Thoughts on this story:

Well, it's a drabble, for one. But it's also dealing with something that we as fans tend to forget about- Meg was originally meant to serve as the demonic counterpart of Dean. So I wanted to go along with that. And I guess I sort of drove that bus off a hill and it turned into this XD

This is my first Supernatural story, so thoughts are appreciated, and criticism more so. Thank you!

-Hana.

White.

She blinked, shut her eyes for a dull moment, and opened them again, wincing slightly at the blinding blankness that curtained over her surroundings. White. Pure white.

It often amused her that humans placed the insane and the unhinged in rooms painted in nothing but shades of oblivion. Even for her, a demon, it was enough to go postal. Surrounded by nothing but that damned color. Ugh. It felt too sanitary…too clean. A smirk graced her lips as she entertained the thought of coating the walls with splatters of red and painting the white with screams and fear. Nimble fingers toyed with the cold steel of a hidden knife. It was so tempting. So very, very tempting. But a glance at room 57, and she let the notion flutter away.

She had a job to do, damn it. And to hell if she was going to let this opportunity slip through her fingers.

Meg walked up to the door, gently pushing the door open as an exaggerated smile of "kindness" grew across her face. "Hey there Clarence," she said sweetly, closing the door behind her as she sauntered closer to her "patient". "How's the family reunion going?"

The man sat silently on the firm mattress, back stiff, arms crossed neatly. He hadn't moved an inch since day one. It was strange, really- sometimes Meg would sit across from him and stare for hours on end. He never flinched. The vacant expression that consumed his pretty little face stayed constant. His eyes though...the only thing that ever varied was his eyes. Deep, dark blue pools of emptiness, void of awareness and comprehension. But sometimes Meg could have sworn that they flickered, lightened just a tad. But maybe she was just staring too hard. Honestly, most of the time she felt like she was looking after an overgrown child. She paused at the thought, a grin seeping across her face. A demon nurse babysitting a psycho, neurotic angel. It sounded like something right out of some cheesy romance novel. Or, at least, a bad porno. Either way, just the idea that she had some sort of power over poor ol' Cas made her snicker with glee. Oh how far have the mighty fallen.

She dragged a plastic chair over to the bedside, ignoring the ear-splitting screeches the chair made as its legs scraped across the floor. After a long look at the fallen angel, she plopped onto her seat, not bothering to bring her chair to face the front, slumping over onto her forearms and giving Clarence an eyeful of mock pity. "I'm guessing Luci's not being real nice to you, am I right?" she asked, sick giddiness working its way through her veins. The angel was silent; his eyes remained fixated on a vacant corner of the room. If he was aware of Meg's presence, he gave her no heed or satisfaction. The demon sniffed, shifting a bit while ruffling the hem of her skirt. God this was getting boring. She sighed. "Ya know, it's great and all to see you at the other end of the stick, but I think I liked you better without the psycho," she mused, looking at her ward with disinterested eyes. "At least then I could yank that stick out of your ass."

Stoic, unmoved. It was as if someone had frozen Cassy onto the bed. The brunette felt a wave of discomfort wash over. This was getting slightly old. Why was she doing this again? A grunt of frustration escaped her lips as she remembered her current status as Hell's Most Wanted...perhaps it wasn't such a good idea to blow off each and every demon she'd ever encounter. If anything, she had to give props to Crowley for gaining so many supporters. He had the charm, the wit. Not that she didn't but well...maybe demons were pro-leprechaun. Her eyes rested upon the white-clad form. Didn't matter though. Soon she'd be able to roast the bastard's Lucky Charms. All she needed was time.

But why wait? The question burned in her twisted soul and corrupted heart. Why the hell was she actually cooperating with those damned Wincesters? Desperate times call for desperate measures, she told herself. And Clarence's field trip to Bizarro World didn't seem to be ending anytime soon. Damn it boys, I'm honestly being way too nice to you, she thought, raging malevolence bubbling under her skin. She briefly entertained the thought of possessing one of those sorry boys and taking them out for a ride, just for fun. It was impossible, with their fancy tat's and all, but the idea made her smile nonetheless.

"Ya know, Clarence," she said aloud, scooting her chair a bit closer to the bed. "I've been thinking. I've actually been pretty nice to you lot. Dean says I've only been good to me. I'd like to beg to differ." As expected, the treetopper didn't move an inch. She shook her head in pseudo-sympathy. "Poor, poor Dean. We've been close all these years and he's still playin' the denial game."

Silence.

The white walls seemed a bit more glaring than they did before. If Meg hadn't known better, she would have sworn it was as if Castiel had become one with the room, threatening to crush her with its damned purity, full of eyes looking down at her bitterly. A mad giggle escaped her throat. "I'll bet that it just drives you crazy," she teased, snaking away from her chair and slithering next to the angel. "You, Mr. Hotshot Angel, being looked after by lil' old me." Here, she paused, resting her chin on his firm shoulder. "We all aren't that different...you...me...the Olsen twins..." And it was true. If there was one thing Meg prided herself in, it was in her honesty. She found lies to be rather...easy. Real torture was in presenting the facts. Whether it was tormenting some sorry sod or manipulating hoards into her puppet strings, truth always brought her nothing but gain. Which was why Meg resented being even compared to that bitch Ruby. No class, no creativity. So the skank got the job done, that Meg could accept. But honestly. If it had been Meg, she would have done it with some style.

She let a slender arm curve around the angel's waist. "I mean, think about it, Clarence," she purred with fake thoughtfulness. "We're just three different verses of the same ol' song, ya know?" She skipped a beat, her eyes roving over the angel's vacant face. "We were all serving our Father, once."

His muscles suddenly tensed, and a bright spark of surprise and excitement jumped inside of her. Of course, that's what it all led to. Daddy issues.

Gleefully, she continued. "What would you say if I told you that everything I've done has always been acted out of loyalty and love?" she asked, searching the depths of dark blue eyes. "Everything I've ever done?"

If it was possible, Castiel grew stiffer than before. A smug smile danced its way across the demon's lips. "I know what it's like, you know. To have a Father that screws you over in the end..." Here, she froze, a sudden darkness overwhelming her. Her eyes hardened as a thick batch of hatred began to seep through her cool. Azazel. Lucifer. Her...human life. Dammit, she thought with gritted teeth. I forgot I've got Daddy issues of my own.

She met her father in a convent, as twisted and bizarre as it seemed. He baptized her in her own blood, took communion with her flesh, and revealed to her the Truth with twisted bones and crushed hope. She, Sister Tamse Grems, was yanked out of heaven's grasp and hurled into hell's bosom, as a sacrifice for her new God. What was once pure and white as snow became red and dark as blood; she cried out for her former life, her former Father. No help came. Eternal damnation was all that remained. "Don't cry, child," said the man with yellow eyes as he boiled the skin off her bones and carved her eyes out of their sockets. "I'll be your new Daddy. Better than that old fart ever was." The notion, at first terrifying, became a sole comfort. "Just say yes." Resolve grew thin. Within 30 years, the yellow-eyed monster became her guide...and after 270 years of training in anguish and pain and torture, she was Daddy's little girl- and she loved it.

"We're all fucked," she muttered, suddenly feeling too drained to taunt the neurotic patient. "Every damn one of us." She could have sworn Castiel flinched, just a bit, but that would have been asking for too much. "Parents are a bitch."

She did everything that was ever asked of her, and she did it with twisted love and affection. She learned, and she obeyed, and she waited, forever loyal to an absent father. And then, one day, he betrayed her. Let her get thrown into the darkest depths of hell, where she saw horrors she never thought existed, met Alastair, of all people. All because of some plan with the Wonder Twins? She wouldn't take that quietly. She would die before she sniveled at the idea! And so she trained, bathed in her misery, grew strong in her anger, and clawed her way out through flesh, and bone, and fear. Freedom never felt so good...and hatred never was so strong.

"You know, I never really understood why you angels took whatever Daddy said as cold, hard facts," Meg continued to muse, wrapping her arms tighter around her companion. "But then I would remember...that's what I would have done. And more." She leaned against the body next to her, drinking in the warmth and the coldness. "But you know...one difference is, I gotta personal relationship with Jesus." A tired, smug look managed to grace her face. "After all...I met my God face to face."

"I'll take you to heaven. I'll take you all to heaven." Those words sang through her ears and into what was left of her heart. Finally...she was talking to her Father, her true Father, one that would not abandon her, one that finally save her from damnation. She felt something akin to pride and love wash through her body as she felt two hands cup her face and gently pull her into an embrace. "We have work to do. Lots of it. But we will win. And I will bring you the paradise that has been unjustly kept from you." She ate it all up, not caring whether it was a ruse or not. It couldn't have been. He was the one spider's thread in a world of hellfire, and all be damned if she wasn't grabbing it!

(But in the end, he too, left her).

"But I guess you've got a one-on-one session with my Father now, anyways," she commented, knocking the side of Castiel's head lightly. "Do ya think he'd make a good substitute?" She took the silence as a no.

She sighed, pursing her lips together a bit. "Didn't think so," she murmured. She stood up, walking up in front of the patient before crouching down to meet him at eye-level. "Do you still pray to Him, Cas?" she asked, taunting, yet curious. "Do you still scream at the sky and ask Him what He'll have you do?" There was no reply. A sudden surge of frustration overcame her, and before she knew it she was shaking his shoulders in rage and anger. "I do, you know?" she whispered harshly, yanking him so close her breath blew across his cheek. "I still cry out to Ol' Yellow Eyes, and I still call out to your current bunk-buddy. But you know..." -her grip tightened, and she wondered if she'd leave bruises on the angel's skin- "Even after getting a one-way ticket to down-under, even after torturing more souls than I can count...I still pray to God."

A mad bout of laughter rose out of her lungs, like the sickest form of bile, and she wondered how no one heard her. "I bet Dean still calls his Dad," she managed to say between gasps. "I bet he still calls his Daddy's phone number and get's all angsty and moody when he knows no one will answer. Because that's what I do. Because that's how I feel." She pressed her forehead against the man before her, her arms trembling as she searched for any response, any reaction. Nothing. Her rage burst through once more, and she violently pushed her ward onto the bed, toppling over after him. She was on top of him now, and there was the slightest hint of surprise and recognition in the otherwise stoic face. "Do you understand?" she hissed. Their lips were mere inches apart, and she wasted no time in crossing that length, smothering her lips against his in a desperate, desperate kiss.

She broke away, rage and anger simpering down to the faintest sizzle. There was still nothing in his eyes. Just doll-like, and glassy. And twisted as her heart was, it still broke.

"All...all I've ever done has been out of love. Loyalty." Meg muttered, more to herself than to the catatonic angel beside her. "Everything...everything I've ever done."

She stood up, brushing herself off and adorning her face with her signature smirk. Briskly, she approached the door, twisting the knob and nearly yanking the hinges off the walls. She paused, looking behind her to observe her angel still lying where she left him. "Even now," she said, without really understanding her own words. "Even now."