This is a follow up from my first Megstiel fic, Hell's Bells.

Raised from Perdition

Reality is something that is becoming more and more foreign to her. Meg stops keeping track of time, the faces of her torturers and how many wounds she has endured. There is less pain and suffering when someone releases their grip on sanity. So when the tiny cell that she has been residing in since her return to hell fills with a blinding light, she is certain it is just another illusion.

Everything in hell is designed to be uncomfortable. The light is never enough to clearly see, the heat oppressive making it difficult to breathe. But the brightness brings with it a cool breeze of fresh air, she wonders if it is another tool of torture or something else. Either way, it is going to end painfully so she may as well enjoy the reprieve.

She breathes in deeply the crisp and clear air the light brings. It is more than sweet relief, so much so she reaches out to grasp it. Light, being what it is, slips through her fingers, leaving a tingling feeling in her palms. Intrigued, she reaches out again and actually grabs onto something solid. Fabric. Buttons. A lapel.

A trench coat.

Shock and hope takes the strength out of her legs and she drops to her knees. After all this time, her tormentors have finally found her weak spot. Not just a rescue from hell, but a rescue led by him. She is broken now, finally and completely. The house always wins.

But the light seems to have other ideas. The coolness surrounds her, easing the sting of her wounds. The fresh air that she is able to breathe in through damaged lungs smells like wide open spaces and apples. It is comforting and pleasant, everything she is not. She knew she shouldn't do it but everything had been lost since she grabbed a fistful of fabric. Meg closes her eyes and succumbs to the light. She hopes the end comes quickly for her though she highly doubts that will be the case.

But oblivion doesn't come much to her surprise. The light grows stronger, more blinding, tugging and pulling on her. Fighting doesn't occur to her. She is too tired and past caring so she lets the light do whatever it wants. As soon as she gives up, the light disappears completely. The intense brightness lessens into a dimmer, softer glow. The fresh air and slight breeze continues. It still smells of apples.

When she opens her eyes, she finds herself standing in a large field. Tall grass bends in the breeze and tickles the skin that is exposed from the tears in her clothes. Rolling hills stretch out before her with neatly lined trees on them. Apple trees. The sun is starting to set and everything looks golden. It is a beautiful and idyllic view.

"Never been to this side of hell before."

"That's because it's Maine, not hell."

She turns slowly to see who could only be her savior and can't help the smile that tugs on her cracked lips. "Well, hello there, Clarence."

He looks almost shy as he puts his angel back into his trench coat . "Hello, Meg."

"To what do I owe you riding in on your white steed to rescue me?"

"You helped us get the angel tablet from Crowley. We don't leave our allies behind."

"That's very touching." She tries to keep a disgusted edge on the words but she struggles to make it sound convincing.

"There's a small cabin on the other side of the hill. You can stay there until your wounds heal. It's been warded."

"This cabin, does it have a phone?"

His face slipped into the all too familiar look of confusion. "I'm not sure. Why would you need a phone?"

Meg turns her back and starts to limp her way in the direction of the cabin. She is weak and the cracks are showing in her mask. But it doesn't make her skin itch or turn her stomach like it had in the past though. So she allows herself a genuine smile and relishes the feeling of something she thought she would never ever feel again: a light heart.

"Can't order a pizza without a phone, Clarence."