew it out anyway because they had three whole hours to fill. Three hours to enjoy those things he shouldn't be enjoying.
His first thrust into her produced an ecstatic gasp, Meg arching against him in response. He gripped her wrists tight above her head. Any tighter and the bones would snap.
Castiel buried his face in her hair. How was it an immoral, filthy creature like herself could smell like flowers and oranges? A pleasant scent on a foul being. He nibbled a line down her neck, making sure to pause at her ear to dig his teeth into her earlobe.
"Yes," she breathed.
As he knew she desired, he wasn't gentle or tender and made no effort to pretend this was anything more for him than a sexual release. Meg didn't want gentle. She didn't want tender. What she wanted was for him to screw her so hard she'd feel it the rest of her time alive.
A final request.
Castiel obliged her.
The last thing Sam expected to see when he opened the door after the three hours away were the covers torn off one bed and Meg naked upon it, her knees drawn up and arms about her legs. She looked thoughtful, tired, and scared. There were marks on her skin like dark smudges. On the sheet beside her was a smattering of blood.
Sam's eyes widened. He drew the obvious conclusion as to what had occurred, lips parting. Castiel was standing in front of the low dresser mirror, tying his tie, gaze dispassionate and cool when he met Sam's in the mirror.
"Don't feel sorry for her, Sam. She wanted the intimacy to be rough, specifically requesting it be that way."
"She asked for it?"
"Yes," he replied, "she did. Don't pity her the pain she felt in the act. It was greatly desired on her part. Besides, the woman she took as her host is gone. It's all Meg in there, fused to the living human body and powerless."
"You don't have to gloat about it," she spat.
Stepping into the room, Sam shut the door. "Let me get this straight. You condemned me for Ruby --"
"The situation is different." Tie tied in a loose knot, Castiel slipped on his jacket. "Ruby was a demon to the end."
"And she isn't?" He gestured at Meg.
Cas turned to face him. "She's human. For a brief while. Judged, sentenced, helpless. Living her last. She's being hunted."
Meg was right. Castiel was gloating, finding pleasure in her turned circumstances, the smile that touched his lips never reaching his eyes. It was predatory.
Turning his head, Cas watched her a moment. "Get dressed."
"What am I supposed to wear," she snapped at him. "You ripped my shirt off. It's in shreds somewhere by the tv."
The door opened, Dean coming through and shutting it, then looking up. The carry-out container of drinks and the large fast food bag in his hands dropped to the floor, spilling burgers, fries and soda all over the carpet. He stared at Meg a few seconds, then Castiel, and finally turned to Sam.
"I miss something exciting?"
"Exciting for me," Meg drawled, "but I doubt you would have enjoyed it. Unless you've got some hidden desire for rough sex with Castiel." She sat back, stretching so her nakedness was displayed to all of them.
In a blink, Castiel was beside her, stretching two fingers out to touch her forehead. She went limp and he drew the sheet up over her.
"Rough sex," Dean questioned.
"He said she asked for it," Sam told him.
Dean shrugged. "This is Meg we're talking about here, Sammy. Freaky, kinky, psychotic bitch demon who…. Was that blood on the sheets? How rough are we talking here?" He slanted a curious and suspicious glance towards Castiel.
"Rough." Cas reached for his coat, pulling it on. "And yes, that was blood, along with bruises on her flesh. She requested pain."
He was behaving as though it was no big deal. Sam shook his head in disbelief.
"Care to explain?" Dean frowned.
"Do you require an explanation?"
"Yes." Sam answered for him. "We sure as hell do require one." He couldn't reconcile the Castiel he knew with the Castiel who'd apparently spent three hours screwing Meg. From the look on Dean's face, he didn't get it either.
Neither of them understood and nothing he said would make them. Castiel wondered if this was how they'd felt about him at times. He didn't want to explain this.
Meg had gotten exactly what she'd wanted from him and he, in turn, hadn't needed to be quite so careful. She'd enjoyed the pain when he kissed, grasped, or thrust a little too hard for the average woman. She'd squirmed beneath him, whimpering and clinging to him at the same time.
If anyone had seen them, they would have thought he was raping her, so violent had the act been between them. The ripping of her clothes. The holding her down. The deliberate introduction of physical pain. All things he'd plucked from her mind. All things she'd wanted from him. She'd had her final dying wish granted.
With a small internal sigh, he tried once more to get through to them.
"Do you think she would appreciate any efforts made on her behalf or would she strike back against you as soon as she was able? It is her nature. Demons are animalistic in that respect and she was a demon for a very long time. That trait is still ingrained within her. There is no helping her or staying the course of the path she's on."
Dean hated that superior air slowly creeping back into Castiel the more his powers returned. He was getting snooty again. For awhile at least, Cas had seemed…human in his affections.
"She would despise you all the more for any mercy you may extend; mock you for it, claiming it a weakness. She is still evil no matter the state of her ability to fight back against the forces after her. Justice is being served. Her current humanity is no issue."
Meg began to stir.
It wasn't that Dean wanted to save her or anything like that. He just wanted to know why Castiel had done what he'd done with her. He was having flashbacks to when he'd discovered Sam was screwing Ruby. Only this was worse. This was Castiel. He was an angel, for crying out loud! And while Meg wasn't a demon currently, she had been a demon not too long ago.
Castiel touched Meg's forehead, rendering her unconscious once more, and continued. "Save your pity for someone deserving. She didn't come here for help, despite the pretty words that left her lying lips. She came here for one thing."
"Are you finally getting to the freakin' point, Cas?"
"She came here to ask me to fulfill her dying wish. I gave her that one desire only because she and I both know her time has almost come. She won't be leaving hell for a very long time. It was a last request, much like the final meal death row inmates enjoy."
Dean sucked in a breath. "Are you serious? Her final wish was a booty call with an angel?"
Sam crossed his arms and to Dean's mind seemed a little smug, like he'd just caught Cas jerking off to porn.
Castiel's frown held a hint of annoyance. "That you, of all humans, would have a problem with a final 'booty call' astounds me to no end. You perplex me, Dean."
"I," Dean pointed to himself and then Cas, "perplex you?"
"If she had come to you --"
"I'd have blown her damn head off."
"She's dying, Dean. It'll be hundreds of years before she can maneuver herself from the pit again, if it does happen at all. A last request is not unheard of in situations --"
Sam laughed, then cleared his throat. "Sorry, I just can't hold this in any longer. Welcome to the club, Cas."
"Club? What club," Dean asked, turning to Sam and narrowing his eyes at him.
"Or clubs, plural, I should say. The 'thinking with your dick' club. The 'it seemed like a good idea at the time' club. Oh, and the 'she's a demon but not really, trust me' club. Sometimes the tension just can't be denied, can it?" Sam shrugged. "Isn't rationalizing grand?"
He blinked. "Tell me you're kidding, Sammy."
"I don't expect you to understand." Castiel moved away from the bed and Meg, features sliding into his marble statue expression.
"Not kidding." Sam continued as though Castiel hadn't spoken. "It wasn't just that she asked, Dean. He wanted to screw her. It all boils down to him wanting some hot, old-fashioned hate sex." He raised his brows. "With Meg."
Dean felt queasy. "I'm going to throw-up now."
Castiel was suddenly beside them. "I don't ask you to understand my motivations if, in fact, I did have any at all."
Rubbing the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger, Dean shook his head. "I'm going to pretend I didn't just hear that you both wanted and had hate sex with Meg, okay?"
"I didn't admit to the motivation or the wanting of such an act."
Sam placed a hand on Cas's shoulder. "Yeah, you did admit to it."
For a moment, Castiel's angelic superiority dropped to very human bewilderment. "I made no admission."
"It was in the denial."
"That makes no sense," he argued. "A denial is a denial. It means…." Behind him, Meg stirred, rolling over beneath the sheet and groaning. Castiel tipped his head back as though listening to something only he could hear. His manner shifted, became urgent. "Gather your things."
"Because they're coming for her."
"Not who, Dean. What. Hellhounds." That small, chilling smirk turned his lips once more. "Do you really want to be in their way when they come through that door? They are what's hunting her."
Hellhounds? Who exactly had she pissed off to get that punishment? For the briefest of seconds, Dean felt sorry for her, but then he remembered Jo and Ellen and his own experience with the hellhounds.
They could have the bitch. Poetic justice was right.
Meg heard the hounds before she saw them. The being who'd done this to her, who'd made her weak and human, was right about the poetic aspects she decided. How many people had she set the hounds on these past weeks? How many people had she watched ripped to shreds? How often had she gotten a thrill from knowing that if the hounds weren't leashed properly, they'd even tear her apart?
And now they came for her.
She heard their snarls and howls, knew the pain would be terrible. Dread in what she knew was coming slid along her flesh like the slow caressing hand of a lover. Her heart pounded in her chest, the sour sweat of fear coating her skin. Their claws would scratch, their teeth rip her flesh. She would feel agony of body and soul long before they dragged her back into the pit.
Meg cowered naked in the corner of the motel room, body shaking. This time, there was no saving her ass. Back into the pit she'd go, at the bottom of the ladder, needing to work her way back up in slow increments. Hundreds of years wasted. A thousand and more wrongs she'd perpetrated upon others were coming due in a karmic way, judgment meted out upon her.
She drew into as small a ball as she could, closing her eyes and clinging to the memory of Castiel -- his hands on her body and mouth on hers. She covered her ears and remembered him against her, a piece of heaven's light never truly hers.
The door splintered inwards.
The hounds swarmed into the room.