Meg's shoulders slumped just a little. He'd come to her, not because he'd needed anything, but because he'd wanted to. Wasn't that exactly what she'd been wanting from him? From anyone? She turned to look at him, feeling absurdly small inside his coat. He looked strange without it, almost naked. Much more exposed than she'd been in nothing but black lace. It was so easy to forget that she couldn't react to him with her own standards and expectations. When she reached out to him, it was with a snarky comment and blatant sexuality. When he reached out to her, it was with nothing but himself, and it was more than she deserved.
Seeing him inside her home was stranger, still. She'd never had a home, and had only grudgingly come to think of this place as such. But it was a safe space, a place where she'd come to feel comfortable, particularly this room. The only people who'd ever been in it where herself and Sam. And, despite their recent rift, she found that she still took comfort in the thought of him trying to help her. Now, seeing Castiel standing there, in her safe space, she didn't know how she felt about it. She didn't feel safe near him anymore, but not for any of the right reasons. She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at her toes where they peaked out from under the edge of the coat. The red polish she'd applied to the nails was starting to chip.
"You didn't have to come to me, Clarence," she said quietly, still staring at her toes. "I was going to check on you in the morning, make sure you hadn't burned the place down." She wouldn't look at him, and kept her arms wrapped protectively around her body, keeping the coat firmly closed and tight against her skin. It smelled like him, confusing her senses.