“This shouldn’t be possible,” Castiel says.
Meg looks down from her perch on his thighs, and she can’t see what he’s going on about. Sprawled across the motel sheets, he looks the same to her: jutting hipbones and a dark little treasure trail she raked her fingernails across just an hour ago. She broke the skin in one place, and now it’s red.
“We can’t know what will become of this,” he says. She doesn’t pay much attention; she usually ignores him when he gets this way. An angel and a demon don’t have a lot of worries in common.
She traces gently across the place where he told her it was. Buried under flesh that passes for human, embedded in organs that usually function on command, there’s a… Well. “A kid?” she repeats, just in case she somehow heard him wrong.
“An embryotic union of our essences,” he tells her.
“A kid.” Right there in Castiel, a him-and-her baby. It’s a little bit hilarious.
“I don’t know how this happened.”
“Oh, I think we know how this happened.” She can’t help it; she bends down close and kisses the hint of softness just below his navel.
He huffs. She maybe adores it a little bit, the sound of interdimensional causality - or however he’s describing himself this week - losing patience. “Sexual contact doesn’t begin to explain it,” he says.
“I guess it figures, though.”
“How does it figure?” he demands.
She can’t tear her eyes away from that spot. Angels can look straight into a demon’s naughty, pitch-black soul. She’s always figured it was a ripoff that that didn’t go both ways; she’s doubly annoyed now. “Not like either of us is great at doing what we’re supposed to,” she says.
He doesn’t look much comforted. She supposes that’s fair. If it was her suddenly carrying hybrid demon-angel spawn, she’d be hella pissed right now. As it is, though…
She starfishes her fingers across his skin. ” Who’d have thought I had it in me, huh?” There’s a grin that’s spreading across her face, and she can’t help it. “Look what we did, Clarence.”
Something in Castiel’s face softens minutely. For the first time since since he came out with his ridiculous pronouncement half an hour ago, he looks less than entirely aggrieved. “I suppose it is a kind of miracle.”
“The hell it is. Bite your tongue.” She looks down again at that still-smooth, still-flat surface. “You’re going to be mommy’s little abomination, aren’t you?”
It is no doubt a sign of… something that this declaration doesn’t perturb Castiel in the least.