So...not really sure where this is coming from. Maybe the wall-rattling intensity of the stereo system in my suitemates' room is finally catching up to me. Zero consideration right there.

Note: Meg's back story (since it's never really established in the series) is based on mythology. I thought it would be interesting. This, unfortunately, also means there's going to be some difference in Meg as she starts to remember, but it works and she starts out Meg-like.

Warnings: implied sex, character death, made up (I think) theory on demons and souls, and accidental overuse of the word sugar. Also mild dyslexic, which means it's written well enough but isn't going to be perfect.

Anyway, complaining time over and done with. AU of the year between season seven and season eight. Told in Meg and Sam's point of views. Pairings: Sam/Meg, Destiel.

Disclaimer: don't own anything you recognize.

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"Grace"

I.

She's caught in a devil's trap right in a closet of all things when Sam finds her.

The Leviathans that were preparing to eat her suddenly explode and she's alone for ten minutes or so covered completely in black goo and trying to figure a way to get out. Even if the Winchesters and Castiel aren't dead, it's not like they'll come looking for her. Or, Castiel might. The boys not so much. She looks down at the painted mark on the floor, trying to scrub it away with her foot but of course it doesn't work. Thanks to the Winchesters, she's officially a veteran at getting herself stuck in these nightmares but that doesn't mean she has to like it.

Then the door bangs open and there stands Sam, demon knife in hand and completely alone. No Dean. No Castiel. She knows without needing to be told what happened because she knows those three better than any other demon in existence right now and if everything came out tied all neatly with a bow, they wouldn't leave each other alone. For a moment they just stare at each other, not speaking, and she tenses, ready to be killed. Hunters are all back-stabbing douche bags and the one in front of her is worse than the rest with his track record. But instead he kneels down and scrapes away the paint just enough to let her leave.

"They're dead," he says bluntly as she steps out, a mocking comment already in her mouth and she gets the silence message. Don't you dare say anything, he's trying to tell her. "Or - gone. They vanished when Dick exploded. So, yeah."

The Winchesters together were unstable enough, but apart they're time bombs. "How'd you make it out of there then, sugar?" she asks, that edge in her voice there automatically because it's not like she cares, after all. Even if she was just willing to die for their cause and she'd spent the past few months safeguarding an insane angel.

"Wasn't close enough, I guess," he answers, not raising to the permanent baiting in her voice. Then he says, "You want a ride to wherever you need to be?" and something that was never there before clicks.

Though she can go place to place faster than any car will ever be able to take her, she says, "Sure, but I've got nowhere to go. Where're you headin'?"

Bobby Singer is dead. Dean is dead, Castiel too. He's got nowhere to go either and Meg hasn't felt like a drifter since...ever. "I'll figure something out," he says and they leave together, the destruction left behind them. "Gone" means no bodies which means no burning, though an impressive fire has started on the top floor anyway. "Pick a direction, Meg."

"East," she says. Though for a demon it really shouldn't matter, east has always felt safe for her. It isn't something she can explain and she doesn't try. When they reach the car, she looks at him warily. "For the record, I'm not thrilled at the idea of a crash right now."

"Dean would kill me," he says, which isn't real reassuring, and slips into the driver's seat, turning the key in the ignition. She half expects him to drive away without her, suddenly realizing that he's about to hang out with a demon all over again. But he waits until she's in the car and even gives her a look that means she's supposed to put on her seat belt before carefully pulling away. No need to get caught by the cops after this disaster. They ride in silence for a while, heading east like she said.

This gives her time to think, which is never a good thing. Meg is programmed to be fast, relentless, and altogether an aptly named bitch (even though she tells - told - Dean countless times to stop calling me that, bastard). Instead, though, she finds her mind wandering to Ruby and what she did. Meg, like any Lucifer loyalist, was all for his release but that doesn't mean she wants to be a repeat. Sam and Dean Winchester had been on the top of her hit list for years but now Crowley is out to get her and despite the man probably being incredibly unhinged right now, she knows there's nowhere else in the world that she'll be safer. And like most beings of any species with a thought process, she's pretty damn keen on living. And avoiding Hell. It's called that for a reason.

So, no, she isn't into using him like Ruby had. She should hate him and he her, but for the first time in her life, she feels no malice. At all. From either end. She wants to be snippy and wants to hear him be sassy in return and help him get back Dean and Castiel because, damn it all, she cares about that little angel and the Winchester. If humans taught her anything, it's the importance of having a cause and maybe this is hers.

Maybe her cause is to just not give a fuck anymore and keep herself alive long enough to kill Crowley.

Sam sends her a sideways glace, those eyes of his dull, and asks, "How about New York?"

This is it, then. Meg has found her new reason.

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II.

Sam knows this is a shit idea, holing up with a demon again but something feels different this time. Meg isn't trying to "save his life" or get him to do anything Dean would hate him for other than simply being in the same room with one again. It's almost amazing really, how badly she wants to save Cas. It's not something she says, but he knows anyway.

They drive through the night that first twenty-four hours, avoiding highways and upping the mileage on the Impala even further. She doesn't try to be snarky or insult him, which would be scary if he could care. Watching Dean and Cas simply disappear like that might be enough to him snap again, if he wants to be honest with himself. Hopefully Meg won't be staying with him permanently (he refusing to think that far ahead right now, focusing on the present) because the last thing he needs is for a demon who's been consistently trying to off him until recently watch him break down. It's degrading and will probably lead to his death anyway.

Because he doesn't want that at all, he tells himself.

By the time they reach a motel in Pennsylvania, he's so disoriented that Meg forces him to pull over. He's messed up to the point that he can't even be surprised when she takes his money and get them in the honest way. He gets out a "Two queens please" before they're directed off. It's on the first floor, which is good. He doesn't even have enough in him to climb the stairs anymore.

She calls first shower the moment they enter the door, which he expects. They cleaned themselves off with those sanitation wipes to the best of their ability so they only looks muddy, but they're both still dirty as hell. And Meg is Meg, which means she's a selfish bitch. He sits instinctively on the bed furthest from the door and stares of into space, pressing into the scar on his hand. Nothing happens. Dean still isn't here and neither is Cas who he considers his best friend by this point (other than Dean, but he's also his brother and so much than that). The shower is still running and its occupant is a demon he's been trying to gank since he was twenty-two and killed Ellen and Jo.

How fucking typical.

"Get your ass in there," she says when she exits the bathroom, wrapped in a towel. "You smell worse than a hellhound."

"Wear one of my shirts," he tells her, sounding as exhausted as he feels. "Your clothes are soaked."

"I didn't realize you wanted to move that fast, Mr. Winchester."

This is such a shit idea, he thinks again. "Meg," he says, opening the bathroom door, "not right now."

The smirk is gone so quickly from her face that he actually wonders what's wrong.

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III.

"Why do you want Cas back?"

She shrugs and goes back to rifling through the sales rack of whatever store they're in. Now that her clothes are trashed, she needs more and managed to cajole him into joining her. He looks uncomfortable and out of place and she purposely goes to the more feminine section just to torture him. Last time she did this she was in Meg Master's body and dressed that Bible-Hugger like a slut. This time she heads for something else - the loose shirts and Converse and boot cut jeans. They're the sort of things her meat suit wore when she ran off to become an actress. For the first time, Meg genuinely likes the body she's chosen.

The fact that Sam wishes she hadn't taken a living person is an added bonus.

As she holds up a blue shirt in front of herself to see it in a mirror, she answers, "If he's still nuts, odds are even the great Dean Winchester won't be able to deal with him in Purgatory. Someone has to save little Clarence's ass."

This is bullshit and they both know it. But she's a demon and demons aren't supposed to care so she doesn't care. Just like she doesn't care that Sam hasn't smiled in the past two days or that she's making an active attempt not to hurt him by acting her normal self. "Dean can do it," he says, that typical blind faith in his voice. "Dean - Well, he's my brother and Cas is my friend. I'll figure it out."

"And how are you supposed do that?" she says, grabbing the same shirt in red. Even she knows that this is going to be expensive but they'll be long gone before anyone figures out the credit card isn't real. If there's anything she likes about the Winchesters it's their complete disregard for the law.

"I'll figure it out," he repeats. "I have to."

A few shirts and couple of jeans are all she needs, she decides. "We better hop to it then," she says, leading him off. He doesn't comment about the 'we.' "The world doesn't just repair itself."

"Why do you even care?"

"Even your sweet, darling Heaven is better than Crowley's Hell."

Sam shuts up.

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IV.

They don't really talk about it but one day she comes back to their New York motel room with two new cell phones and fake credit cards. Switching phones sounds like a good idea and he stores his old ones away for when Dean and Cas come back. Then a week later he's buying a new charger for said phone and returns with a laptop he teaches her how to use. The IDs come next, complete with a license and false information. Megan Falk is twenty-six and grew up not far out of the City. He pretends he doesn't notice the way her face lights up when she stumbles across Supernatural fanfiction and has a new reason to make fun of him.

Dean would hate this even though they'd both been trusting her for the past year or so. In the words of the angel who came for Cas and Kevin, they're "a demon whore and a Winchester, again." But she hasn't tried anything and neither particularly trust each other so there's always that.

Then one day after continuing to come up dry, she says, "We should hunt. I've gone too long without killing anything." And it's this that gets his whole body to freeze up, vision going out of focus the way it did when he was having flashbacks and the only thing that stops it is Meg adding, "You fucking idiot, I'm not going to turn you into a junkie."

He calms down almost irrationally quickly and shoots her an apprehensive look that makes her roll her eyes. She's already up and admitted that she's using him and it's fucked up that it's that causing him to believe anything she's saying. Instead of justifying that with a real answer, he tells her, "There's something going on in Maine that sounds like witchcraft. Up to killing witches?"

Meg smirks and stands, shutting the laptop. "Always a pleasure," she says, already gathering her things. They're going in the car which he thinks is strange. Leaving him behind by doing a disappearing act on her own sounds more her style but she hasn't done it once. It's like she's scared to be left alone. Like Crowley's little minions can find her anywhere.

"You know," he says, putting together his own things, "hunting with me isn't exactly the best way to lay low."

She doesn't saying anything at first, just sort of looking at him. Then she shrugs and answers, "I can handle my own. You can too. So let's shut up about reasoning and get on with the murder spree, all right?"

It isn't murder - not really - but he's too tired to point that out. His head hurts from that almost-flashback and he's too confused by Meg and her personality flip. What would Dean think? Or Bobby? Ellen, Jo? Cas? He's still having trouble getting his mind around the fact that he's hanging out with a demon again to find his brother. A demon that's tried to kill him and killed his friends and caused his father figure to become paralyzed. But at the same time she's changing right before his eyes in that reluctant, scared sort of way that can't be an act.

Though it comes as a surprise, he realizes she's noticing it too and is just as deep in denial as he is. The thought it almost comforting.

"Keep an eye out for devil's traps and holy water," he says twenty minutes later when he pulls out of the underground lot and back onto the busy New York City streets. "If we run into another hunter, I doubt they'll recognize you but shit like that is just precaution for most of us."

There's no aw, how sweet - you care like he expects. Rather, he gets, "You're Sam Winchester. No hunter in their right mind is going to question you. And I can take care of myself. Save your worry for someone who needs it."

Even so, his mind drifts to Walt and Roy and maybe she's right because Dean shot both in the head after they were resurrected. This should probably make him sad that no one who knows the truth will want to go anywhere near him besides a demon but he can't bring himself to mind. Meg is all right company and he'd be a liar if he ever said she was the only murderer in the car. There's so much blood on his hands that it's not washing off any time soon.

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V.

They're in New Orleans after hunting down a group of ghouls and the couple in the room next to them is going at it. Meg half-expects Sammy boy here to be uncomfortable but he barely seems to notice it. Or, that is, until the dirty talk gets loud enough for them to hear. He looks up at her, that stupid dimpled grin plastered on his face and says, "So, Meg, is your meat suit getting all dewy?"

After the initial moment of shock, she breaks down laughing. Genuine, human laughing. Then Sam's laughing too and it isn't all that funny and really, it should be freaking her out how utterly human she feels but it doesn't. Instead it keeps on going until it dies down and the two of them are looking at each other with inappropriate smiles on their faces. She snaps out of it abruptly, going back to flipping through the channels like nothing happened.

But apparently it isn't over for him because she can see in the reflection of the television that he's still looking at her. "Do you want to go do something?" he asks suddenly. "Just...take a break for the night."

This gets her attention. His eyes are wide and childish. That human feeling hasn't gone away yet and she's finally starting to feel uncomfortable. "Like what?" she answers. "Go see a movie like two precious teenagers with a crush?"

"Actually," he says, "yeah. Let's go see a movie and forget about the high school romance thing. Ever been in a theater, Meg?"

Something tells her that she had when she was human and the gravity of this shadowed memory hits her too hard and too fast for her to think straight. "For a play, I think," she says, earning her an odd look. "Anyway, it's not like we have anything better to do. But if you pull anything, I'll kick your ass back down to Hell, ya'hear?"

Not that he ever would but she feels a bit better after saying it. She's supposed to be rough and vindictive, not going out to the movies in New Orleans with Sam-fucking-Winchester. And she definitely shouldn't be letting him explain traditional movie foods and why Coke is better than Pepsi. She feels like that couple back in the motel who, from the multiple I love you's shouted in the throws of probably an orgasm, was in it for more than just the sex. But even so, she settles into the theater next to him, listening to him bitch at her for picking a horror movie and automatically answering with mocking words that he simply brushes off.

She likes movies, she decides by the end of it. She likes them a lot. And even though she doesn't say it, Sam seems to understand.

Now every time they finish a hunt, they celebrate by going to a theater.

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VI.

It's three months into traveling together when he realizes that he trusts her. This hits him in the middle of a fight against six demons when she screams for the knife and he throws it to her without a second thought, expecting her to catch it and not run away. He splashes holy water in the demon's face while he waits and says the exorcism backwards to trap the thing in the body, not waiting to risk sending it back to Hell and having Crowley find out where Meg is. Then she kills it, the last one, and looks at Sam with that deliriously happy smile she only gets on her face when she's ganking something.

"Not bad," she says, wiping the knife on her jeans before handing it back. "How'd you know that'd work?"

"I didn't," he answers, tucking it into the inside pocket of his jacket. "Just figured I should give it a try. S'not like I could give Crowley a chance to get you, right?"

This is it: a blatant admittance. Meg doesn't call him out of it. "Fuck," she says, ignoring him and looking down at herself. "I look like I went through a slasher movie."

"That's what you get for wearing white."

She pulls off her shirt and he instinctively looks away. "What can I say?" she answers. "I guess I just felt like looking like an angel today, sugar."

When he glances back, her jacket is zipped enough for her to appear descent. "Real cute," he says and leads them out of the warehouse and back to the Impala. "Looking to make it into Heaven now?"

Meg laughs and it sounds more like her old one than what he's used to by now. "I've killed an angel and made one 'fall from grace,'" she says, slipping into the passenger seat. "I've seen what your Heaven is and it's nowhere I want to be."

"It sucks." He isn't sure why he's telling her this but he decides not to question it. "I've been there. Not as bad as Hell, but it's not the paradise everyone makes it out to be."

Apparently this isn't something she expected. "You - a human - don't like Heaven?"

"Dean and I got shot a while back," he explains. "We had take a trip down memory lane to get out and the angels manipulated everything. I wish there was just nothing when I died. That I could just sort of snuff out and not have to deal with either side. Or Purgatory."

He doesn't know if she can imagine what that's like. According to more than one demon, they didn't particularly like Hell either but she only knows there and Earth and it's not like she can die without the help of the Colt or the demon blade.

To his surprise, she asks, "What's your real Heaven?" and sounds genuinely curious.

"Dean," he answers, focusing intently on the road now and refusing to look at her. "It's always been Dean." Then, because he really does want to know, he adds, "What would yours be? As in, if you'd gone there when you died rather than Hell."

He can't see her, but he knows she thinks he's being ridiculous. "I don't remember ever being alive," she says and it sounds like a lie. "And I know you don't want to believe it, but I'm a demon. I like my whole killing and maiming thing."

"Nothing? You don't -"

"I don't want to."

The raw truth of it is so intense that he doesn't know what to do in the face of it. So he does what the Winchesters do best and ignores his own confusion.

It's easier for everyone that way.

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VII.

Meg decides she hates Sam. She hates him with every ounce of her nonexistent soul even though she can't seem to be able to leave him. Hates him for making her wonder, for making her want to remember. Hates him for the way he's forcing to recall old emotions every time he does random, stupid things that remind her of something she can't properly form.

Like right now for example, when he comes back carrying Greek take-out from a place that the locals swear is the best one around. The smell is what triggers the slight disquiet first but she tries to pretend it isn't there and goes back to the book she's reading. It's one of Singer's that she'd just started, hoping that they'll stumble across something soon. Lately it hasn't just been Castiel she wants back - it's Dean too. She wants the two of them to come back and realize that they're hopelessly in love with each other to the point that it's sickening and find out that she and Sam make fun of them for it. She's a demon, the bad guy, but every time Sam does something that makes her hate him she wants to be that less and less.

"I found a job," he says, sitting down across from her and sliding over the food. She doesn't think he's noticed how much she hates him yet which is strange because Sam seems to notice everything. "Four people died without explanation in public places and the pathologist says that other than being dead, they're fine."

She doesn't answer right away, instead staring down at the grape leaves in the Styrofoam box and struggling to keep herself from thinking. But it comes anyway, the strongest yet - hands pressing stuffing, the laugh of a man and children. Then she shakes her head and it's gone. "Yes, because death is the perfect example of physical health. The doctors should be proud of coming to that conclusion," she says. It sounds like she's trying to hard but it's not as gone as she thought and that laugh is ricocheting in her head so loud Sam should be able to hear it. "Where?"

"Knoxville, Tennessee," he answers, handing over the newspaper. The words swim in front of her like she should be reading a language other than English which she's entirely fluent in. "We can finish up eating and hit the road. I won about five hundred at poker last night, so we have money for gas."

Last night Meg had been asleep. Truly, soundly asleep. Demons don't need sleep. Sam doesn't sleep much either and Ruby probably faked it so she's not sure he knows this. But she does and this is just one more thing she can blame him for. She'd crashed while watching some sitcom she hadn't bothered to get the name off like she was human. That's what Sam Winchester is doing to her and she should run while she still has the chance. But she doesn't.

She's addicted to this the way he was to demon blood and can't back out even though she wants to.

Demons don't need to eat either, but she finds herself hungry anyway. When Castiel had fallen, he'd turned into this too but Meg has nothing to fall from. In the terms of grace's hierarchy, she's rock bottom already.

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VIII.

Down in Tennessee, the cheapest motel they can find only has one vacancy and it's a king-sized bed. He decides that fuck it, they've been travelling together long enough that sharing a bed for a couple of nights doesn't matter much, and pays for a week. Knoxville is nice in that Southern sort of way but he misses the cabin he and Meg have been staying when they aren't on a job. There they get two separate rooms and a sort-of kitchen that means they don't need to have diner food every morning.

When the case is over, the vengeful spirit disposed of, he and Meg sit on the bed eating Chinese food as she flips through the channels. He finds it interesting that both she and Cas have a fascination with television. Maybe Dean will understand, let her stick around when they get him back and the four of them can -

The remote suddenly falls from Meg's hand, smacking his ankle. He looks from his food at her to find her focused entirely on the television, eyes wide with what looks like horror. Confused, he checks the screen where Disney's Hercules is playing, trying to figure out what's so terrifying about an animated movie. Then he notices she's hyperventilating, which is wrong on so many levels because this is Meg, the girl who's always in control and he didn't even know it was possible for demons to get panic attacks. He quickly grabs the remote and turns off the television, awkwardly slipping his arm around her shoulders like he used to do with Jess.

When her breathing slows a bit, he asks, "What's going on?"

She shoves him away so hard he ends up on the floor. Disoriented, he picks himself up and sees her curled up in herself, palms pressed to her eyes, mumbling something that sounded like "c'mon, go black" over and over. Cautiously, he stands, worried she's going to do something stupid. "Meg -" he starts but gets cut off by a sudden blast of force that throws him backwards and knocks the lamp from the nightstand onto the bed. "Jesus Christ, Meg, calm down!"

And she does. All tension bleeds from her body and she looks up at him, eyes big and brown and most decidedly normal looking. "Give me that book we stole from the library in New York," she says, sounding exhausted. Too worried about her to question, he does as she asked, grabbing it from his bag and handing it over. She riffles through it, half the pages turning at the command of her mind rather than her fingers and pauses. He's leaning over her shoulder now and sees that the page is written in Ancient Greek and they hadn't found the time to get a translator yet.

A moment later the book flies from her hands, slamming against the wall where it shuts and hits the floor. Meg growls and kicks out but he's there in an instant, catching her from behind in an effort to stop her from running off. "Calm down," he says, trying to be soothing but not sure how that works on a person like her. "Tell me what's wrong."

"I understand it!" she snaps. "That's what's wrong! I understand it and I'm not supposed to be able to read Greek!"

It takes a moment, but it clicks. Her eyes hadn't turned black. She freaked out over Hercules, a move that's only crime is its horrendous inaccuracies. But Meg also likes Mediterranean food above anything else and favors lighter colors with clothes recently and mumbles words in her sleep in a language he doesn't understand. It's Greek. Ancient Greek.

"You're remembering," he says quietly to the mess in his arms.

"You know," she answers and he's so relieved that she is who she is which means no tears, "this girl's name is Meggie Blake. I always pick this name for long term possession."

God, he is so not equipped to deal with this. As if watching Cas fall wasn't hard enough. He isn't even sure what to call whatever this. "As specific as I think it is or just an in general sort of thing?" he asks, hoping for the latter but Winchester luck is eternally horrible and that's all there is to it.

"Specific," she answers, not sounding at all like her normal self. She seems worn out and done which he can say from experience is never a good thing. "I don't remember everything and I don't know what I did to end up in Hell." Before he can say anything, she looks up and adds, "Let's go see a shitty movie at that dollar theater and come back and get drunk."

Everything about that sentence was so Dean that it hurts. Even so, he agrees because he likes her and just wants to see her be okay. And if she really is the Megara then they're both screwed. It's going to be hell for her when she remembers and hell for him because he'll have to deal with the fallout. He can do this, though, because he's already lost everyone and Meg is here and solid and maybe there's something there that he's trying to ignore.

Later they get drunk as promised and wake up the next morning in a tangle of bodies and sheets and Sam decides he hates his life.

.

VIV.

Meg is a demon and demons are not inherently good and like that about themselves. So why is it that when she looks at Sam Winchester all she can think is that he deserves better?

They throw themselves into hunting and researching how to get Dean and Castiel from Purgatory and Sam takes on the added task of putting up with the aftermath of every memory that throws itself at her. She wasn't lying when she said she didn't want to remember and she should've backed out the moment she started wanting to feel human. The Meg she is now is clashing with the past however many years she spent as a demon in Hell and the woman who's been turned into part of someone else's myth. It takes her longer and longer to get back to her normal, black-eyed state after each episode and the only thing that's keeping her going is Sam and the thought of two people who are now categorized as "friends" in her mind lost somewhere out of reach. She and Sam cling to the idea that they aren't dead.

And she likes to ignore the fear that Dean will separate them.

Now, four and a half month since the two disappeared, she and Sam are back in the wooden cabin. She wakes up from where she'd passed out on the couch from another spurt of memories to find herself alone. There're sounds coming from the other end of the room and she peeks over the back to find Sam in the little kitchen, making eggs. Sunlight is streaming through the windows and he's wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants. His hair is wet, too, which means she's been out for longer than usual. Oh how she misses the days where she didn't eat or sleep and didn't remember one damn thing about when she was alive.

"How're you feeling, sleeping beauty?" he says when he turns around and sees that she's awake. She glares at the nicknames. "Aw, don't be like that."

"You're a bastard," she answers as he turns off the burner and scrapes the eggs onto the plates. There's coffee too and she's starting to wonder what's going on between the two of them.

When he comes over, feet moving silently over the wooden floor that should creak every ten seconds, he asks, "Do you, uh, remember yet? The end, I mean."

The content of her last episode comes rushing back to her. "I had two kids," she says, avoiding looking at him because fuck it, demons are not supposed to talk like this and her especially. She's only normal when they fight which admittedly happens pretty often. Except not really because last time he threw the deaths of Ellen and Jo in her face and she retaliated with mentioning the Cage when he swore in Enochian and for once she was the one dealing with the wreck rather than the other way around. She knows what torture is and how to do it but in the end she can't even begin to imagine what happened to him and it scares her that she cares when she shouldn't because she should side with Lucifer. Always. "I had two kids and Herakles killed all three of us. Not sure how that ended up with me in Hell but I must've done something, right?"

He sits down next to her on the couch and hands her a plate, looking uncomfortable. "Hera probably did it," he says and grimaces like that was a bad thing to say. Fuck religion, she thinks for a moment. Fuck every single one of them. "She, um - Do you know why your...husband killed you?"

The eggs are good. A little too heavy on the salt, but that's normal. Every window and door has lines and two days ago she stepped right over one without thinking. She tries to tell herself that Sam just screwed up and left a gap, but he doesn't make mistakes like that. "No idea," she answers, focusing on his plate. "Maybe he become jealous of my impeccably good looks?" It's nice to know that she's still disconnected enough that she can be sarcastic about the death of her and her children at the hands of her husband who is now used as writing material for writers and bedtime stories.

"According to the myth, Hera drove him to temporary insanity," Sam tells her. It actually takes effort to ignore the sudden white-hot anger that runs through her at just the sound of that. It makes sense, and she shouldn't care enough for it to matter. "After he atoned by going through twelve labors. Uh, basically what I'm trying to say is that if the myth is right, then you did nothing to end up where you did."

Interesting theory. "Well," she says, "a goddess just made it on my hit list. After we get Castiel and Dean back, we should kill her. How does that sound, Clyde?"

He laughs though she isn't sure if it's because of the nickname or because the way she said something. Sam is twenty-nine and gorgeous and that human part of her is satisfied every time she makes him happy. Even four months and half months later, he's still having trouble. She was all okay with everything until he started her outbreak of random memories of a life she doesn't want. "Sounds great," he says, smiling down at his cup of coffee. Back when she was all demon (and not what she is at the moment, whatever that is) she didn't need caffeine to wake her up, but she does now. "We'll barricade the exits, let you do it on your own."

She half-smiles, liking the idea. Maybe if she kills Hera and Crowley she can go back to how she was before.

But then Sam needs to be an idiot and asks, "If you were human, then how was Azazel your father?"

"Let me put it this way," she answers. "If Dean had been down in Hell long enough for his humanity to burn away, Alistair would be considered his."

He looks horrified and she knows then that she can't do it. If she went back to the way she was, then she'd lose this misfit group that gave her this new reason to get up in the morning. And even more than that, she'd lose Sam. For all her malice and evil, the idea of it is shattering.

That won't happen if she has any say in it.

.

X.

Sam knows they should be looking for a new hunt or continuing their almost nonstop research on getting Dean and Cas back, but they aren't. Instead, he let Meg talk him into teaching her how to play pool. She insisted that if he wanted to go around actually paying for things, she might as well help. And this is how he finds himself in a bar at two in the morning, ignoring the looks other guys give her as he shows her how to hold her cue stick. He whispers in her ear not to use her full strength because he doesn't want to pay damages and she laughs. Every time she laughs like that - like a human, all positive and honest - he can't help but smile.

For so long he's tried to deny it, but he's head over heels for her and there's nothing he can do about it.

It would be much more of a problem if she wasn't the one to kiss him in public just to scare away any girl who looked at him "wrong" and brushed off the advances of other men. She says she just doesn't feel like tossing around with humans because he's bad enough, but she might have a better case if she didn't bring him coffee on the mornings after he fell asleep while researching. Or if, on the subject of sleep, she didn't repeatedly drift off against his side on the nights where they can't take it anymore and find something silly to watch on TV. The only thing that they get right is the sex, which is honest like the way they fight, or summarizes their old relationship. Now he isn't sure what they are, but she seems to know even less than he does, which is always comforting.

"Admiring the view there, sugar?" she asks as she leans over, about to make her first shot after a ten minute tutorial.

"Shut up and play, Meg," he answers, grinning and not bothering to deny it. Sure, she might be about a foot shorter than him and he normally doesn't go for women that small, but he's never going to deny how ridiculously attractive she is. She knocks the ball where it splits the triangle with better precision than he ever had when he first started playing. "Could use some work," he says anyway.

She whacks him in the arm with a stick hard but all he does is shrug. "Dick," she says, rolling her eyes.

There are men not-so-subtly checking her out, so he pulls what she normally does and kisses her. It feels weird, practically proclaiming her his girlfriend and there's no way that he's ever imagined getting a house together one day with Dean and Cas finally out of the closet with each other living down the street and waking up on lazy Sunday mornings to the sound of rain on a roof that's theirs. His brother with an angel and he with a demon. Their lives are just one giant mess of symmetry.

"Get to practicing," he says, picking up his own stick and setting up the balls again so they can play a trial game. "Maybe tomorrow I'll even let you play real people for real money."

"By the end of tomorrow, I'll be able to kick your ass," she tells him, lining up with the cue ball and breaking apart the triangle. She'd hate the idea that he totally hasn't thought about ever. "I guarantee that."

"Keep dreaming, sweetheart."

Normal boyfriends would let their girlfriends win. But he isn't her boyfriend and she isn't his girlfriend and they've never been what one would call normal. Regardless of whether or not she does get better tomorrow, there's no way he's letting her get the drop on him. He never has before and he's not going to start that now.

.

XI.

"I want to try something," he says one day back in the cabin, compiling information that finally seems to be pointing them in the direction of breaking out Castiel and Dean. "I'm giving you a head's up because it might hurt."

She quirks a brow and shuts her book. "And?"

"I want to splash you with holy water. Just on the arm or something."

It takes her a moment to actually compute this. "I wasn't aware you had a pain kink in you," she says and enjoys the way the bridge of his nose flushes in embarrassment.

He gives her what Dean apparently calls the Bitch Face. "That's not -" he starts, then shakes his head. "Look, I've seen you walk over a salt line three times now even though you still get caught in devil's traps. I just want to see if you're okay with holy water too."

She can only walk over the salt line half the time and it's mostly during those lackadaisical days when all they're doing is researching or simply being together like some oblivious human couple that she hates herself for. Today's been one of those days and now that he's said it, she's curious too. Any feelings of apprehension about being able to eat and sleep and just be in general normal faded awhile ago. "As long as you don't use a lot," she says, noticing the way his hands shake when takes the spray bottle from the coffee table.

"I don't want to risk getting too much on you, so put out your arm." She wants to argue, to say something rude to stop this but nothing comes out. Instead she follows directions and holds her breath as he pushes the button because holy water hurts a lot worse than any demon lets on.

But nothing happens. She stares down in shock at her wet arm, effectively rendered silent for once. There's no burning sensation - not even a sting. "Are you positive that was holy water?" she asks, trying to wrap her mind around the idea that she's doing things that only humans and angels can do.

"I've been using holy water since I was six," he answers. "Trust me, that's holy water all right."

"What the fuck?"

Next thing she knows, she's wrapped up in a hug, his arms wrapped tight around her waist. "Holy shit, that worked," he says into her hair before she pulls away, smirking. "What?"

"Does this mean we're going to to Heaven now, Clyde?"

He kisses her and she can feel his smile.

"Don't think that's on the table yet, Bonnie," Sam answers and Meg is pretty sure the sex is a solidifying factor.

.

XII.

Sam doesn't tell her that after the holy water incident, he starts on some dabbling in research on top of the desperate search for Dean and Cas. So far he's coming up dry on lore for this, too.

He's starting to wonder if it's possible for a demon's soul to rebuilt itself. Meg's change isn't any sort of act; if it were, then she wouldn't be able to cross salt lines or not react to the holy water. That only happens with humans and angels and he isn't positive but maybe that has to do with souls. Of course, that means that when he was soulless he wouldn't have been able to either but maybe he just wasn't a demon to begin with so it never worked. Maybe he's fishing for hope where there is nothing. It's not that he's planning on doing anything with it since she'd probably kill him, but it seems like she's doing it to herself and that's something.

Seven months has gone by since Dean and Cas disappeared and somehow he and Meg have become something legitimate without actually talking about it. They've become a lot of things without actually talking about it, which probably isn't healthy but nothing in his life ever is. It still feels right, though, when he wakes up in the morning to the sound of the TV and her steady breathing against his chest. Even when they fight it all seems okay despite how physical it gets sometimes. They bicker, too - about who gets first shower, who has to get the dinner and the beer, whenever one of them screws up on something obvious during a hunt.

"I found something," she says as she enters the motel room, placing the groceries on the table. "A man hanged himself in the woods with a vine. The cops are calling it suicide, but the five-year-old daughter keeps saying that the leprechaun did it."

"A leprechaun?"

"A leprechaun."

He shuts his laptop, not wanting her to see what he was searching. "Then let's go kill ourselves a cereal mascot."

Meg tucks her hair behind her ear and Sam decides that it doesn't really matter whether or not her soul reforms. Despite all logic, he's in love with her and doesn't know how to stop.

.

XII.

Lately Meg's been getting these sudden, quick pains that rocket through her entire body. They make no sense and she doesn't tell Sam because he's got enough to worry about. It's been over half a year and they've barely made any progress. Sure, she wants the two to get their asses back here, but one Winchester without the other is a disaster and even though he's been keeping himself together, she knows that something will go bad eventually. Possibly would've already if it weren't for her.

This is a nice feeling, being needed. She hasn't felt like this in two millenia and that's so long ago that it doesn't really matter.

Sam does notice, though, eventually. "Are you okay?" he asks after she stumbles on the way to their post-hunt movie. It wasn't too far away, so they decided to walk.

"I'm fine," she answers, the pain have already subsided.

He doesn't believe her. "You sure?" he says, eyeing her warily. "I mean, you did get hit pretty hard back there."

"I can take hitting a wall," she says, irritated that the idea of her getting hurt by anything other than the demon knife needs to cross either of their minds now. At first she tried to hide it, but along with no longer reacting to salt lines and holy water she's developed the unfortunate side effect of being able to feel pain. Pain up here is different than pain in Hell, though, and she can deal with it. "How about you, Mr. I-Can-Stitch-Myself?"

"Just peachy," he says and she shakes her head in exasperation. "I've been doing this since I was a kid, I can handle it."

He says that a lot - since I was a kid. It hadn't really hit her until the other day when she realized he's been doing this for the past twenty-four years and had been on the road since he was six months old. She knows that he personally lit bones on fire for the first time when he was eight and he shot a werewolf off of his father when he was ten. She also knows that Dean is that times fifty and these two are wrongly codependent. Sam told her that motel owners always assumed they wanted a king-sized bed and she told him his brother better get used to booking two separate rooms because she can only take so much sap and he and Castiel are sticky with it. So much for manliness.

Sam had laughed and it was the first time since this started that it was at the expense of his brother.

They end up watching the Avengers because it's the only one that hasn't started already. Meg spends the entire time baffled because Thor and Loki and Aliens and oh hell what're we even watching right now.

Sam laughs at that, too.

.

XIII.

"I think it's your soul."

He hadn't been planning on telling her, but those small spasms of pain are becoming more and more frequent. They're sitting together on the balcony of a shore front motel because it's the only way he can pick up wi-fi he doesn't have to pay for. "And you know this how?" she asks, putting down her drink. They got it from the hotel bar and it's one of those girly drinks you can only get by the ocean.

"Because I've had everything you can possibly imagine happen to mine," he answers, perusing Google to find a new case. Nothing noteworthy is going on, though, which is how they ended up here. Sam can't remember the last time he'd been to the sea and it wasn't until they were actually out into the water that he realized Meg hadn't been since she was human and since it was Greece, she was probably right up against the shoreline. She doesn't remember, but he hadn't expected her to. "You met me when I didn't have one. I was like that for a year. Getting it shoved back in is up there in the list of most painful experiences of my life."

Her hair is still drying from the saltwater and sticking to her collarbone, which is more distracting than it should be. "So you're saying I'm becoming human or something?" she says.

With a shrug, he says, "Angels can fall so why can't demons - I don't know - regain grace or something? And you forced yourself out of a devil's trap a few days ago. That has to mean something."

It probably supports his theory how not freaked out she seems right now. "Perfect, I'm going to become another emotional wreck on its way to self-destruction," she says, picking up her drink again. That motion in and of itself is human, but he doesn't mention it.

"You don't need to sound so excited about it."

"If I get my soul back, I die again," she points out. "But I guess that's old news for you. How many times have you died now, sugar?"

This is the sort of question that should bother him but Meg, despite all logic pointing the contrary, keeps the flashbacks at bay. "Four times," he answers. "I think. Uh, Jake stabbed me in the back, an angel stabbed me in the stomach, humans shot me, and then I jumped. I'm pretty sure that's all of them."

She shakes her head. "Do Heaven and Hell just having a super special revolving door for your brother and you?" Again he shrugs, not sure how to answer, and neither mention that they hope Purgatory has that policy too. Then she's up and in his lap, pressing a kiss to his neck. His hands automatically settle on her hips.

"Meg?"

He feels her the slip upturn of her lips against his skin as she whispers, "If I'm going to die again, I plan on enjoying the ride down."

.

XIV.

The whole possibly-getting-her-soul-back thing mostly consists of down sides, but the look of surprise on Crowley's men's faces when she steps neatly out of the devil trap is definitely one of the better aspects.

"Don't worry, pumpkin," she says when Sam stabs one through the back with the knife, "you won't live long enough to have to explain this to your boss."

She holds the other two demons in their host bodies to give Sam enough time to kill them and this whole free-for-all murder spree this little Arizona town has been suffering from for past month was over and done with in ten minutes. A year ago if someone told her she'd be spending every day with a Winchester, she'd have thought them insane. Now she just kisses her boy before he can say anything stupid about her word choice and drags him off to the Impala.

They skip town almost immediately after this because even though she has a hex bag to hide her, Sam still worries about them catching up to her. How much he cares is annoyingly endearing, she thinks, as she watches his floppy hair whip around in the wind from the open window, driving way past the speed limit down the empty, straight road. Their reward tonight will be a Red Box movie, beer, and more research. They've managed to avoid another dead end and are slowly crawling towards a solution. Maybe they'll have Dean and his angel back soon.

Later, when they lie in bed together, both showered and exhausted (a sensation she was finally used to) he asks her, "Why pumpkin?"

The clock clicks to three in the morning. Meg just shrugs. "First thing that came to mind," she answers and Sam reaches over, pulling her close. He smells like cheap hotel soap and the remnants of blood.

Regaining grace is what he called whatever's happening to her, which makes her sound like some sort of angel instead of a demon turning human. At no point during the Before, Middle, and Present can she remember anyone ever looking at her like that, which is a little pathetic considering she was married with children at one point. Despite all logical reasoning and completely against the very nature of what she is, Meg realizes she might be a little in love with this kid. The moment the thought strays into her mind, that horrible pain rips through her again, bad enough to make her scream.

She spends the next five minutes having a seizure.

.

XV.

The first time Sam really gets that the old life Meg remembered is actually right is after a long day of research that leaves them so exhausted and frustrated that it erupts into a fight. They fight a lot over the stupidest things and this isn't anything special. Or, at least until midway through a sentence when she suddenly goes off on a tirade in Ancient Greek as legitimate as his random bouts of Enochian he spoke half the time in the Cage.

His yelling stops immediately, changed instead to just sort of staring at her until she realizes what she's doing and shuts up. The flip in mood is instantaneous and she sits on the motel bed, shaken up. After a moment of nothing, he asks, "What the fuck was that, Meg?"

"Greek, dumbass," she snaps, or at least makes a valiant effort to. She sounds freaked out again even though they should both be used to this by now. He watches her warily, worried she'll have another seizure. "Don't ask me what I said, I have no idea."

This is Meg, he thinks. He's in a relationship with the honest-to-God Megara turned demon turned whatever she is now. As if his life wasn't strange enough.

"Well, it's you," he says, trying to come off as casual about it to avoid making it worse, "so it was probably something creative."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

"If you want it to be."

She rolls her eyes like he's being ridiculous, which he is. Outside the rain is coming down hard, pelting against the windows. Originally they were planning on leaving this little New Hampshire town tonight, but decided against it. Neither wanted to drive in this weather. "This isn't a joke, is it?" she says, looking up at him as he leans against the wall, arms crossed. "I'm really - getting back my soul or whatever, aren't I?"

"That's just a theory," he answers, "but I can't think of anything else."

With a groan, she flops back, staring up at the ceiling. It's typical of most motels with water stains and flaky plaster. "It was so much easier being a demon and hating you," she says irritably. "I blame Castiel and Crowley for this by the way."

"Oh, Cas would love to hear that." He almost winces at his own choice of words - would, as in a hypothetical. He should've said will because they're getting Dean and Cas dammit, no matter what it takes. "Anyway, it's not so bad. Having a soul, I mean. You saw me without one. I was as cold as a demon. It was easier but I'd rather be half-insane and on a constant guilt trip than go back to that."

"Yes, because that sounds like so much fun," she says as if she hadn't been blatantly enjoyed that actual date they went on two nights ago or that her level of motivation even before this was human enough. "You do realize I'm starting to lose my demonic powers, right?"

Since she'd been using the knife more and more, he hadn't. Even a demon can't kill another demon (with the exception of Crowley) but if she stops being one, then that won't matter anymore.

He spends the next month teaching her everything his dad taught him.

.

XVI.

Losing her more demonic attributes is less horrible than she suspected as shooting wendigos with flare guns or stabbing a shifter with a silver knife were pretty satisfying. The fact that Sam, who is a pretty reluctant hunter to begin with, always looks so proud when she pulls something off is definitely a contributing factor.

Unfortunately, this means she can get hurt too. On a Thursday nine months after Castiel and Dean disappeared, she's sitting on the tile floor of a motel bathroom while Sam stitches up her leg. She's got enough demon left in her that she doesn't really feel it but he's still scared she'll bleed out. The absolute worst thing about being human is the fear of dying, she finds. It's worse than fearing the torture Crowley would inevitably give her, or dying by the same demon blade she uses so often. At least if she died that way, she'd just be snuffed out, turned to nothing. Now, ever since her soul had started coming back and about a year beforehand, she hadn't exactly done anything evil.

That's the worst thing, she decides. The worst is not knowing where you'll go when you die.

"I know you'll be fine by tomorrow but take it easy for tonight," he tells her, already cleaning up the blood on her and around her. "Put on one of my shirts. Pants might aggravate it. I'll go get us food."

Neither of them had eaten since yesterday because what should've been a simple salt 'n burn turned into a giant, nonstop mess. "Just order pizza," she says. "I mean, this is a college town. There's got to at least be a Domino's."

"But there's also sushi that you can get as take out," he points out. "Only problem is the place doesn't deliver."

In the past few months, Sam's introduced her to a lot of stuff - movies, new foods, how entertaining it was to hunt as a human rather than the other way around. "You win," she says, accepting his hand to help her up. For the first time ever, she experiences what a head rush is and doesn't like it. "I'll get to reading while you're gone."

She's lost some of her snark when it comes to the two lost in Purgatory, too. Sam hadn't been kidding about the emotion thing and after nine months she's just straight up worried. She's not sure who she's more concerned about either; Dean might be an amazing hunter, but he's still human and they don't know if Castiel is still in the same state he was when he transferred Sam's insanity.

"I'll try to make it quick," Sam says, giving her a quick kiss as he grabs his jacket and heads out.

By now she's given up pretending this isn't real.

.

XVII.

Sam has a dream he and Meg live in a suburb outside of New York City with his brother and Cas owning a house down the street. Underneath plain wallpaper is painted with demon and angel wards and he teaches a mythology course at a local high school. They've got a swing set in the backyard though he never sees a kid and a dog that loves her more than it does him. He shows her how to cook pie that Dean's got Cas addicted to in their very own kitchen on a snowy afternoon. She makes some sassy, bitchy comment he doesn't hear because everything sounds muffled and underwater. The other two members of their small, dysfunctional family are coming over soon because it's Christmas Eve, a holiday they only celebrate because everyone likes presents.

He wakes up when dream-Meg starts singing some song from her first life that he can't understand, eyes blinking open. She's lying on her stomach next to him, dead asleep with her shorts riding down a little on her hip. It's eight in the morning, the latest either of them have slept in months. Like this, with the sunlight that slips through the curtains leaving stripes on her face, she looks so human it's hard to remember she wasn't always. He wonders vaguely if, after his brother and Cas comes back and get assimilated into their "normal" lives again and maybe possibly admit that they've been in love with each other since Dean was thirty, that dream could become reality. Or something similar at least.

Probably not, but humanity is built on hope and the idea sticks anyway.

.

XVIII.

"Not another step closer, or I'll shoot her!"

"He was possessed, you can't hold him accountable."

"I said don't move!"

Meg stays in place, mostly the look Sam gives her reminds her she can die and he doesn't want that to happen. A hunter laid a trap, made it seem like something supernatural was going on, because apparently when soulless Sam killed his wife. And she knows he won't lie because that isn't part of his personality, so she throws out that possessed bullshit as an excuse. The hunter doesn't seem to care though and she's never been forced to stare down a gun that can hurt her before.

Sam is slowly lowering his gun as directed, keeping his eyes trained on the other hunter. "Just let Meg go," he says and she could shoot him right now but listens anyway, "and you can -"

"Meg?" the hunter repeats. "As in the demon Meg? I knew you'd fallen -"

"She's not a demon!"

No, no she's not and this means she can die but like an idiot she throws herself in front of him when the hunter pulls the trigger and then there's pain erupting from her back and Sam catching her, sinking to his knees as he places his hand on the wound, applying pressure. She's never felt anything quite like this before. When she coughs, blood hits the fabric of his sweater and she barely registers the sound of a second gun firing and another body crumpling to the floor.

He's mumbling into her hair, "C'mon, stay with me, Meg, don't fall asleep, stay with me," as he reaches into his pocket to fish out his cell phone. She hadn't remembered what dying felt like. "Stay awake, Meg, stay - I need an ambulance is to 221 Florence Ave, my girlfriend's been shot."

Girlfriend. One of the words they've both been avoiding. With the arm of her uninjured side, she reaches up, brushes some hair from his face. Blood loss is making her delirious. "Sam," she says, "Sam -"

"Don't talk, Meg. We're getting you out of here and we'll find Dean and Cas a-and get a house together with a dog and make pancakes and -"

Even dying, she knows no part of that should appeal to her but suddenly she's all human and wants it so badly. "Sam," she tries again and coughs. "Sam, it's okay." And it is, strangely. She scared but it's okay.

"Please stop talking, Meg, you'll all right. I'm not letting you go to Hell again, I swear."

"That's what -" Another cough. "You're m-my Heaven, Sam. You're all my H-Heaven, Sammy."

"Don't you dare die on me." She's pretty sure he's crying, but her vision is already dimming. "C'mon, Meg, you can't, I love you, you can't. Meg? Meg? No no no no - Stay awake for me, Meg!"

Then the whole world fades.

.

XX.

"What did you do while I was gone?"

A week after Meg dies, Dean comes back. Alone. Now there's no angel, no demon-turned-human, but this is his brother who he loves more than anything else in the world and he almost breaks down right there. "Hunted," he says. "Looked for a way to save you. Actually made some progress, too."

This is Dean, though, and he always knows when it's not the whole truth. "Alone?" he says, sounding skeptical.

It takes a moment before Sam can answer, "No. I was with Meg."

Silence falls and then there comes the exact reaction he was expecting. "Meg?" his brother repeats. "What the fuck, Sammy? What gave you any idea that was okay?"

Long, long before last week he'd rehearsed this entire conversation in his head. "She wanted Cas back," he says. "And then you too. It wasn't like before."

"She's a demon, Sam, I'm not seeing much of a difference."

"She wasn't a demon."

There's a pause. Then, "What can you possibly mean by that?"

They shouldn't be angry with each other. It's only been an hour since Sam walked through that door. "I mean her soul reformed," he answers, knowing how batshit insane that sounds. "Something about me started making her remember when she was human and next thing I know she can walk over salt lines and devil's traps and not be affected by holy water. For a few months she'd end up in pain every time she was happy and ended up getting seizures. Then she started getting hurt by normal injuries and couldn't do anything demonic anymore. Hell, her eyes didn't even turn black."

Dean just sort of looks at him like he's crazy for a moment before something must click. "You're using past tense," he says. "Did she go back to being a demon or something? I mean, you do realize that this shouldn't be possible, right?"

He ignores the latter half, too drained by the past two weeks to do anything. "She's dead," he answers bluntly. "Died last Sunday."

"How? The demon knife?"

"She got shot," he says, "with a bullet meant for me. A normal, everyday bullet that can't kill anything supernatural. That was about fifteen days ago. Then she went into a coma and died in the hospital five days later. The last thing she said was 'you're all my Heaven.' She meant you and Cas, too."

Again, silence. Sam focuses on his knees, picking at a spare thread on his jeans. "Did you -" Dean starts to ask and he nods. "Man, I'm sorry."

"Yeah, me too."

There's not much to say after that.

.

This turned out way longer and entirely different than I originally intended. For some reason I just really wondered what it would be like for a demon to get its soul back and then I saw a picture of Meg and Meg from Hercules next to each other and this insanity was born. Sorry for any OOC.

Thank you for reading and please review!