#|a demons guide to perdιтιon|.musings

[abandonedbyheaven]

All Hail the New God||Not Enough {part 1-3}

Below the cut is part 1-3 of the drabble written for AHTNG.  Anonymous requested it; and again, I am reallllly sorry i can’t give you more from the original story. I’ll work on getting another megodstiel thing going soon; xoxo, D.

She was a bad choice. Meg was many things, but she was not meant to be a consort to God. Who was she to stand with a man fighting for the righteous, when she was a tainted soul herself? God, or the previous, taught his children that she and her kind were wrong. While angels were light and grace, demons were smoke and oppression. They didn’t take honesty or consent, while angels prided themselves with the inability to lie to their hosts. Speaking of, hosts of angels came down to bloodline. Hosts of demons came down to poor timing and bad decision.

Meg wasn’t meant for this. She was meant to ruin what she touched, cause pain, and well, be killed off, only to be replaced by another tainted soul. She wasn’t meant to be remembered. The demon was a small speck of the big, black cloud that made up Hell. When one piece falls, another is already there to take it’s place. That’s just how things were. She, admittedly, survived the longest of the many demons she’d known, and still she knew her cunning didn’t detract from the fact she was never meant to live the life he’d imagined for her.

It was true, Meg was smart. She’d bested many higher-ups in her time, but that didn’t make her qualified for the job he’d bestowed on her. All-Mother? She would never be anything of the sort. Meg wasn’t even Meg, she’d adopted the name from her previous host. This body was named Kayleigh, a name far too innocent for the creature inhabiting it. Meg seemed better suited to her. They knew who she was and there was still a slight wave of fear downstairs associated with her. And that was good, she supposed, looking at the situation optimistically. Ugh, the idea of being positive sent rolls of discontent down her spine.

She’d learned his rules early on. She was the, cringe worthy as position was, submissive in the bonding he’d convinced her to take part in. Subpar. Submissive’s were to listen to no one but their dominant, and that was hard. The demon practically flourished in rebellion, yet for him she was willing. Was he her weakness? Was he the reason she fell so easily when being bonded? Who was to know. She did know leaving without him wasn’t a good idea. While he was God, he was also well known in the hunter community. It was nature for a consort of God to be known in the church. That meant hunters also knew he’d taken Meg as his half, and she’d be enemy number one. After all, hurting a submissive half hurts the dominant.

She knew she would never have a want if she asked, and that was true enough. Castiel provided well for her, having put her in a lavish estate somewhere between the realm of heaven and earth. She was safe, but this wasn’t meant for her. What she wanted he would never give, and she would never ask. He meant too much to her. If she left, she would cause a comatose state to him until she returned. If she was injured, or worse, killed in her flee, he would be just as powerless as she.

Meg didn’t want that.

She wanted him to succeed.

She wanted to give him all of his desires.

She didn’t want to let him down.

But most of all, Meg wanted to be free. She was no Daphne or Amelia. Both women would’ve made much better consorts to the new god, and they would’ve been stronger all-mothers. They’d possibly be more respected than the demon whore he’d chosen. As much as she desired to leave, she would never let him fail.

Padding barefoot into the bedroom that he’d only put in for her comfort, Meg crawled into the California king, burrowing under the blanket; his shirt wrapped around her frame for a small sense of comfort. She never minded heat much. With a deep sigh, she shut her eyes, imagining every way he’d be better W I T H O U T  H E R.

He’d went about doing it again; making her feel wanted. Castiel was good at that. She’d ran from him. Their game of cat and mouse lasted little more than a day, and he’d given her cause to feel, yet she couldn’t bring herself to talk about it. Meg couldn’t tell him where she’d been, or what she’d done. She knew now that the safest place for her, if not by his side, was in his house. When the fuck did she become so damn domesticated?

She hardly had time to put her feet on the floor before her thoughts got the better of her. She was tainted; a dark spot that God was attempting to fix for the good of-. The good of what? It was a simple question, really it was. Jesus healed a whore in the name of his Father. What did Cas do? The smug bastard healed a demonic whore. Though the saying still remains, does it not?

Once a whore, always a whore, Meg. A whore is a whore is a whore, Meg. 

What redemption did she even deserve? He was God.

But what was she? What was her worth in the new world- his world? Their world. The obvious answers were simple. She was all-mother. She was consort. What was she beyond that? Did it matter? Clearly it mattered to him. He wouldn’t have dropped his whole fold to play her game. What a childish game it was. She was frayed. That was all she could manage to think of; frayed. Meg realized she was in their kitchen before she continued that train of thought. It’s best to keep your head clear when tied to a deity. He always knew. He was always there to make her feel; to make her C A R E.

Fingers burn as they drag across her skin. H O M E. He’s home. She’d have known the second he walked through the door if she had the strength to open her mind to him. She won’t though. she’s too weak for that. Binding the souls in him took more from her than she’d admit allowed. 

“Without you by my side I would virtually be nothing more than one of my brothers.”

The memory has replayed in her mind over and over again. This is a power trip. He needs her and it’s clear. She’s pacing their bedroom like a caged animal. And that’s exactly what she is, isn’t it? His All-Mother. His caged bird. His power.

out. o u t. O U T. 

She needs out; her freedom. She needs distance and a clear head. Meg never asked to be his power. She never wanted it all to come to this. How can she hide, the one thing she does best, with an even bigger target on her back? On his? 

On and on the torment plays in her mind, new status warring with the dark base of her being. She couldn’t stay in this extended existence with him; she couldn’t leave him. What option did that leave her? In his own twisted way, he loved her. He trusted her above all else. That wasn’t enough to negate the feeling of a downward spiral. 

Her back slides down the far wall, eyes glued to the blood left from the undevout and werewolf. Throwing the lamp perched on the edge of the bedside table, Meg screams. Pain. This change was painful; the breaking of her frayed mentality hurts worse. 

She knows what she should do, being faced with only one option to save herself; and save him from himself. Meg crawls across the room, palms cutting with each slide forward. Yanking her phone from it’s charger, she dials the only person who can possibly fix all of this; fix him.

Her finger hovers over the call button. If she doesn’t die from the separation, she sure as hell will when the bond between deity and half breaks and he comes for her. She has to have faith; faith that she’s doing what’s best for him. Meg hits call.

‘This is Dean’s other-other cell. Leave a message.’

“Winchester. Power him down. He’s gone too far. I can’t-’ a pause and tremble in her voice creeps up, ‘stop him, Dean, before I can’t help you do it.’

Throwing the phone onto the bed, the demon stands, hissing as more glass embeds itself into the flesh of her feet. She won’t do this without opening her mind to him; business as usual and all that.

Breaking her mental block from Castiel, Meg forces her thoughts to clear and leaving him no trail to what was to come. 

And for the first time since before she sold her soul, Meg prays.

‘Castiel, I want you to listen to me. I can’t. I tried, for you and I have to stop this somehow. I’m so sorry. Forgive me one day. I won’t be here when you come home.’ A-fuckin-men to that.

She’s on her feet, leaving bloody footprints before she can change her own mind. 

He’d come; she didn’t want to be in his line of fire when he did. For her? He would A L W A Y S come.