a/n: Thanks for the enthusiastic reviews! I think I can probably slip Dean in glasses in here somewhere...
Flash #1 takes place after 6x20, while flash #2 takes place before it. When? Eh, I don't really care. Doesn't matter that much. Just before it.
Chapter 4: Things Said and Unsaid
Don't take it so hard;
We did what we could.
There were no easy answers
To be understood.
-The Airborne Toxic Event, "Half of Something Else"
"So let me get this straight," Dean said. "You're here because you need our help. You, a demon, are here to ask us, a pair of Hunters, for help."
She stabbed a slice of cherry pie with her fork and watched bright red juice leak out. Her mouth twisted and she let the fork fall to the plate without taking a bite. "Yeah," she said. "That's the long and short of it. We've helped each other out before, Deano. It's been a mutually beneficial relationship. I'd hoped that could continue."
"You've always had something to offer us before. Inside dirt on Crowley. The ability to see Hellhounds. Cas." He whacked off a bite of blueberry and chewed thoughtfully. "Quid pro quo, Clarice. What're you bringin' to the party?"
There was a cynical curl to her lips as she shook her head and grabbed her coat. "I should've known this was a mistake. I wasted my time coming here." She pulled herself out of the booth, but Sam reached for her. Stopped just short of grabbing her wrist.
"Meg, wait. Just hang on." He shot his brother a quick, beseeching look. "Tell us what happened to your other vessel."
Their waitress trundled past. "You kids ready for your check?" she said.
"No, ma'am," Dean said with his most charming grin. "I think my friend here just needed some more iced tea. Right, Meg?"
She glared at him, but met the waitress' concerned look with a strained smile. "Sure…Dolly. Runnin' dry over here, and I've got a powerful thirst. Thanks." She slid back into her seat and dropped her jacket.
"Course, honey, I'll be right back. You eat up on that pie, now."
She hurried away, and Meg was relieved. She couldn't tell the woman that the cherry juice seeping from the pastry reminded her of her own blood draining from her borrowed body, and every time she looked at it she felt—actually felt, and pain wasn't something you remembered—each slice and burn Crowley had dealt out over the last year all at once. Must be another charming side effect from the worm. She dropped her napkin over the pie and pushed it away. Dean stared at her, grabbed the plate, and started eating.
"You could just smoke out," he said between bites.
"I could," she drawled, "but where's the fun in that?"
"Unless you can't," Sam said.
"Your tea," the waitress said as she reappeared at their table.
Sam glanced up at her with a distracted frown. "Oh, thanks. I don't think we need anything else for now."
Meg went still, and her head made a slow pivot. "Dolly," she said, "you've changed."
The woman's eyes went solid black and her homely face distorted in a leer. "You stupid bitch. When Crowley hears about this—"
"Sam, the knife," she said, strangely calm.
He had it in his hand. Dolly threw back her head, but before the demon could leave her body, Sam thrust the blade into her chest. It sparked and glowed, and she slumped to the ground. Dean stared down at the corpse, a bite of pie halfway to his mouth. Meg's calm had shattered, and she sat shaking, small hands clenched into hard fists and muscles dancing along her tight jaw. Sam gave her a long look.
Dean dropped the fork. "Well now I've lost my appetite. Sam just killed a woman in front of God and every-damn-body, so I suggest we get the fuck out of here and you"—he thrust a finger in Meg's face—"start explaining what the hell is going on."
There were a smattering of customers in the small cafe, and they had all turned toward the commotion. The strange part was that no one had screamed or ran or called the cops when Sam stabbed a seemingly innocent waitress. The silence was eerie and deafening.
"All demons, right?" Dean said without turning around.
Meg nodded, green eyes huge in her new face.
"How many?"
"Five," she said.
"Two," said Sam.
"Seven. Think we can take seven before they smoke out?"
"With just the knife? No chance."
"They're people," Meg said.
Dean blinked at her.
"The meatsuits. They're people. Dolly was a person. We talked to her not five minutes ago. You're talking about murdering seven people."
"Did I just get zapped to the Twilight Zone? Since when is a demon—and you of all the damn demons—giving lectures on morality? You sic'ed Hellhounds on us, for fuck's sake."
Her brow creased. "That was before."
"Before what?" Sam said.
She made an impatient gesture. "It doesn't matter. What's the point of killing one or two of them if we can't take them all anyway?"
"We're talking about saving your bacon here, you crazy bi—"
"Dean," Sam said with a frown. "I thought you didn't want Crowley to find out where you are," he said to Meg.
"It doesn't matter," she repeated. "He knows exactly where I am. I'd just rather he didn't know I'm with you."
"This is creepin' me out," Dean said. "Why are they just sitting there?"
"They're probably waiting."
"For what? Fuckin' Godot?"
"Orders," she said.
"Then why are we just sitting here?"
"Good question," said Sam. "Let's get the hell outta here."
"Where do we go?" he continued as they hurried from the restaurant. "If demons are looking for her, they'll find her. Especially now that I killed this one."
"God dammit," Dean said. "I guess we don't have any choice. Sammy, I think we gotta take Catwoman to the Bat Cave."
Meg rolled her eyes. "Okay, Robin, your delusions aside, there's still the tiny problem of the wards. Demon, remember?"
"One problem at a time," Dean said. He opened the Impala's trunk and tossed Sam a small bag. Tucked its twin into his jacket and retrieved three sawed off shotguns. "Get in. We'll figure it out when we get there." He handed one of the guns to Meg. "Salt rounds," he said, "so don't go gettin' any ideas."
"Ideas? Me? Sugar, I'm a blank slate. I leave all the thinkin' to—aahhhh!" The flash came like a bolt of lightning to her brain. She dropped the gun, gripped her skull so hard her fingers turned white, and crumpled into a writhing ball of agony on the dirty concrete.
Flash
"This is a terrible idea."
She cast him a wicked grin as she fell against him, her dark hair raining around them in a soft cascade. "Oh, sugar, you say that every damn time. I'm gonna get a complex."
"It isn't personal," he said.
"Then maybe you should quit trackin' me down at all hours of the day and night. I have a life, you know. A reputation. If someone saw us together—"
"Don't even jest," he said as his dark brows furrowed. He flipped them over and braced his elbows on either side of her. "I'm in the middle of a war. If Raphael found out—"
"Raphael, Raphael, Raphael. Yawn, Clarence. I'm sure Raphael has a few skeletons in his big, bad archangel closet."
He stared down at her, his midnight gaze so intense she fought the urge to squirm. Instead she pressed a small hand against his chest and pushed. He rolled away with a grunt of protest that she stifled by curling up against him and twining a leg around him. He tugged a lock of her hair free and stretched it out tight between them.
"That is not what I meant," he said as though the interruption hadn't happened.
"No?"
"No."
"Enlighten me, O fount of Heavenly wisdom."
Irritation flashed across his still features, but it faded as he toyed with her hair. "He would use you to get to me," he said. "Hurt you. Kill you, even. He would have no scruples in that regard. I would…spare you that."
She tried to make a joke of it, but the words died on her lips. Finally she said, her voice strained with something unknown, "Spare me…or spare you?"
"Spare us both, perhaps."
A pause.
"Anything to win, huh, Clarence?"
His Grace flared once, a furious lash, and she swatted his shoulder.
"Watch it, featherbrain. That hurts."
"It's not about victory, Meg," he said, his voice a low rumble. "It's about you." There was a great deal he left unsaid, that he hoped she understood: You keep me sane when this war would make a madman of me. If Raphael took you from me, there would be nothing left to tie me here. No tether. I would be lost.
Her skeptical eyes answered his: What about Dean and Sam? Don't those two bozos keep you grounded? Especially Bozo Number One.
He shook his head as though they were having the conversation aloud. "No," he said. He looked away, expression stricken. "They no longer trust me as they once did."
"Should they, Castiel?" she said. "No bullshit. No games. Should they trust you?"
He scrubbed his hands back through his hair, and when he looked at her again his face was as bleak and dejected as she had ever seen it. "I've done a terrible thing."
Her mouth quirked, an ironic little smirk. She ran her nails down his chest and lifted his chin until his desolate blue gaze met hers. "Oh, Clarence. Haven't we all? The fallen angel and the outcast demon. What have we done that isn't terrible?"
Flash
"What the hell is happening to her?" Sam cried.
"Do I look like I know?" Dean said. "She's having a seizure or something. Can demons have seizures?"
"We should…move her…or not move her…or…shit, Dean, what do we do?"
He looked around the empty parking lot, at a loss. "We can't stand around here waiting for the cavalry to show up."
"Can we risk moving her?"
"I don't know," Dean said.
Sam knelt next to her and rested his hands against hers. She had an iron-tight grip on her skull, but he eased his fingers through her hair and gradually her hold lessened. "It's okay," he said in the soothing voice he used on angry dogs and kids. "It's okay, just relax." He glanced up at his brother. "We gotta get her back to the bunker," he said. "Something's happening to her, and I don't think it's natural."
"Yeah, Sam, she's a demon. Ya think?!"
Sam lifted the small form in his arms. "Let's get out of here. I think whatever's happening might be killing her."
"And that's a bad thing?"
Flash
His big hands stroked through her hair as they had done the first time he kissed her, and she leaned into his touch with a low growl, almost a purr. "I like this," he said.
"Hhmm?" She felt lazy and drugged with pleasure and couldn't form whole words. He had magic hands.
"Your hair," he said. "The color. The texture. The scent." He fanned it over her bare back and it fell against her skin soft as a kiss. "I can't imagine you with fair hair, or red. The dark suits you so well."
She opened one eye a crack and craned her neck to watch him. She loved (the word slipped by without her even noticing, and that was a danger she would realize later) to watch his face when it was like this, when he forgot about his stupid war and how forbidden this was and just got caught up.
"My last vessel was blond," she said, "but the Winchesters exorcized me and she died." She frowned. "It didn't help that they'd thrown me out a window first."
His expression changed. "Ah," he said. "What if you left this one?"
She opened her eyes all the way and met his gaze with frank honesty. "She would die, Cas. You threw me in holy fire. What do you think that does to a human body? Plus I've been stabbed a couple of times. Shot." She shrugged a shoulder.
"Is that why you keep her?" he said.
"That's a weird question. A meatsuit is a meatsuit."
"Meg."
She flipped onto her back and let out an annoyed sigh. Crossed her arms over chest and tossed her hair back. "What, Clarence? Are you asking if I'm attached to my meatsuit? That would be pretty stupid."
"Yet you went back to this vessel after Bobby exorcised you. You could have chosen another. You healed her after I threw you in the holy fire. That was probably exhausting work. You could have abandoned her and found someone else."
"I like her attitude."
"I would think that's your attitude."
"Mostly. But it's hers, too, a little bit. And she looks good in black. Blond Meg couldn't wear black because she was so pale. It's like Shakespeare, you know? Though she be but little, she is fierce. I like that."
"You like your meatsuit."
"Shut up, Clarence."
A pause.
"I like it, too."
She smirked. "I've noticed."
His expression clouded. He reached for her. Cupped her face in his hands. "You should know I can see you, Meg, no matter what form you wear." He ran a thumb over her brow bone. Across her mouth. Down the bridge of her nose. "And you are beautiful."
Her smirk deepened into an actual smile, heavily laced with irony. "Shut up, Clarence," she murmured.
Flash
"Not…a fucking…seizure…you morons!" she muttered against Sam's chest.
"Look, she's alive," Dean said.
Even through the pain, Meg managed to glower at him. "No need to sound so disappointed," she said between deep, gasping breaths. "Ugh, put me down. I can walk."
Sam wasn't entirely sure he believed her, but he set her on her feet anyway. She wobbled, but shoved away from him when he tried to steady her. "I'm fine," she snapped.
"Meg, what happened? Are you okay?" he said.
"I just told you I'm fine."
"You didn't look fine ten seconds ago, and you really don't look fine now," Dean said. "You look like something a Hellhound just went a few rounds with, minus all the blood. You wanna tell us what's going on, or are we gonna play twenty questions?"
She rubbed her forehead and dug a bottle out of her pocket. Swallowed a pill dry and stowed the bottle away. "Short version? Crowley did some weird fuckin' mojo on me. It's got me all…scrambled. I get these flashes. Memories."
"Memories?" Sam said. "Of what?"
Their eyes met, and for a second he saw two Megs: the tough, brittle demon-self she always showed them, and someone else. He blinked, because the second Meg was…scared. Vulnerable and hurting and so, so…sad, though that seemed far too small a word for it. "Meg…?"
She looked away, and the moment shattered. "Nothing I want to talk about," she said. "Nothing I wanted Crowley to know, which is why it hurts so fucking much when they hit me. I kept them hidden, and now they're all busting through like water through a cracked dam. You know what that's like, right, big boy?"
Sam only nodded, grim-faced.
"So that's why you're here?" Dean said. "You want us to help you undo Crowley's mojo?"
"That's part of it. I figure you guys probably have the skinny on a spell that can fix me." She took a deep breath. "But I also have to find Cas."
"Cas?" Dean said. "Why Cas?"
"It's a long story. I can tell you the whole of it back at your hidey hole. For now…look, I know I've been a raving bitch to you. I know I've done some really shitty things. All I can say is…fuck it, there's nothing I can say. Nothing will make it okay or right or even the slightest bit better, so all I can say is please. Please help me because I have no place else to go and Cas is your friend and he was sort of my friend, too…once."
Her face twisted like the words tasted bad even as she said them. She rested her hands on her hips and lifted her chin. Met their surprised stares with a challenging, narrow-eyed glare.
Dean glanced at Sam. He shrugged. Sam shrugged back.
"Yeah, okay," Dean said.
Meg looked nonplussed. "What, that's it?"
Dean's mouth quirked. "You said please. We like that. Now get in the damn car before Crowley shows up and starts makin' stupid ass speeches."
I don't know why it's taking them so long to get to the bunker. Oh, wait, yeah I do: I can't figure out how they're gonna get Meg inside. I'm workin' on it.
When you review, Cas shows up naked on your car, maybe covered in bees...maybe not. It's the surprise that makes it fun.