Archive of Our Own ^beta

There’s snow piled high on the ground when Meg emerges from the Gate. She takes two steps, sinking up to her knees in the stuff, and smiles even as it melts around her feet. The weather on Earth is no match for her own internal temperature, which always seems to echo Hell’s, no matter where she goes.

She takes a dozen more steps before she pauses, reaches into her coat, and pulls out her pocket watch. The skulls on the front grin up at her before she opens it and finds the face blank. She stares at her reflection in the smooth, black surface for a moment before she snaps it shut and resumes her journey. She has time, then, before she has to get to work.

The snow still falls, tumbling down from the sky in large, fluffy flakes that melt as soon as they touch her body, leaving water behind on her face and in her hair. Still, she takes some time to enjoy the feeling of it and the scenery around her. There’s no snow in Hell, after all.

Since she has some time, Meg heads down the street, lured by the smell of coffee and pastries, and buys herself a donut and some coffee. The cashier, a girl in her early twenties with dark blonde hair, is absurdly easy to hypnotize, handing over Meg’s food without even a token protest. Smiling, Meg collects her treats and heads back into the cold, easily weaving around the gaggle of humans hiding from the weather.

When she steps outside, the scent of ozone cuts through the scents of coffee and snow and human. Wrinkling her nose in distaste, Meg heads in the opposite direction of the smell. Demons and angels may have a truce, but that doesn’t mean she wants to deal with one of them today. The truce between their kinds is shaky enough as it is.

She walks until she finds a park mostly devoid of humans and settles down onto one of the benches, easily clearing the snow away with a wave of her hand. She checks her pocketwatch again, finds it blank, and tucks into her treat. The jelly is overly sweet on her tongue, a sharp contrast to the bitterness of her coffee, but welcome after spending so long in Hell. The wind blows, causing some of her hair to fly into her mouth. Cursing, Meg brushes the dark strands back, freezing when the smell of ozone floods her nostrils as the wind clears.

“Hey,” she says. She doesn’t turn to look at the angel. Instead, she stares at the cheerfully decorated tree in the middle of the park. The lights are off, of course, since it is the middle of the day, and the Christmas ornaments are covered in frost. But it is pretty enough, she supposes. Better looking than the angel probably is, at any rate.

“What are you doing up here?” the angel asks. Meg finally turns to face him and swallows a groan when she sees who it is. Castiel. Of course she would be the one to wind up face to face with one of the angels who argued against the angel-demon truce.

“I’m working,” she grunts. “I have the contract tucked away and everything.” Meg pats the other pocket of her coat.

Castiel snorts and sits down next to her. “You’re a little high ranking to be on collection duty.”

Meg rolls her eyes. “High profile client. Dad thought it’d be best to send me instead of one of the worms. Besides, I don’t need a reason to be up here, remember?”

“I know the terms of the truce,” he snaps. Meg sighs and takes another sip of her coffee, and wishes that she’d gotten his brother, Gabriel, instead. He was one of the few angels Meg actually liked, and one of the few with a sense of humor. As if reading her mind, Castiel snorts. “As if we’d allow you two to interact again.”

“Don’t like your brother slumming it with the Hellspawn?” she asks. The last time she and Gabriel had met up, they’d each drank half a liquor store and woken up in the Caribbean, each of them wearing matching, but truly horrendous, Hawaiian shirts. Gabriel had been sporting a fresh set of nipple rings, and Meg had been covered head to toe in body paint. They’d proceeded to spend three days partying on a beach before their respective species had shown up to reclaim them. The angels had glowered at her, while her father had simply sighed and shaken his head.

“Part of the truce was that we agreed to stay out of each other’s way. We can’t have your kind corrupting him,” Castiel says.

“There wasn’t any corrupting going on,” Meg argues. “If you took that stick out of your ass and had some fun once in a while, you’d see that.”

That silences him long enough for Meg to finish her donut and drink the last of her coffee.

“I don’t like the truce,” Castiel says. “You know I don’t.”

Meg sighs. “I don’t, either. But it’s in place. We just have to learn to get around it.” Castiel turns to look at her, and Meg finds herself doing the same. Both of them are old enough to remember the time before their species got together and formed a shaky alliance, and both of them are old enough to have known angels and demons that were killed before it was in place.

“Your brother murdered a couple of my cousins, and I still hung out with him,” Meg reminds Castiel. “Blood under the bridge, as it were.”

“It is…difficult,” Castiel admits. “We’re supposed to save humans, not stand back and watch them sign their souls away.”

“Yeah, and I’m supposed to cause destruction and general mischief, not collect souls like some errand girl. I’m a couple thousand years too old to do that,” Meg says. The pocket watch begins to shake inside her coat. Meg draws it out with a sigh and flips it open. There are streaks of purple marring the smooth, black surface of the watch face, a sign that it is almost time to leave and collect her charge.

She almost recoils when the angel leans in close to take a peek at her watch. His cheek almost touches hers, and the smell of ozone is even stronger. She does not pull away, though, not wanting to show any sort of weakness in front of the angel. When she glances away from the watch, she sees an older human woman watching the two of them, a slight smile on her face. Meg supposes that, to any unsuspecting human, the two of them look like a young couple out for a stroll on a harsh winter’s day.

When she glances at Castiel, Meg sees a small frown on his face. “What? You confused?”

“There are no numbers,” he mumbles. They turn to look at each other at the same time, so close their noses are almost brushing. Castiel doesn’t bother to pull away, so Meg doesn’t, either. She learned long ago that his kind has no concept of personal space, even when it comes to their natural enemies.

“It won’t have any numbers for another couple of minutes, probably,” she tells him. “They’re blank unless they’re telling you something.”

“I’ve never seen one up close before,” he confesses. Castiel squints down at the watch, his head tilted slightly to the side. Meg stifles a laugh. He looks like a cat confronted with a particularly puzzling toy.

“Here,” she says, placing the watch in his hands. Castiel jumps slightly at the contact, but finally draws away from her, sitting up fully to study the watch face.

“How do they work?” he asks, turning the silver pocket watch over in his hands.

“I’m not one hundred percent sure,” Meg says. “The contracts are signed in blood, of course, both the demon’s and the human’s. They’re all connected to the main contract offices in Hell and are keyed through blood, and they’ll start shaking when it’s almost time. When it’s real close, it’ll start glowing. It’s all done through blood magic. Kind of a magical wi-fi, I guess.”

As if on cue, the streaks of purple on the watch face swirl together and it begins to glow. The watch vibrates, and when it dims again there are roman numerals and six hands decorating the face. Two of them are stationary, pointing out the time, while the other four continue to rotate clockwise. Meg watches the hands move for a moment before she nods.

“You can read this?” Castiel asks.

“Of course. His deal comes due in four minutes,” Meg says. As she speaks, three of the hands settle at the top of the watch while the fourth begins to move, counting the seconds. “He’s four streets away, too. North. Dad did good. He popped me up here real close. Last time I did a collection, he shoved me up here six miles from my target.”

For the first time Meg can remember, the angel looks like he’s impressed. “You can tell all that?”

She laughs. “It’s not that hard. They teach us this, you know.” She holds her hand out for the watch, and Castiel hands it to her without comment, careful to keep their fingers from touching. “Anyway, I better get to that. Shouldn’t you be doing work, too? Healing little children in hospitals or looking over little miracles?”

Castiel brightens. “I performed three miracles today. Two couples that have been unable to conceive will be doing so tonight, and I helped a young woman in the hospital who was experiencing a complicated birth.”

“Well, aren’t you just the spirit of Christmas. They should stick you on top of that tree over there,” Meg drawls. “See you around, Clarence.”

His eyebrows wrinkle in confusion. “My name is Castiel.”

“Ask your brother. He’s probably seen that movie,” Meg tells him. She stands and shoves the pocket watch back into her coat. “Hey, throw out the coffee cup for me, will ya?”

She gives him a cheery wave and walks away before he can answer. Mercifully, the angel does not follow.

.

Meg sighs gratefully as the hot water washes over her, glad to be done for the day. There is a certain pleasure in torturing human souls, especially those that deserve it, but it can be exhausting. The water, scalding hot thanks to the flames of Hell, feels like a warm rain when it falls onto her skin. She washes away the dried blood and bits of flesh clinging to her body, wrinkling her nose when she finds a tooth stuck in her hair. No matter how careful she is, something always winds up caught in her tresses.

Finally, warm and squeaky clean, she emerges from the large, stone shower and meanders to her room. Her Hellhound, Spitz, raises his head from the rug and gives her a doggie smile, tail thumping on the floor. She absently reaches down to pet him between the ears before she goes to dress.

She slips into a clean pair of jeans and pulls a loose purple tank top over her head, leaving her dirty clothes on the floor for one of the human servants to come and collect later. Her hair dries quickly, thanks to the ever present heat. Meg ignores the sound of the door opening, expecting it to be one of the human souls chained to her family, and drops her brush in surprise when she sees her father in the mirror.

“Hey, dad,” she says, scrambling to pick it up. “What do you need?”

“I heard you were talking to an angel the last time you were upstairs,” Azazel says. He fixes his pale yellow eyes on her hazel ones and sighs heavily. “Meg, we may have a truce between us, but…”

“We just happened to be in the same area, that’s all,” Meg says. “He was doing some miracles at the hospital a couple of blocks away and wanted to make sure I wasn’t up to something.”

“And you kept your temper?”

“I think you would’ve heard about it if I didn’t,” she says, unable to stop anger from creeping into her voice. “I didn’t do anything.”

“The last time you claimed not to have done anything, the angels thought you kidnapped Gabriel,” Azazel snaps.

“That was more of a mutual kidnapping. A stupid drunken decision. Well, a series of stupid drunken decisions,” she amends. “Besides, Castiel told me that the other angels told him we weren’t allowed to be together anymore.”

Azazel raises one pale eyebrow. “Oh, so the angel has a name?”

“What is this really about?” Meg asks.

Her father sighs and settles into the small chair in front of her desk. “The angels were…concerned when we found you and Gabriel.”

“Concerned?”

“They thought the two of you had been fucking and you were knocked up,” Azazel says. “And they didn’t like that. There aren’t any laws in place, of course, but it is frowned upon.”

“I didn’t have sex with Castiel,” Meg growls. “We sat on a park bench and talked. That’s it.”

“I just wanted to make sure,” Azazel says. “The truce is…fragile.”

Meg sighs heavily and sits down on her bed. Her room in Hell isn’t exactly large, but it isn’t small, either. As the daughter of the king, she has a lot of freedom, and a lot of privileges.

And maybe, she decides, now is the time to use them.

“I’m going upstairs for a while,” she tells her father. “Getting out of here.”

“You have work to do,” he points out. “There’s that serial killer that was just executed last week. You said you wanted him. Begged me for him.”

“Give him to Tom or Ruby,” Meg says. “I’m taking a vacation.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Azazel argues.

“Mom used to do it all the time,” Meg reminds him. Her mother, Lilith, used to spend weeks topside, living among the humans, causing general chaos and mischief. She had taken Meg a couple of times when she was younger, back before the truce between angels and demons, back when demons could still wreak havoc in the human world without worrying about destroying the fragile peace between them and the angels.

“Your mother died on one of those trips,” Azazel reminds her.

“Well, I’m not going to slaughter a group of toddlers and make it look like a cannibalistic cult did it,” Meg says. “I’m going to go sit on a beach. I need to get out of Hell for a while. Aside from doing collections, I haven’t had a vacation in a while.”

“Because the last time I let you upstairs without a job you joined a band and drove around America with a van full of humans,” Azazel says, his mouth twitching with the beginnings of a smile.

“I played a mean tambourine,” she says. “Anyway, I’m going. Think of it as my Christmas vacation from the office.”

“We’re demons. We don’t celebrate the birth of Christ.”

“Think of it as my winter solstice vacation, then.”

“Better.”

.

It isn’t that Meg hates Hell. There’s a lot she loves about her home. She loves the lake of boiling water she swam in with Tom when they were children, loves raising the Hellhound puppies that Spitz has fathered over the years. She loves torturing human souls with her family, loves helping her aunt Cecily grow and feed the man eating plants that grow in bunches along the mountains, loves exploring the stark beauty of her home.

But there is so much about the human world that she loves. Chocolate and movies and snow and alcohol and, before the truce, and endless supply of humans to kill and maim and torture. She had walked the world when it was still young, and watched it grow. Watched the humans grow and learn until the planet was filled with buildings that towered as tall as mountains and technology that made it possible for them to make it to the moon and back. She had watched the first silent film, and then the first talkie, and eventually feature length animated films and color films. She had flown in early model planes and driven the first cars. She could drive a forklift and scuba dive and was looking forward to commercial space travel.

Meg exits the Gate of Hell and breathes in the crisp, fresh air. The snow has melted during her time in Hell, but the smell still lingers in the air, promising a fresh snowfall sometime soon. She reaches into the pocket of her coat, pulls out a thick pair of gloves, and pulls them on before she begins her walk, trying to decide what to do.

She could go anywhere, could go to France or Korea or Canada or the Caribbean, and do just about anything. She cannot kill, of course, cannot maim or torture or bathe in blood, but she can indulge in the other things humanity has to offer.

The smell of barbeque floods her nose as she walks down the street, and Meg smiles. First, she thinks, she will eat. Then she will decide what to do with the rest of her free time.

.

She’s in the park again, devouring a hot dog, when the smell of ozone floods her nose once again. Meg doesn’t bother to greet whatever angel has decided to bother her. Instead, she wipes the mustard away from her mouth and continues eating. The angel will do whatever they want, regardless of what she says.

“What? No hello for your favorite tree-topper?” a male voice says. Meg drops her hot dog in surprise and turns to see Gabriel smiling at her.

She immediately jumps up from the bench and throws herself at him, wrapping the angel up into a hug. He laughs as the heat from her body melts the snow clinging to his clothes and hair, but returns her hug, anyway, taking extra time to spin her around.

“You made me drop my hot dog,” she teases when he puts her down. Gabriel only smiles, waves his hand, and hands her a fresh one that he conjures out of thin air. He gives her an exaggerated bow when she claps good naturedly for him.

“Long time no see,” he says, sitting on the bench. Meg sits down next to him, tucking into her new meal. “A little bird told me that you came upstairs recently.”

“Your brother decided to play twenty questions with me,” she says dryly. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but why are you here? Castiel told me that the higher ups decided we shouldn’t be allowed near each other anymore after last time.”

“Yeah, apparently drunkenly kidnapping the daughter of the king of Hell is frowned upon,” Gabriel says. “Michael wasn’t pleased that I was spending time with a demon. Only, he was far less nice with the way he phrased it.”

Meg rolls her eyes. “I imagine. But that doesn’t answer my question. Did you sneak away to spend some time with your other friends and just stop by to say hello, or are you looking for another adventure?”

“I was actually wondering what you were doing up here,” Gabriel says. Meg watches him reach into the pocket of his own coat, pull a lollipop out, and stick it in his mouth. “After all, your father took you off collecting a while ago, and you’re not supposed to be buying souls too close to a holy day, either.”

“I’m on vacation,” Meg informs him. “No buying souls, no collecting. Just enjoying some time away from Hell. I was thinking about heading down south in a couple of days. Find a beach and drink beer and watch surfers wipe out.”

“So, you’re going to be up here for a couple of weeks, then?”  Gabriel asks. “No going back to Hell, no causing trouble?”

“I won’t be going back for a while unless I cause trouble.” Meg finishes her hot dog, bunches up her napkin, and uses her powers to send it flying into a trash can. “Why? Wanna go get in some trouble?”

“I need a favor,” Gabriel says, face suddenly serious. “Cas is actually in a little trouble, and he’s been grounded for a few weeks. He’s having some trouble adjusting.”

Meg snorts. “You mean he’s completely hopeless.”

Gabriel flashes her a smile. “He is at that. I’ve been watching him, but Uriel wants me home to look over some things, and if he’s left to his own devices, well…”

“He’ll do something stupid,” Meg finishes for him. “Not that I’d ever pass up an opportunity to watch an angel fall flat on his face, but why ask me? Why not send another angel to watch him?”

“He’s not supposed to have contact with any of us,” Gabriel explains. “He performed and unauthorized miracle, and Michael overreacted. Said that the rules were in place for a reason and there are consequences to every action. Someone else died because of the person he saved. And the person he saved was--”

“One of ours,” Meg interrupts. “Brady was complaining about one of his deals falling through a couple of days ago. Dad said he’d take care of it.”

“It’s a violation of the contract between our species, so Michael went a little nuts with Castiel’s punishment. At least he left him with his powers, but I had to talk him out of exiling Castiel permanently,” Gabriel continues. “He’s not supposed to have any contact with any of us, either, so I’ve only been able to watch over him, not guide him.”

“And you think he’d be okay with a demon babysitting him?” Meg asks. “The rest of you tree toppers aren’t exactly friendly toward us.”

Gabriel shrugs. “Same can be said for you guys. I’m not friendly with other demons, either. Just you. And Tom, sometimes. He’s alright.”

Meg raises her eyebrows. “You’ve hung out with my brother?”

“Once or twice.” Gabriel sighs and leans back on the bench. “So, will you do it?”

“What do I get out of it?” Meg asks. “This is supposed to be my vacation, after all. I didn’t want to spend it working.”

“This,” Gabriel says. He smiles, reaches into his coat, and pulls out an angel blade. The metal gleams in the watery sunlight, almost glowing blue with internal grace.

Meg instinctively recoils from the blade. Angels can kill her kind with nothing more than a touch, burning them up from the inside out, but so can their blades. Her father had told her once that any wound given to a demon by an angel blade would take centuries to heal, and had once shown her the evidence himself, lifting up his shirt so she could see the shallow, shining wound in his side, a souvenir from tangling with an angel called Inias.

“That isn’t your blade. Where did you get it?” Meg whispers. As far as she knows, angel blades are extremely hard to come by, since they’re an extension of the angel that wields them. “You’re not supposed to have that. I’m not supposed to have that.”

“More of you died than us back when we were fighting, but a few of your demons managed to take some angels down,” Gabriel says. “I pocketed it. Figured I might have a use for it someday. Now I do.”

“I’m not supposed to have that,” Meg repeats. “If I’m caught with it…”

“Someone will assume it’s a trophy from when another demon killed an angel, or that your father gave it to you. There are a few floating around. Very hard to find, of course, and expensive.” Gabriel holds the blade out to her, hilt first. “Go on. Test it out. Just don’t stab me.”

Meg hesitantly reaches out and closes her fingers around the hilt. Almost instantly, the angel blade seems to hum angrily, as if sensing that it is being held by something that it is supposed to kill. But she can feel the power in the blade, can feel the anger and misery and pain that its former owner felt before they died. She stands, still clutching it, and tests the balance. Deceptively light, it fits perfectly in her hand, as if it was made for her and not a holy being.

“You must really love your brother if you’re willing to trade me this for a favor,” she grunts after taking a few practice swings with it.

“I do,” Gabriel tells her. “If you agree, I’ll give it to you once he’s allowed back into Heaven. Do we have a deal?”

Meg hands him back the angel blade. “We have a deal.”

Gabriel sticks his hand out, as if waiting for Meg to shake it. Amused, she laughs and shakes her head.

“You said we had a deal,” Gabriel says, puzzled.

“Oh, honey. Demon here. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten how we seal our contracts,” she says, smiling. Gabriel’s eyes widen as her words sink in, but after a moment Meg can see amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Come here,” he says. Meg walks until she’s standing right in front of him and tilts her head back to wait. Gabriel, ever gentle, grips the back of her head and bends to place a soft kiss on her lips.

“Deal sealed,” she says when he pulls away. “Now, where’s your brother?”

“I’ll take you,” Gabriel offers. He holds his hand out once again, wiggling the fingers. Meg sighs and takes it.

“I hate flying.”

“You don’t even remember the last time we flew somewhere.”

“I remember throwing up afterward.”

“That was probably from all the tequila,” Gabriel says. “Just close your eyes.”

Meg tightens her grip on Gabriel’s hand and, for once, does as she’s told. She feels her feet leave the ground and the wind sing in her ears as the angel takes off. It only takes a moment before she feels her feet touch solid ground once again, sinking into snow that comes nearly up to her waist. The world still spins around her, even with her eyes closed, and Meg takes a few deep breaths before she dares to open them, trying to center herself.

Instead, she turns and vomits into the rapidly melting snow.

“You put us in a snowdrift,” she whines.

Gabriel rolls his eyes. “You’re melting it.”

Meg wipes her mouth and glares at him. “Whatever. Where’s your brother?”

“Inside.” Gabriel gestures at the small diner across the street. Turning, Meg squints and just manages to locate Castiel inside. The angel is sitting at one of the tables, his shoulder slumped, with a steaming cup of coffee in front of him.

“He looks sad,” Meg says before she can stop herself. Because he does. His shoulders are slumped in defeat, his icy blue eyes are clouded, and his hair is flat on his head, like a bird that’s been sprayed with water. He looks more than sad. He looks defeated. Lost.

“Well, he hasn’t had any contact with angels since Michael kicked him down here about a week ago,” Gabriel tells her. “So, you go on over. I’m not supposed to talk to him. I’ll come by when Michael has everything sorted out with your dad and he can come home.”

Meg nods. “Alright. See you soon.”

“See you soon,” Gabriel agrees. And then he goes, vanishing before Meg can blink, leaving her in a rapidly melting snowbank. Meg sighs and works her way out of it, easily melting a path through the snow. She crosses the street with a token glance in each direction, glad to see that it is nearly deserted. Not that a car could kill her, of course. The vehicle would probably have more damage. But she knew from experience that getting hit by a car was unpleasant, and usually involved a lot of mess.

Castiel doesn’t even look up when she enters the diner, but continues staring miserably at his coffee. She ignores the hostess and heads right for his table, plunking herself down into the booth and picking up a menu.

“Demon,” Castiel greets, finally looking up from his coffee.

“I know you know my name.” Meg doesn’t bother to look away from the breakfast selection. “You been in here long?”

“A few minutes,” he replies. “Of course I know your name. You’re Azazel’s daughter, after all.”

“Well, you should use it. We’re going to be spending an awful lot of time together,” she tells him. “I just talked to Gabriel. He asked me to babysit you while you’re down here.”

“So he told you the whole story then?” Castiel asks. When she nods, he takes a sip of his coffee and sighs. “Michael is understandably very angry with me, but I’ve never spent more than a few hours among humans at a time. It has been a difficult adjustment.”

“Yeah, Gabriel said that you were lousy at pretending to be a human,” Meg says. “You’re probably not enthusiastic about being babysat by a demon, but he asked. And he’s paying me pretty good.”

“While I’m not enthusiastic that it is a demon he’s asked to watch over me, I’d rather it be another supernatural creature than a human,” Castiel admits. “I can have no contact with angels, and I find it…stifling. To have to hide what I am.”

“So you’re not going to fight me?” Meg asks.

Castiel’s lips twitch in the beginning of a smile. “Well, the truce wouldn’t allow it.”

Meg finds herself smiling at him. “Who knew angels other than Gabriel had a sense of humor?”

“Some of us more than others. Uriel is the funniest angel among us.” Castiel takes a deep breath and finishes his coffee. “I have to ask, though, why you agreed to do this.”

“I told you, your brother’s paying me good,” she tells him. “Why are you so alright with this?”

“Gabriel considers you a friend,” Castiel answers softly. “If he trusts you, then I will accept this. And I believe that you will follow the terms of the truce.”

“Yeah. No murdering, cannibalism, destruction, or torture while I’m upstairs,” Meg says dryly. “Basically no fun.”

Their waitress appears before Castiel can reply. Meg orders enough food for five humans and a coffee of her own. Castiel simply shakes his head when the woman asks if he wants anything else, but takes the coffee that she offers.

“You’re going to eat all that?” he asks. Meg shrugs and stirs a generous amount of sugar into her coffee.

“Demon. Living embodiment of sin,” she points out. “Gluttony comes with the territory.”

“I thought demons didn’t need to eat.”

“We don’t. Angels don’t, either, but your brother eats. You’re drinking coffee.”

“It seemed like the thing to do,” Castiel says. “It would have looked odd if I just sat here doing nothing.”

Meg makes a small noise of agreement and opens another pack of sugar. When she takes a sip, her coffee is far too sweet. She drinks it down, anyway, and licks at sticky, sugary residue that lines the inside of her mouth. Thankfully, Castiel doesn’t try to talk to her again until her food arrives. His eyes widen when he sees the amount of food piled on the plates.

Meg pours syrup over her pancakes, spears some on her fork, and offers it to him. “Try some.”

“I don’t need it,” Castiel argues. She rolls her eyes.

“It’ll look weird if I sit here and devour all this food and you don’t eat anything. Just try some.”

Castiel hesitates for a moment, but relents when Meg raises her eyebrows and extends her reach just a little more. She doesn’t think about how ridiculous it’d look to any other angel or demon, her feeding him pancakes that neither of them needs to eat. Instead, she finds herself smiling as Castiel’s eyes light up when the food hits his tongue.

“It’s…good,” he says. “Meg, may I?”

“Well, you can’t have all of it,” she says. “But you can have some. I guess.”

Castiel opens his own silverware, smiles, and digs in. Slowly, Meg coaxes him into trying all of the different food at the table, laughing at his pained expression when the peppers in her hash browns hit his tongue and hitting his hand away with her fork when he tries to take the last piece of French toast.

“That was…educational,” he tells her when they’ve cleared their plates.

“You’d be surprised what you learn when you take the stick out of your ass and try new things.” Meg pats her stomach and gives a contented sigh. “Alright, down to business. What did Michael tell you to do while you were down here?”

“Nothing,” Castiel says. “He just--just sent me away. I was given no instructions.”

“So, your brother just dumped you on Earth with no idea what you should do?” Stunned, Meg sits back in the booth. “That’s ass.”

“Well, I was forbidden from using my powers,” he continues. “He doesn’t even want me flying. I can’t heal anyone or perform miracles or communicate with other angels. I’m alone, and essentially powerless. I can only be grateful that he did not strip me of my abilities.”

“That’s still ass,” Meg insists. “If Tom tried something like that, I’d punch him.”

“Michael may be my brother, but he is my leader. I have to follow his commands. And I do deserve this punishment. What I did could jeopardize the fragile peace between our species,” Castiel points out.

Meg frowns. As much as she doesn’t want to admit it, Castiel has a point. Sighing, she heaves herself out of the booth. “Come on, then. Let’s find something to do.”

“Don’t we have to pay?” Castiel asks. Meg frowns at him.

“Um, no? Demon, remember. I’ll just hypnotize them so they’ll forget we were ever here.”

“But that’s not right. This woman served us when the booth could have gone to another paying customer. She should be compensated for her time.”

Castiel stares at her, all big blue eyes, and Meg can practically see the halo glowing over his head. Groaning, she pats down her coat until she finds a few stray bills and throws them on the table.

“There you go, goody two shoes. Satisfied?”

“Extremely.”

“Then let’s go figure out what to do.”

.

For lack of ideas, Meg takes him to the movies. She figures that it’ll keep him occupied and quiet until she can figure out exactly what to do with him.

If it were another demon, it would be easy to figure out what to do. The two of them could go to bars and drink and start fights, or play little tricks on the humans there, knocking over glasses and cheating at pool. They could find an abandoned house or asylum and pretend to haunt it, scaring human teenagers. They could wander into the wilderness and hunt with bare hands and teeth, relieving their bloodlust in a way that keeps the terms of the truce.

Instead, she has to find some way to occupy an angel.

They spent nearly all day in the movie theater, cycling through everything that’s playing while Meg rolls her eyes and tells Castiel to just enjoy them when complains about sneaking in. She doesn’t care what they watch, sitting there silently while some Disney flick plays, but finds some amusement when they settle in for a horror film and sees Castiel flinch during the jump scares.

“I have never seen a movie before,” Castiel admits when they finally stumble out of the theater. It’s bitterly cold out and the snow has started to fall again, covering the world in a blanket of white. “I find some of them enjoyable. The horror film was not to my taste, but the one with the singing animals was quite pleasant.”

“I can’t fucking believe you like Disney,” Meg says. She begins to walk aimlessly down the street, patting her pockets as she goes, and smiles when she finds a crumpled, half empty pack of cigarettes. She pops one in her mouth and, lacking a lighter, snaps her fingers together to create a small burst of fire.

“I didn’t know demons could do that,” Castiel breathes.

Meg takes a deep pull of her cigarette and exhales. “Course we can. Angels can’t?”

“We can create light,” Castiel says slowly. “But fire? No, that is not in our pool of abilities.”

“Makes sense, I guess,” Meg grunts. “You’re up in the attic with the sun and shit, and we’re down in the basement with the furnace.”

 “That’s an odd way to describe it.”

She shrugs and flicks the ashes off her cigarette. “Well, that’s kind of how I always looked at it. It’s like a house. We’re down in the basement with the furnace and the junk nobody wants. Earth’s the main floor, where everybody lives. You guys are the attic, where you store family shit and it might be a little boring and dusty, but generally it’s okay.”

“So what would that make purgatory?” Castiel asks. Meg can’t quite decide if he sounds genuinely curious or if he’s teasing her.

She answers, anyway. “The screened in porch. Nice sometimes, horrible others, but not meant to be lived in permanently.”

“That is an interesting way to think of it,” Castiel says. “Generally, angels prefer not to think about Hell.”

“Yeah, well, angels don’t have to live there,” Meg snaps.

“I did not mean to offend.”

Meg rolls her eyes. “Of course not. Angels think we’re rats.”

She flicks her cigarette butt into the street. Without saying anything, Castiel retrieves it, crushes the smoking remnants against the ground, and deposits it in a garbage can. “You have to admit, your kind doesn’t exactly have kind thoughts for angels, either.”

“No,” she admits. “We don’t.”

Blessedly, Castiel does not try to continue their conversation. Instead, he walks silently beside her, simply following wherever she goes. She doesn’t speak to him, either, or even pay attention to where they’re going. Instead, she looks down at her feet as she walks, hands stuffed into her pockets.

When she finally looks up, she sees that she’s unconsciously walked to her usual apartment building. Demons don’t need sleep, of course, but sometimes, and only while on Earth, Meg enjoys the peace it brings her. A few hours without thinking or feeling is welcome after a long day of collecting souls.

“C’mon,” she mumbles. “Let’s go up.”

“We shouldn’t break into someone’s home,” Castiel protests.

“We aren’t,” Meg says. “It’s mine. Well, technically dad’s. But we use it if we’re gonna be up here for a couple of days. Earth’s a bit draining.”

Meg grabs Castiel’s hand before he and protest and simply teleports them into the middle of the living room. The apartment is small and cramped, the slate gray paint peeling off the walls and the furniture old and scratched. It smells of Hellfire and blood and beer and sex, and Meg finds it familiar and comforting.

In contrast, Castiel looks dizzy. He sways on his feet and rapidly shakes his head, trying to reorient himself, and clutches her hand in a bone crushing grip when she tries to pull away. Instead of forcing him off of her, Meg reaches out and takes his other hand.

“Breathe,” she instructs.

“I can’t. The walls are still spinning,” he mutters, and Meg notices the faint tinge of green in his complexion.

“Castiel, don’t you dare--” she warns, right before the angel doubles over and pukes on her shoes.

.

“I can’t believe you vomited,” she says later as they watch some old war movie playing on the television. “I didn’t think angels could do that.”

“Teleportation was rougher than I thought. Combined with all of the food that my body isn’t used to, I suppose that it was simply overwhelming,” he mumbles. “I don’t think I enjoyed teleportation.”

“You fly,” Meg reminds him.

“It is an entirely different sensation, as you well know,” Castiel says. “Although, you probably handled flying better.”

“Nah, I puked,” Meg admits. “At least I did this time. I might’ve when Gabriel and I had our little party. I really don’t remember getting to the island. Or deciding to go to the island. Or really anything after we started on the vodka.”

“How did that even happen?” he asks.

“Michael and dad were in a meeting and we were guarding the door, and when Tom and Hael came to relieve us we decided to get a beer. And it turned into four beers. Then it turned into going to the club. Then it turned into breaking into a liquor store. The next thing I knew I woke up on a beach covered in body paint and your brother was snoring next to me. And after that, well, we just decided to hang out until they came to collect us,” Meg explains. “Your brother’s alright. He knows how to party.”

“Well, he did spend some time with the pagan gods,” Castiel muses.

“Guess that got the stick out of his ass,” Meg teases.

Castiel actually laughs at that. “Well, I don’t think Gabriel ever had a stick up his ass, as you put it. He’s always been more comical in nature. He can be serious, of course, but rarely chooses to.”

“I think the rest of you guys could use some loosening up,” Meg says.

“I think your kind is a bit too loose,” Castiel says.

Meg laughs then. “Well, I’m not saying that you should go slaughter a village and dance naked around a fire covered in blood and entrails. Maybe just spend a day at the beach or go ice skating and have a beer, or something.”

“Have you done that?” Castiel asks.

“Dancing naked around a fire covered in blood and guts or ice skating?”

“All of it, I suppose.”

“Yeah, all of it.” Meg smiles and leans back into the couch. Back before peace had been made between their kinds and demons were bound to the terms of the truce between them, she had loved to bathe in blood whenever they visited the living world. She and her friends had spent endless nights wearing nothing but the blood of their victims, dancing around fires or feasting on human flesh. She and Ruby still had matching necklaces made of human teeth and bones, and her mother, Lilith, had been the first one to feed her flesh and show her how to crack the bones for marrow.

But she’d also gone ice skating with her father, had held his hand and laughed with him as she fell repeatedly on her backside and let her father guide her in circles around the rink. She’d gone to the beach with her brother and the other demons their age, spent days lying in the sun and swimming and laughing as they boiled the water they swam in and ate the fish that floated to the surface.

“I’ve never done anything like that,” Castiel says, pulling her from her memories. “Ice skating or going to the beach, I mean. I’ve been covered in blood. Of course, it wasn’t human and I wasn’t naked, but I hardly think it makes a difference.”

“You’d be surprised,” she says dryly. She knows for a fact that he’s been covered in demon blood. He’s a soldier, after all, and has definitely killed a couple dozen of her kind before. “There’s something pure about it.”

“If you say so,” he says.

Meg simply grunts and reaches over to grab the remote. She tosses it at him, and sighs when it bounces off the chair and onto the floor. “Here. I’m going to bed. Watch some TV. There’s beer in the fridge and some toaster waffles in the freezer.”

Castiel picks the remote up off the floor. “Have a pleasant rest.”

.

Meg awakens to the smell of something burning, groans, and rolls out of bed.

“What in the name of Hell did you do?” she yawns. Smoke fills the small kitchen, so thick she can barely make out Castiel’s form, and not for the first time Meg is grateful that the apartment has no smoke alarms.

Castiel coughs and emerges from the smoke, waving his hands to try to clear it. “I have no idea. I attempted to make waffles in the toaster.”

Sighing, Meg crosses the room and throws open a window. “Do me a favor and flap your wings a bit.”

“I’m not supposed to.”

“You don’t have to fly. Just flap them so it’ll push the smoke out.”

After Castiel does as he’s told the room clears almost immediately. Blinking away the sting in her eyes, Meg sighs again when she sees a broken, twisted mess where her toaster used to be.

“I suppose Gabriel was right,” Castiel says. “I do need watching.”

Meg only shakes her head. “Tomorrow we’re replacing the toaster.”

.

It takes them three hours to buy a toaster.

Firstly, Castiel, despite sleeping for maybe ten minutes, looks an absolute mess. His clothes are rumpled beyond repair, his dark hair sticks up in every direction, and his tie is backward. Meg feels like she’s dressing a child as she uses her powers to straighten his clothes and smooth down his hair. There’s nothing to be done about the tie, though. He simply re-ties it backward when she fixes it, so she lets it go.

Then, he insists on stopping at the diner again, and keeps her pinned there with his big, blue eyes until she pays the full amount. After that, he insists on walking instead of teleporting, claiming that he wants to enjoy the day.

Finally, releasing Castiel into a department store is almost as bad as a kid in a candy store. There are so many people around that he starts to walk toward, as if to help them, before he deflates and shuffles back to her side, head down. He knows the function of most of the items in the store, of course, having watched over humanity for hundreds of years, but has no practical experience with them, and drags her over to any free sample display that he sees.  

Afterward, Meg walks them to the park, sits him on a bench, and teleports back to the apartment to leave the toaster. It takes her all of sixty seconds to bounce there and back, but by the time she arrives back at the park, she finds Castiel standing thirty feet away from where she left him, head tilted and eyes narrowed as he watches a group of children build a snowman.

“You need to not do that,” she says.

“Do what?”

“Watch kids like that. Humans consider it creepy when strange people stare at their kids,” Meg informs him. “Anyway, what are you doing?”

“Wondering how exactly the children form the snow like that. I’ve been watching them, and I can’t quite figure out how it works,” Castiel tells her.

“Oh, that.” Shrugging, Meg stoops down, quickly makes a snowball, and lobs it at his chest. Castiel actually stumbles backward in surprise, eyes wide with disbelief and a touch of fear.

“Did you just attack me?” he gasps. “That’s a serious violation of--”

The rest of his sentence is lost as she throws another snowball at his mouth. Sputtering, he shakes his head rapidly to clear it of the snow and Meg hears the children giggling behind her.

“It’s a snowball, Clarence,” Meg says. “Throw one back. C’mon.”

Hesitantly, Castiel reaches down and packs the snow into a clumsy ball. He lobs it at her, frowning when Meg dodges. She laughs when she sees the look on his face and stumbles backward, laughing again when she lands heavily in the snow.

Castiel walks over to look down at her, eyes narrowed in annoyance. “Is this something demons indulge in often?”

“Not for a while,” Meg says breathlessly. She relaxes into the snow for a moment and, on impulse, begins to move her arms and legs. Castiel stares at her curiously before she stops and holds her hand out. “Help me up.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t wanna leave a handprint.”

Castiel takes her hand and pulls her to her feet with ease. Meg reaches back to brush the snow off of her coat, only to find that it’s already melted. Her snow angel, too, is deeper in some places, her body heat having seeped through her clothes to melt the snow.

“What was the point in that?” Castiel asks.

“It’s a snow angel,” Meg says. “It’s supposed to look like the drawing kids do. See it?”

“A bit.”

“It’s just something you do.”

“It seems pointless.”

“Not everything has to have a point,” she says. “Anyway, let’s go find something to do.”

Since Meg doesn’t want to deal with Castiel throwing up again, they walk, Meg easily moving through the people doing their Christmas shopping. She’s hazy on the exact date after spending so much time in Hell, but she thinks the human holiday must be soon, judging from the sales in the window displays and the increased frequency of Christmas music coming from the speakers in the shops. She thinks about asking Castiel for a moment, but then dismisses the idea. Gabriel had once given her a long lecture on the correct birthday of Christ and the pagan traditions that crept into the Christian holiday, and she has no desire to hear it again.

For the most part, Meg ignores Castiel as they walk; only glancing behind her every few minutes to make sure he is following. She sets the pace, trotting swiftly down the sidewalk, but jerks to a halt when Castiel pulls on her coat and forces her to back up a few steps.

“Meg?”

“What is it, Clarence?”

“You remember how you said not everything has a point?”

“Yeah?”

“And you remember that you told me that you knew how to ice skate?”

“I remember.”

“Well, maybe I should give it a try.”

Meg looks up, sees the building they’re standing in front of, and groans.

“Well, I’ll get to watch you fall on your ass, anyway,” she says, and leads him into the ice skating rink.

Meg, working mostly on muscle memory, skates with ease, and silently watches as Castiel wobbles his way around the rink, clinging to the wall. So early in the day and so late into the Christmas season, the rink is nearly deserted, with only a couple of people working their way around.

Meg watches Castiel let go of the wall, flail, and grab it again. On his second attempt, he manages to move two feet before he tumbles backward, landing hard. Meg lets out a short, sharp laugh, but stops herself when Castiel looks up at her, his eyes wide and confused.

Skating over to him, Meg reaches down and helps him to his feet, keeping a firm grip on his hands.

“It’s easy once you get the hang of it, I promise,” she says. Meg can skate backwards and forwards and even do a few jumps, so it is easy for her to guide Castiel around the rink, quietly instructing him on how to move his feet. His grip is nearly bone grinding as he keeps their hands linked together, clearly not wanting to fall again, and Meg feels an odd sense of satisfaction that he trusts her with this. It is small, but it is something.

They circle around the rink twice, Meg managing to keep Castiel upright. By their third circle, he seems to find his balance, standing up straight and wobbling less as Meg leads him.

“I’m going to let go now,” she says. Castiel tightens his grip, but she manages to shake him off. “Just a little.”

She ignores Castiel’s expression and wrenches her hands from his. Castiel wobbles, but remains upright, smiling at her as he glides forward.

Then he trips, falls forward, and takes her down with him, the two of them landing in a heap on the ice. Meg can feel her body heat eating through it, but finds herself laughing, anyway. Being pinned under an angel, a being that could destroy her with nothing but a touch, should be terrifying. Instead, Meg is suddenly aware of just how firm is body is, how large his hands are compared to hers, and just how oddly…sweet the smell of ozone and fresh, clean air is in her nose.

“Meg?” Castiel says, voice muffled from where his head is buried in her shoulder.

“Yeah, Clarence?” she grunts.

He props himself up on his hands and looks down at her, their faces entirely too close for comfort.

“I don’t think I like ice skating very much.”

Meg laughs again.

.

She buys Castiel a snow cone while she returns their skates, actually paying for it because she wants to avoid arguing with him again. Afterward, the two of them continue looking for something to do, walking aimlessly until Castiel stops in front of a shop display that shows a tropical Christmas, with Santa sitting on the beach. Meg tries to get him to move on, tugging impatiently on the sleeve of his trench coat, and only stops when she sees the slump of his shoulders and the intense focus in his eyes.

“It’s almost Christmas, and I’m away from everyone,” he says so quietly that Meg has to strain to hear him. “I’ve been exiled, and I was only trying to help.”

Meg moves to stand beside him. “Is it that big of a deal for angels?”

He nods. “Oh, yes. All of us sit together through the night. Some of us will go to human churches, and sit with them for mass, but mostly it is all of us together. A collective energy, of sorts. It is a time for reflection over the past year, and it is the only time every angel comes together at once.”

“You were just doing your job,” she says. “Everybody messes up once in a while. It happens. Dad will forgive you and you’ll be back in no time.”

“Your father is really that forgiving? Truly?” Castiel’s voice is laced with disbelief and sarcasm.

“He might be, just the once,” Meg says quietly. “C’mon, let’s get out of here. All this Christmas music is driving me crazy.”

“I don’t think we should leave the city.”

“Did Michael tell you that you couldn’t?”

“No.”

“Then who gives a shit? C’mon.”

Without waiting for a response, Meg tightly grips his hand and teleports them to a deserted island in the pacific. Castiel, blinking rapidly and shaking from the sudden change of location, sways while Meg drops his hand and begins to strip, throwing her jacket and top and jeans onto the sand until she’s standing only in her matching purple bra and panties.

“Why are you--what are you--Meg!” Castiel sputters when he finally grounds himself enough to look at her.

“Oh, don’t be so modest,” she teases. “Unless you were expecting to go for a swim in a suit and coat?”

“I wasn’t expecting to go for a swim at all,” he grumbles. Meg ignores him and takes off toward the water, running until it reaches her waist before she dives in. The ocean is calm, the waves small and gentle, and the water is wonderfully warm. She stays under for a long time, ignoring the slight pain from the salt, and glides through the water, only surfacing when her body screams for air.

When she emerges, she sees Castiel standing at the edge of the water, still fully clothed.

“Please tell me you know how to swim!” she calls to him, kicking frantically to keep herself above the waves.

“I thought you’d drowned!” he calls back. “You were under for a long time.”

“Demon!” she shouts. “We can stay under longer than a human can. Get in. It’s warm.”

Castiel hesitates, and then steps back onto the beach and begins to strip, neatly folding his clothing as he removes each piece. She doesn’t even pretend not to stare, watching with eager eyes as he moves, the muscles of his chest and back rippling with movement. He’s slight, but not as slight as she first thought, and in good condition from flying. She laughs when she realizes he’s wearing stark white boxers decorated with small, yellow ducklings.

When he’s finished, Castiel tentatively dips a toe into the water before he wades in, stopping when the water laps at his waist. Meg swims up to him, stopping just short of bumping into his chest.

“You do know how to swim, right?” she says.

“I do,” he tells her. “I just haven’t swam in the ocean before.”

“Lakes?” she guesses.

Castiel nods. “I’ve been to a few outdoor baptisms in my life. Once, when I was younger, Gabriel, Samandriel, Inias, and I stayed back, and Gabriel taught us all to swim.”

“Well, if something comes up from the ocean to eat you, I’ll punch it in the face,” Meg promises. “Now come on.”

She dives back into the water without waiting for him to follow. To her surprise, he dives in after her, keeping pace as she swims further and further away from the island and ventures deeper and deeper into the water. At one point he even overtakes her, and when Meg squints, she swears that she can see his wings beating in the water.

After a while, out of breath and soaked through, they stumble onto the shore. Meg dries quickly, her body giving off the heat she needs, while sand sticks to Castiel’s body. They both lay on their backs in the sand, watching as the sun begins to rapidly sink toward the horizon.

Without speaking to him, Meg ventures toward middle of the island, where there is a small but lush patch of greenery, and gathers enough material for a fire. She sets it up silently, just managing to get it lit before the sun disappears. Castiel, equally silent, watches as she settles, shaking his body every so often as if he’s trying to flick away sand without touching it. Meg simply stares into the fire and finger combs her hair, wishing that she’d had the foresight to bring beer and stuff for s’mores.

“Meg?” Castiel says, breaking the silence. His voice is quiet, and Meg thinks he almost sounds shy.

“What’s up?”

“There’s sand in my wings and I can’t get it out,” he mumbles. “Could you, maybe…”

“Is that allowed?” she asks. “I mean, I can’t even see them.”

She blinks, and she can see his wings. They’re huge, and black as the night, the feathers shiny and healthy. He shakes them again, his whole body moving with them, and she sees some sand tumble onto the ground. Meg shrugs, picks herself up, and moves to the other side of the fire.

“If you just run your fingers over them, you should be able to fix them,” he tells her. This time, Meg is the one who hesitates, hand hovering inches away from his feathers. She takes a few deep breathes and lightly runs her fingers over a few of the feathers, jerking her hand away when Castiel draws in a sharp breath.

“Did I hurt you?” she asks.

“No,” he says. “It’s just…strange. Your hands are so warm.”

“Oh,” she says, and continues her work, slowly but steadily preening the sand from his wings. She notices both of them relaxing after a few minutes. Castiel begins making a small humming noise, halfway between a bee buzzing and a cat purring, and Meg smiles in amusement. When she leans over to look at his face, she sees that his eyes are closed.

“Usually angels groom each other,” he tells her. “It is a bonding activity of sorts. But this is pleasant as well.”

“So having a demon touch your wings isn’t going to contaminate them?” she mutters.

“Demons aren’t inherently dirty creatures, despite what some of my kind believe,” he says. His voice is soft and sleepy. “You were created just as we were, only for a different purpose. For all that you do, Hell is needed to punish the truly wicked. That’s why I’ve come to change my mind on the truce, in recent years. At first, I thought it foolish that we would work with demons. But things are better now that we stay out of each other’s way and allow each other to do our work.”

“Better for you, maybe,” she says. “There’s a lot that we can’t do, and pretty much the only thing angels have had to give up is killing us.”

“There are some terms that are unfair,” Castiel admits. “But we were created to be humanity’s guardians. It would be wrong of us to stand by and watch them be slaughtered on a massive scale.”

Meg shakes her head and stars on his other wing. “Then why were you so opposed to the truce when it was first proposed?”

“I was…you have to understand, angels are not supposed to show emotion. Not like humans, or even demons. But I suppose I felt betrayed, when Lucifer turned against his kin to work with your kind,” he tells her.

“We all felt betrayed when we found out his true plans,” Meg muses. When she closes her eyes, she can remember the look on her father’s face when he discovered that Lucifer intended to betray them, to wipe out all demons and most of the angels and rule Heaven and Hell and Earth. For the first and only time in memory, her father had looked truly hurt, almost broken.

“But Lucifer is gone now, secluded to the darkest parts of Hell. It is done, and we are at peace.” His shoulders slump, sending his feathers sliding through her fingers. “And I may have ruined it. We’re not supposed to touch properly contracted souls, but in my haste, I…”

Meg resumes grooming him. “Everything will be alright.”

“Do you really believe that?” he whispers.

“Sure,” she says. “Christmas is a time for miracles after all, right?”

.

The fire is out when she wakes. Castiel sits, staring at the sea, his knees drawn up to his chest and his chin resting on his folded arms. The sea whispers softly in the background, the waves gently crashing around Castiel’s feet. Meg picks herself up from her place beside the fire and goes to sit with him.

“You okay?”

He shakes his head. “I got a message from Michael.”

“Good news?”

He shakes his head again. “He’s scheduled a talk with your father for after the New Year. Apparently, demons have some sort of ritual at the end of the year.”

Meg rubs the back of her neck. “Um, yeah. It used to be a human sacrifice but now we just use a goat. Big party afterward. I’d tell you more, but I’m not allowed to. But that’s good, isn’t it? That you got a message?”

“It means that I’ll be stuck on Earth, unable to use my powers, until well after the New Year,” he says. “Depending on what your father feels, and Michael’s decision, it could be permanent. Or worse.”

“Worse?”

“My grace could be ripped out,” he says quietly. “I could be made to live the life of a normal human.”

Meg whistles. “Shit.”

Castiel nods. “Indeed. That would be most unpleasant.”

“He wouldn’t really do that, though. Would he?”

Castiel does not answer her. Instead, he simply stands, sighs, and goes to fetch his clothes.

“There’s nothing to be done about it now,” he tells her. “I just have to wait and see what happens.”

.

Despite what he told her on the beach, Castiel speaks little in the following days. Instead, he keeps his head down and follows Meg when she drags him out of her apartment. She bullies him into trying new food and clothing, into watching a sword swallowing demonstration and visiting museums. Anything to keep the both of them occupied. Toward the end of the week, she finds herself actually missing the routine of Hell, missing the torture chambers and her family and being around laughter and screams and the smell of human fluids and brimstone and fire.

She supposes that she should be doing something more demonic, like participating in the corruption of children and general destruction, but she promised she would watch Castiel, she so pushes those urges to the bottom of her mind and tries not to drag him into any trouble.

Castiel goes quietly wherever she takes him, but she can see his enthusiasm for trying the things she suggests is lost. He trails after her like a large puppy, completely lost in the human world.

Finally, bored out of her skull, Meg goes to the liquor store and returns with a large bottle of whiskey for each of them.

“That’s not enough to get either of us drunk,” he says when he sees it.

“No, it isn’t,” she agrees, and pulls two more out from under the sink. “But it’s enough to get us started. What card games do you know?”

It takes four hours, a few more trips to the liquor store, and twelve rounds of Go Fish, three of Rummy, and two card castles before the alcohol hits her system enough to get her giddy. After her sixth trip back, the two of them are well and truly sloshed. They sit in the middle of the room, passing a bottle back and forth between them, their backs against the wall under the window.

“This apartment’s too stuffy,” Meg declares. “We should go out. Do something.”

“We should watch the stars,” Castiel suggests. His hair is a mess from running his fingers through it while they were playing cards, and Meg can’t quite get it to lay flat again.

“That’ll just make you sad,” Meg protests. “Unless you’re a sad drunk? Are you a sad drunk? Have you ever even been drunk?”

“Maybe you’re the sad drunk,” Castiel retorts. “Besides, humans do things like that. If I must live as a human, I should practice.”

“A human would’ve been in the hospital a while ago,” Meg says. She’s drunk, but nowhere near as drunk as she was when she was out with Gabriel, and is still stable enough to stand. She wobbles a bit when she tries, but still has the presence of mind to grab a blanket. “Okay, we’ll go. But not in the city. We’ve gotta go somewhere with no artificial light.”

“Okay.” Castiel stands, too, wobbling a little bit more than she does, and clutches the wall for support.

“If you cry, I’ll kick you,” she warns.

“Bodily harm to a member of the opposite species is prohibited by the terms of the truce,” Castiel slurs. He speaks slowly, carefully spacing out every word.

“Don’t care,” Meg says. She holds her hand out and wiggles her fingers, encouraging Castiel to grab it. “Bring the rum.”

.

Meg is almost ashamed to say that she has no idea where they touch down. All she knows is that it is so far out into the wilderness that neither of them can see lights in any direction. The snow on the ground is deep, reaching over their heads, and it is so dark that, even with eyesight better than a human could ever hope to have, she has trouble seeing. But it is simple enough to create enough fire to clear an uneven circle of snow, and even simpler to create a small campfire so she and Castiel can see one another to pass their bottle back and forth.

They sit there in comfortable silence, sipping from the ice cold bottle of alcohol and looking up at the stars. The Milky Way sparkles above them, a silver blanket across the sky. The snow outside of their little circle stretches well above their heads, hiding the rest of the world from view and giving them their own little nest.

“What do you see?” Meg finally asks. “When you look up at it, I mean? I know that the stars are just space, but can you see Heaven?”

“A little,” Castiel replies. “If I squint, I can just see parts of it.”

“Which ones?” She puts the bottle down and lies down on the blanket. The world spins slightly under her, causing her to dig her fingers into the ugly mustard yellow and purple checked blanket she’s brought with them.

Castiel takes another swig from the bottle and leans back to point. “Just there? That cluster of stars? That’s where Naomi does the paperwork.”

“Angels do paperwork?”

“Some do. There’s a lot of processing. And over there, where the constellation is, that’s where Michael banished me.” Castiel points to another constellation. “That’s a Heaven where it’s always winter. A mom at the beach with her kids. A happy family vacation.”

Meg tries to sit up, finds the whole world spinning, and falls back onto the blankets. “What’s it like? Heaven? I always wanted to know.”

Castiel sighs and lies down next to her on the blanket. “It’s wonderful. Amazing. Each soul has their own, with the exception of soulmates, who share. It can be anything. Endless, perfect days and happy memories. Families together. Spouses reunited. Beauty.”

Meg closes her eyes and tries to imagine it, tries to imagine endless summer days and flying kites and family trips to the lake, and finds it frightfully boring. She doesn’t realize she’s voiced her thoughts aloud until Castiel continues speaking.

“It can be,” he says. “To a creature like you, that was born for pain and punishment and bloodshed. But to humans, and to us, it is…peace. That is all they want, and all any of us want. To bring peace. And protect them.”

Meg hums and turns on her side to face him. “Angels can love bloodshed just as much as demons can.”

“Hm, yes,” Castiel agrees. He rolls over, too, so they are lying face to face. “Tell me of Hell.”

“Blood and pain and screaming,” Meg says. “Helllhound puppies and bleak, bare cliffs and fire and lakes of lava, or lakes of boiling water. There’s no sun, of course. When you look up, you can see the ceiling. Rocky, like a cave, and harsh. There aren’t any plants, really. Except pomegranates. Those grow everywhere, like weeds. There are these plants that feed on blood. They grow in little clusters. And the torture chambers, filled with knives and saws and anything you can imagine. Its home.”

“It sounds terrifying,” Castiel says quietly. “Horrifying.”

“It can be,” Meg mumbles. She feels sleep creeping up on her body, the combination of alcohol and teleporting them so far having drained her energy. “You were right, you know. The stars are pretty. We don’t have those in Hell.”

“We don’t have them in Heaven, either,” Castiel says.

Meg makes a small noise of acknowledgement, but doesn’t bother to answer him. Instead, she finds herself drifting off to sleep.

.

When she wakes the next morning, she feels amazingly, wonderfully warm. Warmer than even she is used to being. She also feels a weight at her middle, and when she stirs, she feels someone’s breath against the back of her neck. Opening her eyes, Meg tilts her head and smiles when she sees Castiel curled up against her, one of his arms slung around her middle and his face pressed into her neck. He’s snoring softly, and tries to snuggle closer when she tries to shift away. When she tries again, something soft and warm settles on top of her like a blanket. She goes to run her hands over the invisible weight, and jerks her hand away when she realizes it is his wing slung over her.

Behind her, Castiel flinches slightly at the contact, but relaxes again as soon as she removes her fingers. Curious, Meg runs her fingers over them once again, and hears Castiel give a contented sigh as she gently preens him.

“C’mon, Cas,” she says after a few minutes. “Get up.”

The angel only makes a small noise against her neck. His wing becomes heavier, keeping her pinned to the blanket.

“I said get up,” she repeats. Castiel finally opens his eyes and sits up slightly, just enough to look at her.

“But you’re warm,” he protests. “And my head hurts.”

“Angels can get hangovers?” she snorts. Because, really, that’s one of the funniest things she’s ever heard. Her body metabolizes alcohol too quickly for her to feel hungover, and she had assumed an angel’s body would as well.

“It seems so,” he says, and finally moves away from her. Neither of them speak of the fact that they woke up cuddled together as they move, collecting the almost empty bottle of rum and folding up the blanket. Castiel doesn’t even talk when she holds out her hand and brings them back to her apartment.

In fact, the moment they touch down, he doubles over and vomits.

Meg rolls her eyes. “At least we were standing by the sink this time.”

.

“I don’t think I ever thanked you,” Castiel says later. There’s an old horror movie playing on the television that’s more funny than it is scary, and takeout containers spread across the coffee table.

Meg looks up from her food and quirks an eyebrow. “For what?”

“For taking care of me. I know Gabriel is paying you for it, but you still could’ve said no, or hurt me, or done any number of things. So, thank you.” He looks at her, eyes wide and sad, his shoulders slumped and a frown on his face. “I think, should I be forced to become human, I will have a good idea of where to start now.”

Meg stares at him for a minute, puts her food on the coffee table, and stands. “I’ll be right back. Do not move from this spot. I don’t care if you see something from the window or you want to try to use the toaster again. Do not move from this spot.”

He gives her a confused look, but nods anyway. Meg walks into the bathroom, takes a deep breath, and closes her eyes.

When she opens them, she’s back in Hell. A hound runs up to greet her, tail wagging and ears sticking straight up. She leans down to pet him and absently scratches the hound behind his ears as she looks around, trying to figure out where she’s ended up.

“You know you’re supposed to use the Gates when you come and go,” a male voice says behind her. Meg whirls around, ready for a fight, but relaxes when she sees that it is only her brother standing there, holding a human spine in his hands. “Catch.”

He throws the spine at her. Meg laughs as she dodges it and reaches up to wipe a bit of stray blood from her cheek.

“Hey, Tom,” she greets. “I need to talk to dad.”

“He’s a little busy getting ready for the party. You are coming, right? It should be a wild time this year,” Tom says.

Meg sighs. She and Tom are a lot alike, both in looks and temperament. They both have dark hair and eyes, although her hair is longer than his, her face is rounder, and Tom is far taller than she is. Like their father, both of them can control fire and harness telekinesis. But, unlike her, Tom has never taken anything seriously. Gabriel, when she had first met him, had reminded her of her brother, in that way.

“I don’t know if I’m coming this year,” she says. “That depends on what I’m talking to dad about.”

“About your pet angel?” Tom guesses. Meg freezes, her hand falling away from the Hellhound’s head.

“How did you know?” she asks quietly. Tom chuckles.

“I saw the two of you,” Tom informs her. “You know he broke the terms of the truce, right? He stole a soul from Brady, one that he had contracted completely and legally. And you’re frolicking around with him like a teenager on a date.”

“Gabriel asked me to watch him,” Meg snaps. “I wasn’t going to sit in a little apartment the entire time. Besides, he made a mistake. It happens. We should be thanking our lucky stars that it was an angel that fucked up and not one of us. If one of us had pulled that, they’d be dead.”

“All I’m saying is that dad isn’t going to be happy when he finds out about you and your new boyfriend,” Tom says.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Meg says quickly.

Tom shoots her a smug smile. “Didn’t look like that to me when I found you two snuggled up in your little snow nest up in the mountains last night.”

Meg doesn’t argue with him. Instead, she crosses her arms and narrows her eyes. “What did you do?”

“Excuse me?”

“What did you do that you’re willing to throw me under the bus?” she asks. “You only try to do shit like this when you’ve made a mistake and you want dad to look at me instead of you. You’ve been doing this shit since we were kids. Whatever it is, you know I’ll find out. You know he’ll find out. He always does.”

Tom gapes at her for a moment, and then swallows hard. “I’m not telling you.”

“If you drop this thing with Castiel and me, I won’t try to ferret out what you’re doing,” Meg promises. “Now, can you tell me where dad is?”

Tom sighs heavily. “He’s at the kennels. Bertha’s having her pups today.”

“Thanks, big brother,” Meg says. She gives him a cheery wave and takes off, heading toward the kennels where most of the Hellhounds live. She finds her father inside, sitting next to one of his Hellhounds, his back against the wall. Four small, squirming pups have their faces buried in their mother’s stomach, their black fur slick and wet. Her father holds the fifth pup, which is barely large enough to fill his hand, and has a rare, white coat.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Azazel says, not looking away from the puppy in his hands. “Look what Bertha made.”

“Pretty sure she didn’t do it by herself,” Meg says, walking over to sit next to her father. Bertha merely raises her head at Meg’s approach, sniffs the air, and then lies back down. “Shouldn’t it be eating?”

“She did already,” Azazel tells her. He pats the puppy a final time and gently deposits her back into the curve of her mother’s belly. “What can I do for you, Meg? You ready to come back?”

Meg shakes her head. “I wanted to talk to you about the thing with Brady and that angel.”

“What do you know about it?” Azazel asks. His voice is calm, almost too calm for her comfort.

“Everything,” she tells him. “Gabriel asked me to check in on his brother. I know you have a meeting set up with Michael for after the New Year, but I was hoping you could do it earlier. Soon. Maybe now. Sort it out quickly.”

Azazel fixes his pale eyes on her. His voice remains soft. “Why do you care?”

Meg swallows hard. Her father’s stare has always unnerved her, no matter how old she’s gotten. Even now, that look makes her want to get up and run and hide. “I don’t.”

“Don’t lie to me, Meg. You know that never ends well.”

“If it were me, you’d want it sorted quickly.”

“But he isn’t you. He’s an angel. He should be punished.”

“He made a mistake. Besides, it would show that we’re willing to forgive. Put some good faith in and all that.”

“You sound like you’ve been spending some time with him,” Azazel tells her. “Have you?”

“Yes,” she confesses. “I’ve been watching him. Gabriel’s paying me with an angel blade.”

Azazel whistles. “That’s a good deal, kiddo. But the fact remains that what Castiel did could start a war. After all the angels have done to us, after all the demons that they killed, you expect me to pardon this violation?”

“Or use it,” Meg suggests. “I know there are terms you don’t like. Use it to wiggle out of some of them.”

“Like?”

“Like how we’re not allowed to make deals near a church or other religious gathering place. Or parks or schools. Or, maybe, our yearly human sacrifice. We could ask them to lift that.”

“They won’t.”

“They might,” Meg insists. “We were created to punish the wicked, after all. If our sacrifice was a shit person and already earmarked for Hell in the first place, they might relent.”

Her father actually smiles at that. “Now you’re thinking, kid. We might have a human for the first time in three hundred years, if I can get him to agree to it. I’ll see if I can speak with him tomorrow.”

Meg presses a quick kiss to Azazel’s cheek. “Thanks, Daddy.”

Azazel gives her a quick, one armed hug and stands, helping her to her feet afterward. “Of course, Meg. Just remember that talk we had the last time you were home.”

“What talk?”

“The talk we had about not getting too close to angels.” Azazel smiles a wide, toothy smile. “Keep it in your pants.”

Meg purses her lips. “Tom’s up to something. I don’t know what, but he’s hiding something.”

“I’m sure he is. He always is,” Azazel says. “But that doesn’t change what I’m telling you. Just do the job and get out.”

“Yes, sir,” Meg says.

.

“What are we even doing here?” Castiel asks when Meg pulls him down behind a bush. Snow falls in light flakes from the sky, melting in her hair and sticking in his, and the light dusting makes the small, out of the way village in the European countryside look like it belongs in a snowglobe.

“Tom’s here,” Meg hisses. “Now shush.” She hasn’t told him about her talk with her father, not wanting to get his hopes up, but she has told him about her suspicions about her brother.

“How can you even track him?” Castiel whispers. Meg, not taking her eyes off of the village square, reaches into her pocket and pulls out her watch.

“I’ve got his blood so I can track him. He has mine, too, but since he knows I’m with you, it doesn’t matter. He’s probably not looking for me,” she explains. “Now, quiet.”

When he tries to talk again, Meg simply grabs him, slaps her gloved hand over his mouth. The village is full of people, tourists and residents alike, making it difficult for Meg to find her brother in the crowd. With the smell of ozone so strong in her nose, she cannot even catch the scent of another demon.

Castiel, meanwhile, tries to yank her hand away from his mouth. Meg ignores him and as she sits there, still as a statue, until Castiel finally manages to wrench her fingers away. “We need to go now.”

“Why? Are you cold, or something? I told you to wear a hat.”

“I can’t be here.”

Meg rolls her eyes. “We’re fine.”

“No, we’re not,” Castiel insists. “I’m not supposed to have contact with any other angels.”

“I don’t see any other angels,” Meg argues.

“I do,” Castiel says. He points, and Meg follows the line of his finger, her jaw dropping open in surprise when she sees Tom slip from the pub and walk toward the small, dark haired girl standing near a cart selling hot food.

“That’s Tom!” she blurts. “That’s Tom and--”

“My sister,” Castiel says. She hears him make a small noise of disgust when Tom produces a rose out of nowhere, hands it to Hael, and leans forward to press a quick kiss to the tip of her nose.

“That asshole!” Meg spits. “He was giving me shit for cuddling with you while we were drunk and he was sexing up an angel this whole fucking time.”

“Please don’t say things like that,” Castiel pleads. “I do not need that mental image.”

“I’m gonna kill him,” Meg growls, springing to her feet. “I’m gonna tear his head off and make her kiss it before I kick it into one of the boiling lakes of Hell!”

Castiel grabs her arm and pulls her back down, causing her to land roughly on her backside. This time, he is the one to clamp his hand over her mouth, silencing her pained yelp. She glares at him, opens her mouth, and tries to bite him, barely missing his finger when he pulls it out of the way.

“We should leave them alone,” Castiel says. “If I were a demon, I would say that I could potentially use this as blackmail.”

“I have a better idea,” Meg says. “Come on.”

She teleports away before he can stop her, moving from the street to the main room of the pub. Luckily, nobody seems to notice her sudden appearance, instead glancing away from her. She moves out into the street and gestures for Castiel to come over to her as she heads for where Tom and Hael are leaning against a wall, talking as they pass a cigarette back and forth.

“Caught you, brother dear,” she says. Castiel shuffles to her side, his eyes on his shoes, as both Tom and Hael freeze, the lit cigarette dropping out of Hael’s mouth. The angel’s sky blue eyes widen and dart from side to side, searching for an escape route, but fill with anger when they land on Castiel.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” she growls. “You’re not supposed to be anywhere near another angel.”

“And I’m pretty sure you two aren’t supposed to be Frenching in the middle of a public square,” Meg retorts. Tom actually blushes.

“We weren’t Frenching. We were just…talking.”

“I saw you give her a rose and kiss her, Tom. And since when do angels smoke?” Meg asks. “You know Michael wouldn’t be very happy to hear about this.”

“He wouldn’t be happy to learn that Castiel is here with me, either,” Hael challenges.

Castiel’s head snaps up. “It was not my idea to come and confront you. Nor was it my idea to come here. I did not smell, or see you, and was going to leave when I did, until I saw you greeting that demon. Hael, you know better.”

This time, Hael is the one who blushes, and the young angel stomps her foot. “You can’t tell me what to do, Castiel!”

“No, I cannot,” Castiel agrees. “However, I think we can all agree to keep quiet about this.”

“Are you trying to blackmail us, or something?” Tom asks, his hands balling into fists.

“Not really,” Meg drawls. “I’m just saying, if you tell dad anything else about me, ever, I will let this slip.”

“As will I with Michael,” Castiel says. “And Hael, if you could, perhaps, put in a good word for me with our brother…”

Tom sighs. Hael looks thoughtful for a moment, and then simply nods.

“I’ll try,” she tells him. “You’re really not going to rat me out? I know it isn’t exactly forbidden or anything, but it is very…Michael wouldn’t be happy.”

“No, I won’t rat you out,” Castiel promises. He looks at Meg with a small smile on his face. “In fact, I’ll support you.”

Meg feels her heart skip a beat in her chest and catches Tom giving her a smug smile out of the corner of her eye. She glares at him, and springs forward to punch him in the arm when he starts making kissing noises in her direction.

“Fine. Be like that,” he says, rubbing his arm. “So, nobody’s going to rat on anybody?”

“Nobody’s going to rat on anybody,” Castiel confirms. “But we should be going.”

“And you should be more careful,” Meg says. “If I tracked you, dad can.”

Tom rolls his eyes. “Dad’s too busy with his new puppies and running Hell and his meeting with Michael.”

“He’s meeting with Michael?” Castiel asks. Meg cringes when she sees hope shining in his eyes. “Soon?”

Tom nods. “Oh, yeah. They’re in a meeting right now.”

“Then we should go,” Castiel says. “Just in case something happens. I don’t want someone to come speak to me and see that I’ve broken the terms of my exile. Thank you for telling me, Tom. Hael, behave. Meg, let’s go.”

“Alright, don’t get your panties in a wad. We’re going,” Meg says. She takes his hand, almost able to feel the excitement radiating off of his body. “See you soon, Tom. Hael, uh, nice to meet you.”

Their siblings wave as Meg blinks them back to the apartment.

.

“Do you think they’ll contact me soon?” Castiel asks. Meg shrugs and carefully sits on the park bench, balancing both of their hot dogs in her hands. Castiel lowers himself onto the bench next to her and takes one, replacing it with a cup of cider.

“I don’t know, Clarence. You know how angels work better than I do,” she replies. Castiel takes a bite of his hot dog and chews thoughtfully.

“Why do you call me that?”

“Call you what? Clarence?”

“Yes.”

“It’s from a movie,” she says. “An old black and white one. It’s A Wonderful Life?”

“You know that I am not very pop culture savvy, as you put it,” he says.

Meg takes a sip of her cider, finds that it has gone cold, and concentrates on heating it up. “The movie’s about this guy who goes to kill himself, and an angel named Clarence stops him and shows him how badly everyone’s lives would’ve gone without him in them. Then at the end, since the angel did a good deed, he got his wings. It’s stupid, but you remind me of that. Goody two shoes.”

“Oh,” Castiel says softly. “Well, that would make sense. I suppose I am a bit of a goody two shoes.”

Meg drains her cup and finishes her hot dog. “I’m gonna go get a pretzel. You okay here by yourself?”

Castiel rolls his eyes, a habit that he’s clearly picked up from her. “I think I can manage just fine.”

Meg doesn’t reply. Instead, she goes and buys her pretzel, picking an extra one up for him. She knows that if she doesn’t, Castiel will wind up eating half of hers, anyway, begging silently with his big, blue eyes until she gives in and shares.

When she goes to head back, she sees Gabriel standing there, talking to his brother. She does not go to interrupt them, not wanting to see Castiel’s expression go from excitement to disappointment if the news is not good. Instead, she waits until the brothers hug and Gabriel flies away, leaving Castiel alone on the bench. Thankfully, Castiel seems to be smiling.

“Good news?” she asks, handing him his pretzel. Castiel beams at her.

“I get to go home!” he tells her, practically shouting. “Michael and your dad talked. In fact, your father insisted I be allowed to come back to Heaven. I can go back later tonight, if I want. I’m still banned from performing healing or miracles for the next couple of weeks, but I can go back home, and see other angels. And use my wings.”

“So, great news,” Meg corrects. She sits down on the bench and cannot help but smile when she sees how happy Castiel looks.

“There’s good news for you, too!” Castiel continues. “Michael has relented. You and your people will have your yearly human sacrifice once again. Of course, there are conditions. But you already know what they are.”

“Know what they are?” Meg asks. “Castiel, I don’t--”

“Gabriel told me,” he interrupts. He puts his pretzel aside, gently plucks hers from her hands, and laces their fingers together. “Azazel told him what you did for me, that you went and spoke to your father and convinced him to meet with Michael early and pardon me. Thank you, Meg. Thank you for that.”

“I didn’t do it for you,” she says. “I--I saw an opportunity to get something out of this deal and I took it.”

“You’re lying,” he says, smiling at her. “But demons lie. Thank you for helping me. You might not even know why you did it, but you did. It was good of you.”

“I’m a demon,” she protests. “I don’t do good.”

“Maybe that’s a Christmas miracle, then,” Castiel says dryly. Meg laughs.

“I guess it is. Does that mean you’re going home tonight?”

“Yes. I thought we could finish enjoying the festival first.” Castiel sits up a little straighter and pulls away from her. “Oh, I almost forgot. Gabriel said I should give you this.” He reaches into his coat and produces her promised angel blade. It gleams with fresh polish and hums when he places it into her hands. Meg strokes the metal lovingly and stows it away.

“Thank him for me,” she requests.

“I will. He also said I should hold this up, but I’ve no idea why.” Reaching into his coat, Castiel grabs something else and holds it up above their heads. “He said you would know, though.”

Looking up, Meg glares at the sprig of mistletoe over their heads.

“I’m going to kill Gabriel,” she declares. “And Tom. And dad, maybe.”

“Why?”

“It’s a Christmas tradition,” Meg explains. “If two people stand under the mistletoe, they kiss.”

“Oh.” Castiel frowns, but doesn’t move his arm. “Well, I suppose, since it is tradition.”

The first press of his lips on hers is quick and chaste and dry, almost hesitant, but Meg finds herself leaning into it, anyway. His lips are soft on hers and she can feel a warm light creeping through her body, making her feel safe and clean and ridiculously happy. So much so that, when he goes to move away, Meg surges forward and captures his lips again, craving more of that purity, that warmth. After a moment, Castiel relaxes and lets her gently coax his lips apart so she can slip her tongue into his mouth.

He jerks away in surprise then, eyes wide and curious, causing Meg to laugh.

“I’ve never done that,” he confesses. She sees the look on his face, dopey and alarmed all that once, and wants to find her brother and Gabriel and kick them. Hard.

“You get better at it with practice,” she says instead of doing that. Castiel has put his hand down by now and the sprig of mistletoe sits between them on the bench.

“Meg, tell me truthfully, why did you go to your father on my behalf?” Castiel asks.

To her surprise, she does tell him the truth. “Because you were sad, and I didn’t want you to be.”

“And that was good,” he tells her. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she says.

Castiel picks up the mistletoe and stares at it. “Do I need to hold this up if I want to kiss you again?”

Meg stifles a laugh. “No. In fact, you can do that any time you want.”

“I suppose I will have to come to Earth more often then.” He drops the mistletoe back onto the bench, takes her face in his hands, and kisses her again, moving closer when it begins to snow.

Meg decides not to care about the fact that they will have to keep it a secret, not to care about how Tom and Gabriel and her father and maybe even Hael will never let her live this down, not to care that this will probably blow up in their faces.

Instead, she kisses him back and ignores the snowflakes melting in her hair.