a/n: Whew, sorry for the long gap between updates. Hell week at work sort of sapped my inspiration on this one. Thanks for the reviews, though. They helped get the mojo flowin' again!

Chapter 2: An Offer

And forget happiness, I'm fine.
I'll forget everything in time.
-The Airborne Toxic Event, "Innocence"

Crowley's office was an oasis of civility nestled amidst the chaos of Hell. The walls were paneled in linenfold mahogany. The desk had once belonged to Winston Churchill. A peat fire crackled merrily in one corner. The room smelled of old leather, pipe tobacco, books, and good whisky. It was Crowley's refuge from the mundane realities of running the Underworld, and demons knew better than to bother him there.

It was surprising, then, that he had chosen to take a meeting in this sanctum sanctorum, but the blue-lipped warlocks were honored guests, and they had news. Or, maybe judging by the hubbub coming from inside the normally hushed room, no news at all.

"What the hell am I paying you an exorbitant amount of money for if you're going to get the same results that I can on my own for free?" Crowley demanded. A bottle of well-aged Muscat flew through the air and shattered against the far wall. Expensive wine soaked into priceless Turkish rug.

"She is fighting us with a most singular will," said the tallest of the three warlocks.

Crowley couldn't tell if they were male or female, young or old, and they had no names. He wondered what they called each other. He'd taken to One, Two, and Three. The tallest was One.

"She's a demon!" Crowley said. "Their will is as pliable as Play-Doh. You told me I would have what I needed in a day. It's been a week."

"That is why we are here," said Two.

"The demon cannot take much more," said Three. "It is already too late for her human vessel. The mind is irreparably shattered, beyond anyone's ability to repair."

He waved a hand. "So she'll have to get a new meatsuit. That one was getting tired anyway. What about Meg?"

The three exchanged an inscrutable look. All of their looks were inscrutable. "As we said, the demon is nearing her limit. One more session, perhaps two. That is all."

Crowley simmered in silence. "What if I don't get what I need in one or two more sessions?" he said, voice low and dangerous.

One raised his hands in a helpless gesture. "Then you will not get what you need."

"You promised me—"

Two cut him off with a gesture. "We promised you information. You have it. Specific information is…trickier. We explained this."

"There is still the other option," said One.

"If you can't even get the memories I want out of her, how do you expect to control her once she's topside?" Crowley said with an irritable growl.

"A mind is often easier to control than it is to delve," said Three.

"From what we have been able to extract, it seems as though she and the angel had a strange…closeness," said Two. "Use that."

Crowley crossed his arms over his chest and stared into the fire. "What happens if we try again?"

"It is a risk. We could perhaps succeed, and you could get what you have been looking for," said Two.

"Then again," said One, "perhaps what you are looking for is not there at all, and we destroy the demon for nothing."

"No dirt. No Meg. No Cas. That would be unfortunate."

Crowley leaned back against the heavy desk and pondered his options. He hadn't gotten to his position by being hasty or stupid, and he knew sometimes it was better to play a long game. The payoff could be infinitely higher in the end. It frustrated him, naturally: who knew that little bitch could be so fucking stubborn?

With a resigned sigh, he reached across the desk to press a button, and the heavy door opened. "Pay our guests and escort them out. Their services are no longer needed. Thank you, gentle…er, warlocks. You've been less helpful than I hoped, but more helpful than nothing."

They bowed in rippling succession and followed their demon escort from the room. Crowley watched them go with an unfocused frown, his mind elsewhere. Send Meg up. Let her go. With the help of the warlocks' little pet he would know exactly what she was up to, and that idea had definite appeal.

She could track Castiel. Castiel could track the tablets. And how sweet Meg's impotent rage at being forced to not only betray someone she so ardently protected, but to do it at Crowley's orders! To be his puppet! His dog on a leash.

His mouth curved in pure delight. He chuckled. Giggled. Threw back his head and laughed like a fool at the delicious thought of it.

Meg knew the moment her vessel's mind broke for good, and it was with a tiny pang of regret that she said farewell to the girl from Cheboygan. She'd been a good meatsuit. Small, true, but tough, and with really great hair. Without Meg she'd been dead from the moment Cas threw them in holy fire, but at least before she'd still been usable. A meatsuit with a broken brain was worthless. Even a comatose human had all the working bits in place; they just required the right sort of spark. Whatever Crowley's mind-trawling whats-it had done…

Well. Meg didn't really have the spare energy to worry about it. It was all she could do to keep her own mind together. Shannon from Cheboygan was gone, and there was no point in crying over it now.

She was enjoying a brief moment of respite, but she knew it wouldn't last long. She had no idea much time had passed since Crowley first unleashed the brain worm thing on her, but it seemed like forever. The entire year before was nothing compared to it, and she'd gladly undergo every cut, lash, and beating all over again to avoid one more second of that thing in her head.

Crowley must be loving this, she thought, to see her brought so low. He'd tried for a year to break her, and now after so brief a time she was utterly bereft. Azazel's daughter. Alastair's apprentice.

Crowley's fucking plaything.

So fucking tired, she thought in the part of her mind still capable of rational thought, of being defined by the men in my life.

The worst part was how the worm's poison still lingered even after it was gone. Memories sometimes flashed through her mind unbidden, and she was caught up in them like when under the worm's thrall. She hated it. She didn't want to remember. That life was gone, and she'd never have it back again.

"Dead as sure as Shannon from Cheboygan," she whispered in her damaged voice. She laughed, a mad, jangling sound, but it soon turned into a groan.

"Talking to ourselves, I see," Crowley said from the doorway.

Her body jerked at the sound of his voice. She had a witty retort all ready, but she couldn't seem to form the words. It came out something like "Bluuhh."

He blinked at her. "I see our blue-lipped friends were right. A few more sessions with the worm and you'd be done for. Can't have that, my pet, can we?"

She glared at him through glowing eyes, a demon's eyes, but he just smiled. "I must say you're looking well. Your true form is…impressive."

And it was. Her lithe and slender body was covered in sinuous red and black scales. Her hair rippled down her back in blue-black waves. Her teeth were sharp as needles, and her eyes blazed with onyx fire. She wasn't at her best, all things considered, but even so she was exquisite, a small dark storm.

"I especially like these," he said with a lazy gesture toward her wings.

She grunted. He was mocking her, she knew. Only pureblood demons had wings, stunted leathery things that were just for show. They marked her as a direct descendent of Lilith through Azazel and—

Flash
"I think that's why," he said, his fingers tracing lazy, nonsensical patterns against the soft white skin of her shoulder.

She yawned and didn't lift her head from where it was buried against his chest. "What are you talking about? Why would being pure demon make me more likely to have a spark? Not that I have one. I think you're hallucinating."

"I'm not," he said with sublime confidence. "Consider. A creator always endows something of himself unto his creation. My Father gave angels our Grace and He gave humans their souls. Lucifer, despite his flaws, was an angel. What do you think he gave to Lilith?"

"A bad attitude?" she said, finally looking up at him with a wicked grin. "Herpes? The clap?"

He made an impatient gesture. "Humans are flawed creatures, Meg."

"And demons aren't? Listen, feathers, you're awfully cute when you get all mystical, but I wouldn't put too much stock in Lucifer's gifts if I were you. I know he was your brother, but I knew him better than you did."

"Perhaps that's true, but—"
Flash

"Meg my pet, are you listening to me?" Crowley said, and the sound of his voice pulled her out of the memory as abruptly as she'd been thrown into it.

She hissed and her head pivoted toward him.

"Good to see I have your attention," he said. "Now, as I was saying, about that offer…?"

She blinked with a double set of eyelids like a lizard. He had mentioned something about an offer before he'd started in on her with the worm, but he'd never actually made any offers. He'd just unleashed that thing inside her head and stood in the corner looking smug. And maybe a bit frustrated as time passed; she couldn't really tell.

"I'm willing to let you go. Topside. Out of Hell. Free as a bird, my little pigeon." His mouth curved. "Now I know what you're thinking. Oh, Crowley! You're the very soul of generosity. You're also ridiculously handsome, witty, and charming. If I weren't a drooling imbecile right now, I'd throw you to the floor and have my way with you!"

"Ugh," she said, a disgusted grunt.

"No, no, it's all right. I understand. You're not quite yourself. It happens to the best of us. It's all true, by the way. What you would have said about me. I accept your compliments with humble thanks."

"What…do you want…you asshat?" she managed in a low croak.

His smile was mild and innocent. "I told you. I'm here to set you free."

She stared at him.

"Ah, well. It's true. There is one tiny string. Caveat emptor, as they say. My dear, do you know why I've spent the last week drilling into your cranium like a prospector searching for gold?"

Her body uncurled slowly, cautiously. "I assume it has something to do with the angel. All the memories were about him."

"The angel, yes. Our mutual friend Castiel."

"Still hot for vengeance? Maybe you should learn to let things go, Crowley."

His eyes flared crimson, and she fought the instinct to cringe. He took a breath and let it out with studied patience. "I am letting something go. You. Castiel took something of mine, something important, and I want it back. He has half of my tablet, he has my prophet, and he took my angel. I want my toys back, Meggie. I want you to get them for me."

Her chin dropped to her chest, and the noise that came out of her was like the grind of a saw. He gaped at her for several moments until he realized she was laughing, and then his gape turned into a scowl. "I can't imagine what you could possibly find humorous about this situation."

"You're just so common, Crowley. Do you really think you can buy me that cheap? I wouldn't work for you no matter what offer you put on the table. I fucking loathe you. You're so far beneath me you don't even register. Bring on the brain worm, kid. I'll take another week of that, thanks."

"Ah, Meg. Such a way with words." He smirked and took a step closer. Loomed over her. "Let me put this another way, my pet: you may loathe me all you wish. I don't give a damn. You will go topside. You will find my tablet. My prophet. The angel Castiel. You will discover why he killed Samandriel after he went to so much trouble to take him from me. You will do all of this, and you will do it at my behest. Do you understand?"

She struggled to sit up, and her glare would have made any lesser demon whimper. "Fuck you. Fuck your tablet. Fuck your prophet. And fuck your offer. My answer is no. Kill me, brain-rape me, free me. I'm not working for you."

He knelt in front of her and reached to touch her face. She flinched away from his fingers and then gave a silent curse. Raised her chin and faced him with defiant onyx eyes. "Meg, Meg, Meg. It's time to shut that nasty, pretty mouth of yours and listen. You're working for me, my pet. Any choice you might have had in the matter flew out the window the moment our blue-lipped friends put their little worm in your head."

Crowley spent the next half hour explaining the full implications of the worm's lingering poison, and by the time he was through, she felt like a hollowed out shell of herself. She wished he had just killed her. She didn't want to be his tool. She refused to let her mind be used like that. Her lips drew back from her teeth in a snarl, but he just laughed.

She looked away. Back. She had kept the worm away from her most precious memories. If she could do that, then maybe she could prevent it from taking over her mind once she was topside, too. Maybe she could even find some help.

"Yeah," she said, licking her lips and clenching her hands into fists to hide their shaking, "yeah, okay. When you put it that way.…"

He held up his hands, like scales weighing the options. "You do my bidding topside and get me what I want or your brain melts out of your ear in an excruciating and lingering death…? I'd say it's a fairly easy choice."

"I hate you, you smarmy son of a bitch," she said pleasantly.

"Good! I would be disconcerted if you'd had a change of heart." He patted her arm and rose. "Buck up, my pet. You'll be getting a new meatsuit. I'll even let you choose."

"My cup runneth over," she said in a dry rasp.

"Indeed it does, Meg my girl. Indeed it does."

Yeah, the blue-lipped warlocks are a George RR Martin reference. There's a Firefly reference in chapter 1 if'n you're into that sorta thing.

Every time you review, Dean and Sam wear those glasses again. You know you want that.