#hbic.meg

[hbic-meg]

I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all | meg&john

There were a few things that Meg was sick of at the moment:

Desperate Housewives. She’d marathoned the hell out of that show for the last few days, and if she even saw Eva Longoria’s face right now, she thought she might be sick

The goddamned weather. Would it kill the apocalypse to ease up and give them some sun?

But the worst of all was the last one:

Playing nice. Because at the moment, it wasn’t doing anything for her but setting her up to get her ass killed.

Belial knew that she was double crossing her home team. And that was fine and dandy, she was totally cool, it wasn’t like she was freaking out or anything – okay, she was. Wholly and totally. But Dean was still MIA and she couldn’t talk to Rayek about this kind of thing, so Meg did the next best thing, she decided to let off some steam and push her problems out of her mind for the time being. Out of sight, out of mind. Now all she had to do was find a willing victim… and she already had one in mind.

Rayek was still vegged out on the couch when Meg decided to take her leave; it wasn’t like she was going far, anyway. She didn’t have to, because the victim she’d had in mind was merely in the parking lot (in the middle of a perpetual storm, no less, working on his car) and with a wide grin, Meg stepped out of her motel room and briskly walked across the parking lot, stopping just next to John and leaning against the side of the car. “Hey there, Johnny boy. Working hard or hardly working?” She quirked her eyebrow at the typical, cheesy greeting and grinned.

“You’re looking chipper today,” she continued, absentmindedly fiddling with her necklace as she spoke. “I see that brand on the back of your neck’s healing up well.”

Meg knew that would trigger some sort of response from him; when he’d been in Hell, while Alastair had dabbled here and there, his primary torturer had been none other than the demon standing before him. Nobody but Alastair’s inner circle was even remotely aware of that, and thankfully, they were all dead, ‘else word certainly would’ve gotten out with John’s return and any inkling of a chance Meg would have gotten at joining Team Free Will would’ve been shattered when Dean or Sam heard even whispers that Meg had been the one to put John through hell – literally.

Oh, the golden days. How she longed to go back.

And the most delicious part about the whole thing is that John didn’t seem to remember. Or maybe it was just a bad case of repression, in which Meg would just have to jog his memory.

But the brand, the brand had been her own personal touch, as if to let every soul in Hell know who had done the Winchester soul in, to make everyone aware of her handiwork. John had been a shrieking, writhing billboard for her; he’d helped her instill fear into the hearts of many demons. ‘Course, that had pretty much all been shot to shit when she returned to Earth, but the memories held her over just fine. If only she could say the same for John.

Whatever, he seemed to have a thing for pain anyway.

“Those post-hell torture scars are a bitch to get rid of, aren’t they?”

[hbic-meg]

ET JE VEUX TA REVANCHE ━ ` rayek & meg

"No." There's a pregnant pause that fills the air, broken only by Meg's soft voice, so silent that her words are nearly carried away with the wind whipping violently around them. No one speaks. Somewhere next to her, a demon blade clatters to the ground. Footsteps, away from her, behind her to where Sam and Castiel wait, quiet in triumph while Meg stands, speechless with grief.

Rayek lies before her, motionless. Silent. Too white, too much of a contrast to the spreading pool of crimson underneath him. She moves forward, dropping to her knees at his side, uncaring of the denim of her jeans soaking up her friend's blood, weighing her down and keeping her closer to him, to the lifeless figure of the only person Meg had fully trusted since Azazel had died, since she'd parted with Alastair in Hell and Lucifer had no need for her.

"No..."

She hears someone move towards her, realizes it's Castiel, but she doesn't turn around, doesn't pass this off with a snarky comment or a witty remark about letting sleeping dogs lie -- (because that's all Rayek is doing, right? He's sleeping; and the way his face is contorted into a wordless grimace of pain is just a trick of light)...

...(but her hands and her clothes and everything, everything around them is so red, so red and so cold...)

Dean.

The name bolts through her brain like a firecracker shooting through the atmosphere into the sky, causing her vision to turn a shade of red that matches what's leaking out of her only friend, her best friend, onto the once pure-white snow beneath the two of them. Dean's taken everything away from her; everything that's ever served to make her happy has been ripped out of her clutches by either or both of the Winchesters, and for what? To save this two-bit, second rate planet they call their home. To save their friends, their family, and in the process, destroy Meg's own.

The first few she could take, she could tolerate and grin & bear. But this -- Dean's gone too far as to killing Rayek, "hound that dragged him to hell" be damned. They'd essentially done the same thing to her when she'd been exorcised, but she hadn't killed them for it, had she?

Not yet, anyway. That came soon.

There was no balance in this world claiming to function in the tropes of good and evil, yet actually functioning in justification and self-righteousness, which Team Free Will seemed to be at the forefront of. She blamed them -- them for everything terrible that was happening: the apocalypse, global warming and the fiscal cliff... Too bad none of that mattered to Meg. All that mattered was the loss of a life, an innocent life so dearly to her own...

Rayek was gone. Never would she see the way his eyes lit up when she told him stories about Hell, or the way he'd snicker silently to himself when Meg finished snarking at someone. There would be no more crappy moviefests, or feeling safe and happy because she'd finally found someone to trust, to confide in that wouldn't stab her in the neck with a demon knife the first chance they got...

Her sense of security, however false and unnecessary it may have been is gone and Meg feels vulnerable, cold and so angry and vulnerable.

She wants to tell Rayek to wake up, wants to scream at him to not leave her alone but she won't allow those behind her the satisfaction, nor herself to indulge in the sheer cheesiness of such actions. It's a demon's life cycle, she tells herself, repeating it like a mantra in her head, but it still doesn't ease the pain of the fact that when she squeezes Rayek's hand, he doesn't return the gesture.

And he never will.

The thought enrages her beyond belief, and it's not long before she's plotting her revenge. But that's for another moment, another time when she can find her words, and her closest friend isn't so freshly dead.

The Winchesters are leaving now, and Cas as well, after some initial hesitance -- but it's clear that Meg isn't moving and Castiel has a more "profound bond" with Sam and Dean, anyway. Of course he does. Another thing they've managed to take from her.

That leaves Meg alone, again.

Wholly and totally alone.

[hbic-meg]

je veux ton amour ━ rayek & meg (drabble)

It wasn't much of a secret that Meg hated being alone. And ever since Tom, Alastair and Azazel had been killed, that was all she'd felt. A consuming loneliness that may have been crippling had she been a human, but for a demon, it had simply been part of life. You loved, you lost, and you never loved again. Meg was fine with that; had been fine with that for the longest time now. 

But then it had changed. Some tall, dark, handsome and bearded stranger had waltzed into Bigfork, and had the nerve to get all starry-eyed when he was near Meg like she was some natural-born celebrity, and had the damn nerve to be as loyal and as loving to Lucifer as she was. They'd bonded easily, and Meg had felt far too comfortable around him far too quickly. She'd even taken to lovingly calling him 'Pup' and making dog jokes whenever it was most convenient.

One night, during a particularly bad storm in the never-ending tsunami wave that was Bigfork's weather, the two of them had been lazing around, watching B-list horror movies and laughing at crappy reality shows when Meg finally took the initiative to rest her head on Rayek's shoulder, curling in against him with a quiet, yet content sigh.

He raised his eyebrows, looking away from the crapfest movie they'd been watching and laughing at, (ironically enough -- it was that whiny, preteen movie about vampires and werewolves) to her. "Scared or something?" he asked, though there was an undercurrent of amusement in his voice. "Didn't think much could scare you, especially not terribly CGI'd werewolves."

"Scared? As if," Meg scoffed, but did not make nor exhibit any effort of moving. "As it turns out, motel rooms in Montana are incredibly drafty, and hellhounds happen to be a very good source of heat. You don't mind, do ya, pup? I had to put you to good use somehow, and something tells me you wouldn't be up for being turned into a rug."

Rayek snorted lightly, the both of them knowing fully well that demons didn't get cold. Not that easily, at least.

"I would've preferred being the rug," the male joked, earning a soft jab in the ribs, via Meg's elbow.

"Shut up or I won't give you your Kibbles and Bits," the brunette threatened, equally as joking. Nonetheless, Rayek wrapped an arm tightly around Meg's shoulders, pulling her closer to him as they turned their attention back to the medium-sized television, and outside, the sleet droned on.

A false sense of security, sure, an unneeded sense of security, certainly, but it was a sense of security nonetheless and Meg would be damned if she'd let this one go for a while.