Okay, I recently (about a month ago) got into watching Supernatural, having watched it a bit, but not thoroughly. Safe to say I am obsessed, and am almost up to Season 10. But one problem... I was absolutely devastated when Meg died (then again, who knows if she is really dead). So this fic will explore what could have happened... with a twist. Apologies if Meg seems OC; it is super hard to write as witty as you think she would be.

Drip, drip, drip.

Sigh.

Drip, drip, drip.

The sound of shuffling filled the room. Wince.

Drip, drip, dri-

A hand flew out, striking the sink next to her with enough force for it to creak under the pressure.

"Worth it," the fake-blonde who leaned against the cool tiles rubbed her already battered hand. Oh well, she thought, I'm ditching this meatsuit the first chance I get. Maybe I'll go for someone exotic. A Puerto Rican stripper? Or a porn star with fake knockers. Ah, feathers would really get a hoot out of that.

She wanted to laugh at the thought of that tree-topper in all his high-and-mighty, so-called goodness eyeing up a pair of silicon sex bags, but her chest still burned from the skin that damned Crowley seared off. Her mind wandered to that weird angel – the last time she had really seen him, he was completely cuckoo for crackers and had a fetish for board games. At least she knew her senses were still working; she could practically smell the shame that had taken place in this dinghy motel room that had probably seen as much sin as she had in all of her years of being a demon. The air was stale and mold crept up the walls, and from where she was sitting she could tell that at least one person had died in here from the blood splatters that were just a bit out of reach on the ceiling.

This place was just one of the many backwater, stinking motels Crowley and his creeps had dragged her to on his mission, once he found out that she knew the location of the angel tablet. Just when he had decided that torturing her wasn't almost as fun as he thought it would be – especially with her cackling through tears and exclaiming that he wasn't doing it right. Shit, if you're going to torture a girl, at least have the dignity to do it properly. As a master of the craft, she thought she deserved better. He had found a purpose for her; seeking out Lucifer's crypts that he had hidden that angel tablet in. She saw an opportunity to escape; with Crowley off most of the time doing who knows what that asshat got up to, she could maybe wriggle free from her dim-witted captors. It wouldn't be hard – she had been sending them on treasure hunts all week, just to get a kick out of watching them try to desperately apologize to Crowley for messing up, again. At least three of them had died already. Yeah, they would beat her to the point of unconsciousness after that, but hey, it was worth the giggle. The last time though, they had caught her trying to scratch away at the spell that kept her from smoking out, and beat her so badly she was sure her legs were broken. And her mouth was as dry as a nun's nether despite being filled with the metallic taste of her own blood.

"Hey, minions, would it kill one of you to get me a drink?!" She called out to the idiots 'protecting' her in the next room. One of them appeared in the door way with a glass of water in hand.

"Oh wait, other way around. It would kill you to not get me a drink, because Crowley can't find the tablet if I choke on my own blood." She smiled through the blood in her teeth, sickly and sweet. The lowly demon gave her a deadly glare and tipped the contents of the water on to the tiled floor, before strolling out and slamming the door.

"Well, a big fuck you too then."

She would just have to wait now, until she healed, or until the rest of them came back from the goose chase she sent them on and slice at her a little bit more. As if dying her fucking hair this monstrosity wasn't torture enough? Once she got out of here she was going to run as far away as she could, but not before ripping out their entrails and using it as a noose to string their sorry asses up from the ceiling fan. And when she was completely healed, she would hunt Crowley down and show him what a real artist is.

She hated poetry, but the things she would do to him even Robert Frost couldn't describe. It was be fucking graceful. As she was thinking about the creative ways she would paint his organs across a canvas made out of his skin, a familiar sound of fluttering and loud crashes sounded in the bedroom, followed by cussing and the stench of burning flesh. The door flew open and inside stepped her angel from heaven. Literally.

"Meg?" Castiel's gruff voice was like a symphony to her. Shit, now she was getting way too sappy.

"You're a bit short for a storm trooper."

He gently removed her hand cuffs and tried to help her up, but she slapped away his hands. Despite the immense joy she felt at finally being saved, she was pissed that it took the feather-brained moron this long to find her. I mean, you basically put your perky little ass on the line twice for someone who pushed you into holy fire, and nurse them back to health like a fucking saint and they just forget all about you? I know we're mortal enemies but you'd think angels would show a bit of gratitude every now and then. She pushed herself up using shaky arms, and stood on her own feet for about two seconds before collapsing again.

"Are you alright? What's wrong?" The angel caught her and held her upright, keeping her close to his body.

Castiel was alarmed, and it probably was shown all over his face. He had come to find the source of the crypt's locations and was ordered to silence the source once he knew the location of the angel tablet. Those were his orders.

"Yes, those are your orders Castiel. So why are you concerned about this abomination? Find the location of the tablet and then dispose of the demon," Naomi leaned over her desk, hands firmly planted in place as she stared at the angel sitting opposite her. He leaned back in his chair, shaking his head.

"I can't kill her. The woman could still be of use. What if she gives false information?" Castiel was desperately trying to come up with excuses not to kill Meg. She had done so much for the Winchesters; so much for him. She was his friend.

"She is no woman; she is a demon. Get her to take you to the location, and then kill her. Before the Winchesters arrive and the whore spills the truth to those humans. That's an order, Castiel."

He was brought back to the present, as if he had never had the conversation at all. He searched her frantically for signs of her injuries, and found they were all over her body.

"Nothing is wrong, cloud hopper," she managed in the most sarcastic tone she could sum up "my legs are just broken is all. And I've just been tortured for the last year. But you know, just the usual day in the life of Meg. How are you, anyway?" She spat out, trying furiously to balance herself without his aid. The brunette knew she was being a bitch but she didn't ask for him to come swooping in like a fucking hawk and saving her. She wasn't a damsel in distress – she was a demon for Satan's sake! A ruthless, cunning killing machine. Albeit, one who couldn't stand to save her own life but she would heal soon enough. And she was on the first flight to some remote island in the tropics to get back to her old self. New Zealand might be nice this time of year – she could live with sheep.

The angel pushed the limp body off the bed, and sat her gingerly on the edge of the bed as if she was precious cargo. Castiel lifted one of her legs to examine it, and a hiss escaped from her mouth, immediately causing the angel to glance at her. Meg turned her face so she didn't have to look at him. The concern on his face was almost enough to make her sick – and cause a little part of her to stir in response, like he had set something on fire when he looked at her like that. Which actually might not be a good thing, him being a celestial being and all.

He's just too adorable to stay mad at. Okay, so maybe I am being a little harsh and petty. He did just rescue me. I should be grateful that I'll be getting out of this place.

"I will heal it and it will feel better," Castiel motioned two fingers to her forehead and she swatted them away.

"Save your juice. You'll need it for later. Just get me the hell outta here, Clarence. Right now." She gave him a serious look and that was all he needed. With a delicate swish of his long arms he scooped her up off the ground as if she were as light as a feather, to which she protested until he gave her a serious look that matched her own.

The distinct beat of wings filled the room and the pair disappeared into thin air.

Thoughts? Read and review and I will update sooner!