In the grand scheme of things, Sam wasn't all that sure about this.
Crowley was bound, that much was certain. If he was going to escape, he'd had ample time to try, already. That didn't mean it wasn't kind of a dumb idea to give the guy the implements to a spell, with only Crowley's word on what it would actually do. Sam held it as a good sign that most of the ingredients were fairly low-grade stuff (no holy relics or special bones or anything), so it couldn't have been all that powerful. All the same…
"If you try anything…" he warned.
"I know. You'll chop me up and feed me to the poor. Don't get your knickers in a twist," Crowley advised. He'd been rolling melted wax between his shackled hands for a few minutes, occasionally poking other ingredients inside. Sam had instructed that whatever preparations he was making, to double it. So by the time Meg entered, Crowley had rolled out two tiny wax figurines in the rough shape of humans. He'd been cutting into the second one's middle, to hollow out a space, when he noticed her. He paused in his work, briefly, before he asked, "Doesn't anyone stay dead around here, anymore?"
"Aw, I missed you too, cupcake," Meg purred, her eyes roaming over him gleefully. "Boy, they really weren't kidding about this being a dungeon."
"Sadly, not your type of dungeon, whore. They chain you up in here, but they leave all the kinky bits to the imagination."
"So wasteful. And here you are all trussed up like a turkey. I can't decide whether to start in on the light or the dark meat first."
"You couldn't afford either."
"Okay, guys!" Sam interrupted. "Are you done, Crowley?"
Crowley slid the wax figures over. "Nearly. The blood goes in here. Seal it up, and say the mumbo-jumbo while you wrap another bloody bit of fabric round."
Sam picked one of the figures up, his brow briefly furrowing as he held it delicately aloft. It looked especially small and ridiculous in his giant hands."…Is this a doll?"
Crowley's condescending smile looked a bit strained. "It's a maumet, you muppet."
"…It looks like a doll."
"Fascinating as all this is," Meg interjected, "why am I here? We gonna play house? Cuz it looks like you and Mrs. Nesbitt over here have it handled."
"I need your blood," Sam said.
Meg gave a hard laugh. "How about no."
"Come on, it's for the d—maumet. I need to know this will work, and you're the only demon on hand to test it on."
"What about him?" she jerked her thumb at Crowley.
"I can't trust him. Come on, Meg. We don't have much time."
Sam was asking, now, looking all sweet and innocent with his dewy eyes. But Meg had the feeling that he would go straight from asking to taking if he had to. This wasn't really a choice. "All right," she allowed, holding out her arm to him.
When he took out his knife, she briefly thought of what the little ex-angel had said. Look out for Sam. Just what was she supposed to be looking out for? Meg had walked around in his skin for long enough to get a feel for him. It was a strong meatsuit; it had to be, to eventually house Lucifer. And it had felt good, having that buffer of demon blood in him to ease the process. Kind of like coming home. Here, though, when Sam laid his fingers lightly on her wrist to steady the knife against the ball of her thumb, there was something different. The touch only lasted a moment, but something about it disquieted her. There was a sound that was not quite a sound. Almost like trying to listen for a dog whistle. He made a clinical incision on her thumb to get a little stream of her blood, and as she reclaimed her hand she thought she must have been imagining it.
Sam had her tear off a strip of fabric from the bottom of her shirt and press it to her thumb while he sealed up the chest cavity on the little wax figure. "Now what?" she asked, giving him the bloody strip of cloth.
"I need to make sure it works. Try doing something, I don't know, demonic."
Crowley had been making himself very quiet during all of this, but he knew what Meg's little smile meant as she held up her hand, murmuring, "With pleasure," and gave her wrist a turn. Crowley choked, feeling his insides burning and morphing and twisting, like her damned hand was actually inside of him, turning his guts to mush.
Meg was having a ball with this. It hadn't really taken much input on her part and she got to torture Crowley? He was only the last in a very long line of bastards she'd had to deal with, but oh, how she'd wanted to do this for years. All of it was almost worth it to see him choking up frothing black blood, his eyes turning demon-red from the strain, as he writhed in his chains. The power over him was intoxicating.
And then it was gone. Meg felt like she'd been shoved in a soundproof container in the shape of her meatsuit. Everything was suddenly… muffled. Like the meatsuit didn't quite fit on her anymore, like she was going to get lost in the flesh. She struggled, gasping when another flare of pain came from that damned angel-blade mark.
"It worked," Sam said in some wonder, staring at her.
"Yeah. It's peachy," she groaned, trying not to double-over.
Oh but this body hurt. Worse than before. Worse than the little stabs of feeling when Castiel was touching her festering wounds. Worse than the fire under her skin where the angel blade had dug in. Worse than the pang that went through her when she'd let herself be close to someone for a minute. It was like being human again. Back to being poor and angry and scrapping and scraping for every inch, through broken bone and teeth and jaw and eye, giving skin and tearing skin and life and pride and hope. It was a barefoot girl on a dry, dusty road, chewing the ends of her filthy hair to stave off hunger pains. It was rough hands and voices and tempers and faces pinched and mean and always wanting and taking, their dirty fingers pawing over her, leaving smudges on her dim little soul.
"Ooh, hello. That hit you hard, didn't it?" Crowley grinned around a mouthful of blood, wiping at his chin. "You must be losing your touch, darling, if that little spell is making you go all weak in the knees."
"Take it off. Undo it," she snapped at Sam.
He was muttering the spell to release it, quickly unwinding the cloth, and in a moment she felt she could breathe again. Well that was all very unpleasant. She made a promise to herself never to repeat that experience, given the choice.
She pointed at the little figurine still in his hand, uneasy. "What about that? It's still got my blood in it, right?"
"Um. Yeah," Sam said, at a bit of a loss. "I'm not really sure how to undo that part…"
"Allow me," Crowley said, leaning over to snatch it from his hands. Before either of them could stop him, Crowley had smashed the maumet onto the table, grinding it in until it lost all human form.
Meg had flinched at the action, cringing at the expectation of pain. But it never came. There was just Crowley, with his shit-eating grin and smeared wax all over his hands. "Just breaking the link," he said, as if he were just being helpful all along.
Sam had already stopped paying attention to them, too busy preparing the second maumet with a vial of blood he'd had in his pocket. He dripped most of it in, and then only dabbed a bit on a scrap of plaid he had on-hand. He didn't complete the ritual, though, instead opening the little paper-lined box he'd brought him along with the rest of the supplies, carefully laying them inside. "How long you think that'll hold against Abaddon?" he asked.
"Seconds," Crowley said, brutally.
"Guess we'd better make 'em count."
It took a little while to undo the devil's traps to let Crowley out of the dungeon. He was still technically bound with the sigil-marked handcuffs he'd been wearing since Dean had slapped them on him. It would have to do.
Meg wasn't pleased. To be fair, Sam wasn't exactly a happy camper, either. But ultimately he figured he couldn't risk it; if they didn't even have him with them, Abaddon might take one look and then take off for God knows how long. And now it was getting dangerously near the time Abaddon was supposed to text back with the coordinates.
When they got back upstairs, Sam found the others all gathered around the dining table. Cas had changed into some cleaner clothes. Actually, with the white button-down and the black slacks, he almost looked his old self. Sam wished he'd been able to find the time to change out of his own road-worn clothing, but it was too late at this point. Anyway, what had really snagged his attention was the fact that Cas almost looked like he was… bullying Kevin. They were standing almost toe-to-toe, and it looked like they'd been arguing. That was surprising. And a little disheartening. Sam had thought they were getting along better, lately. But here, Cas was saying something quietly to him, his posture a little imposing. Charlie stood behind them, looking honestly spooked, so whatever was being said, it had them all on edge.
They fell silent as Meg, Sam, and Crowley approached from the other side of the table, and Cas took a step away from the more intimidating pose he'd held over Kevin. "What's going on?" Sam asked, frowning at this.
Cas sent a look at Kevin, who seemed to be avoiding Sam's gaze. "It's nothing," the prophet said, his shoulders hunched. Charlie made a little noise that might have been concurrence, but mostly sounded like a squeak.
Sam decided this wasn't something they had time to deal with, right now, so he was going to take that at face value. "All right, well we've got something that should slow her down. It's still going to be a long-shot. We'll need everybody ready for this."
"If you took the jangles off I could take the bitch," Crowley inserted, lifting his chained hands.
"I wonder at the wisdom of even bringing him," Castiel said, glaring at the King of Hell. "Our chance of success in this is extremely low."
"Well. Don't sugar-coat it," Sam muttered. "Anyway, we've gotten out of worse. And look at the crew we've got. There's five of us against one of her."
"Actually," Charlie said, looking a little nervous. "I think I should stick with the weird-ar on this one. I've almost got a mobile function worked out and this fight is… kind of above my pay-grade."
"…Right. Yeah, no, you're right. Of course. So there'll be four of us. No. Sorry, I meant three. What was I…? Kevin's not coming. Of course he isn't. We're going directly into danger. Why was I thinking we'd bring him?"
"Uh, Sam?"
They were all staring at him. There was something not right here. He'd misread the situation. He'd thought Cas had been bullying Kevin, but look at how they were standing. They were all on the other side of the table, Kevin and Charlie almost hiding behind Castiel. And why were they all looking at him like that? Nervous, almost pitying?
Cas moved then, picking something off the table. Sam didn't see what it was until he'd shoved it into his hands: a sandwich wrapped up in plastic wrap. Sam started to give a weak protest, but Cas was giving him kind of an intense look, and he gripped Sam's shoulder. "You need to keep your strength up. We're only stewards of these bodies, brother."
"I… all right, I guess…"
"Well I'm feeling a bit peckish, too, if you're playing mother," Crowley spoke into the kind of awkward silence. "Where's my after-school snack?"
Castiel's eyes narrowed on him before briefly flickering over to Meg. "I don't think she should come with us, either."
"Well we're kind of running out of people," Sam said around the sandwich.
"Aw, what's wrong, Clarence, not enough room in the car for me? That's all right, I don't mind sharing a seat. I could always sit on your lap."
"If we die, which is altogether possible, we need someone strong enough to keep Kevin safe while he continues his research. Kevin's the only one here who can possibly fix this mess and get the angels back into Heaven. There's nothing more important. This is a defensible location, but Abaddon would likely pour her resources into starving them out. Worst case scenario, we need Meg to be able to pick up the pieces."
Sam could laugh at the absurdity of it if all. "You… want to leave a demon to babysit a prophet until he can fix Heaven?" Sam knew Cas had a soft spot for her, but, "I'm not so sure about trusting her with that. I mean it's one thing having her here, but just leaving Kevin with her—"
"You left me with her," Castiel snapped, and Sam flinched at the memory. That… had not been their finest hour. And looking back on it, Cas had a point. They'd trusted her with a lot. With looking after Cas when he'd cracked, with some of their bolt-holes; hell, Dean had even let her drive his car into the leviathans' headquarters.
"You know we're standing right here," Meg put in.
"It'll be fine," Kevin assured Sam. "Just… don't die and it won't even have to come to that."
Sam's phone buzzed in his pocket. "That's Abaddon," he said, scrambling it out. "We've got the coordinates, let's move. All right I guess we'll… see you three when we get back. With Dean."
Sam had hold of Crowley's shoulder and was steering him towards the garage. Cas paused, glancing at the others. Kevin and Charlie looked particularly grim. "If I don't come back, and Sam does, alone…" he began.
"We know," Charlie said. "We'll basilisk fang this bitch's diary until Tom Riddle pops out."
Castiel wasn't sure what she'd meant by that, but he assumed she meant they'd do something to address Sam's issue. Meg seemed almost as lost, so he assured her, "They'll explain. I have to go. When… If I get back, we can—"
"Don't make any promises," she cut him off, her smile a little bitter. "Or plans. Those never seem to work too well with us."
He paused, as if he would say more. But in the end he gave a curt nod to them all and hurried after Sam and Crowley.
The champagne-colored Lincoln Continental Castiel had picked out was all ready for them to go, loaded up and moved into the middle of the garage. Crowley snorted when he saw it, giving a Cas a disbelieving look. "Really? What are you, a pimp?"
"I like it," Cas growled.
Sam had been multi-tasking on his phone and muttered a quiet curse at the screen. "The location she gave: I think it's the barn where we stashed the Impala. All right, hop in. Ah-ah! Crowley, get in the back. You too, Cas, I need you to keep an eye on him."
Castiel was opening the trunk, revealing a fairly full arsenal and a devil's trap hastily scrawled on the interior roof. "I have a better idea."
He gave Crowley a hard shove into the trunk, taking him by surprise. Crowley barely had time to utter an oath before Cas shut the lid on him. Sam could still hear his indignant squawks, punctuated by the sounds of his fists banging on the closed lid.
Castiel snatched the car keys out of Sam's hands as he stood there, stunned, saying only, "I'm driving."
Damn straight.
Dean should be back in the next chapter (I'm excited)! And Abaddon, of course. I've got a framework in mind for this, but I'm also awfully busy with school. *le sigh*
As always, I appreciate feedback.