Warning: containing intense torture. Because I really f*#&ing hate Abaddon.
Crowley rolled his sleeves up and tied his apron on, determined not to ruin another suit with blood stains. He pulled a cover off of a tray, revealing various tools; blades, razors, holy water, salt, knives, icepicks, you name it. He picked up a pair of shears and examined them.
Meg, on the other side of the table, poured some salt and holy water into a bottle, mixing it, careful not to spill a drop on her. She dipped Ruby's knife in the concoction and let it sit for a few minutes.
"Torture? Really?" Abaddon called from where she was bound in chains in the dungeon. "How mediocre do you think I am? I'm a Knight of Hell, for Satan's sake."
"But I'm the King of Hell," Crowley retorted, laying the shears down. "I know a thing or two. Not to mention my associate here."
"You smell like an angel," Abaddon said to Meg snarkily. "Oh, Lucifer will love that. He'll eat it right up. His most loyal, abandoning him for an angel. You're a disgrace."
"So I've heard," Meg said, unconcerned, as she pulled the cart containing the weapons into the room.
"You don't even know the kind of torture waiting for you," Abaddon said, pleased.
"I think I do," Meg said, arching an eyebrow. "I perfected all of those methods myself." Her eyes flashed in amusement. "Hi, I'm Meg. They used to call me the Apprentice."
"The Apprentice died with Alistair," Abaddon hissed, and even Crowley chuckled.
"You'll be singing a different tune here soon, love. Meg, by all means," he said, gesturing to the table.
Meg selected the shears, examining the woman in front of her.
"You know, you've got a gorgeous body here," Meg remarked. "I can see why you're so fond of it. Really fond of it, aren't you? Having it reanimated instead of just finding a new body . . .oy. That's a lotta work." She looked thoughtful. "But, I think it needs some tweaking." With a swift motion, she cut a large section of red hair off, close to the scalp. She gripped the hair in her fist, facing Abaddon, who looked surprised.
"That's your big plan? Giving me a makeover?" Abaddon spat, but she was obviously riled by the fact that she was unsure of what was happening.
"Consider it a make under," Meg corrected, quickly slashing the rest of the hair off, leaving choppy, uneven sections, some matted with blood where the blade had come in contact with skin.
"You know what else if nice about this body?" Meg asked, examining. "Those beautiful, perfect teeth. Wouldn't it be a shame if something happened? Maybe a chip?" she slammed the handle of the blade against the demons mouth, and while one front tooth chipped and broke, another went flying in a pool of blood.
"Now they're uneven," Meg said, and she picked up a pair of pliers. "Let's fix that."
Several bloody teeth and lots of facial bruising later, Meg laid the pliers aside. She examined Abaddon, frowning. "Something is missing. Your meatsuit, it's missing something."
Gently, she poured the holy water and salt mixture into a long tube containing black ink. Meg pulled a cloth off the table to reveal a tattoo gun, now being fed a mixture of salt, blessed water, and ink.
"What happens if a demon gets a devils trap tattooed on their body, Crowley?" Meg asked innocently.
"I would assue they would be unable to ever leave their meatsuit," Crowley said, examining his nails.
"Well let's find out," Meg said, pressing the tattooing gun right over Abaddon's chest.
"Why are you doing this?" Abaddon demanded. "You can torture all you want but in the end, you can't kill me and you're saddled with a vengeful demoness. Do you really wanna go there?"
"Well I suppose if we're going to be saddled with you, you might as well drop a few hints," Meg suggested.
When Abaddon didn't reply, Meg began on the tattoo.
Abaddon hissed as her skin smoked from the holy water and salt. As the devil's trap was completed, she felt weakened and her power draining from her body slowly.
She yelped in pain as other anti-possession and anti-demon symbols were tattooed across her body. Breathing heavily, she watched as Meg tossed the gun aside, cracking her knuckles.
"Now that you're all beautified, we'll leave you to your thoughts for a while," she said, wiping her bloody hands on a rag and throwing it on the floor. "We'll check on you in a few days. Holler if you feel like chatting."
Abaddon panted in pain as Crowley and Meg looked her up before leaving.
Abaddon sat in her own silence and madness for three whole days. Three long, painful days as her wounds ached without healing. Blood had caked itself over her, and she was lightheaded and nauseous.
Of course, she didn't let that show when Meg and Crowley came back a few days later.
"You look great," Meg smiled sweetly. "I brought you a present." She held up that blade, that damned blade, and examined it. "So this is the infamous First Blade," Meg remarked. "It don't seem so special to me, but it must hurt you a lot, huh? Damn near killed you. But then, you're a good actress, aren't you?"
"New York," Abaddon said.
Crowley frowned. "Come again?"
"New York," Abaddon said again, grinning. "Moriarty and the Master. That's where they are. What do I care if you find them? They made their deals; they can't die. So it doesn't matter what you do."
"Unless you were to die, that is."
"Do I look like I'm going anywhere?" Abaddon grinned wider. "That blade hurts like a bitch. But it doesn't have enough juice to kill me."
"No, but he does," Meg smirked, jerking her head towards the door.
Abaddon's eyes widened as the archangel entered the room, his hands shoved easily in his pockets and a small smirk on his face.
"Hiya, Queen Bitch," Gabriel said. "They call me Gabriel."
"You don't know that he can kill me," Abaddon said quickly. "You don't know anything that can for sure."
"You wanna take the chance?" Meg asked.
Abaddon hesitated. "You'll try to kill me anyway."
"You're absolutely right," Crowley agreed enthusiastically. "But after destroying that pretty face of yours and locking you inside that sad little broken body, what have you got to live for?" He leaned forward, his face close to hers. "No power, no assets This is your last chance to raise a little hell. If you go down, why not take them with you?" He lowered his voice. "Come on, love. Go out swinging. Go out like a Queen."
Abaddon evaluated the situation, and realized he was right; there was no escaping, even if she escaped them, she was still destroyed from the inside out. And why should anyone else gain anything from her loss?
So she told them everything.
In the end, she looked up at Gabriel, disgustingly ready to leave her wasted body and potential. As he laid his hand on her head, Abaddon smirked.
"Long live the Queen," she said bitterly, before the room was engulfed in a bright light.
Meg stepped into the shower, washing the blood and death from her skin in water hot enough to boil a lobster. She stood there for a long time, until the water grew cold and her skin grew numb. She wrapped a towel around her and headed for her room, where she sat on her bed doing nothing but staring forward.
She didn't even acknowledge Castiel as he entered the room and sat beside her, staring at her.
"It's bothering me, Clarence," Meg said after nearly a half an hour.
"What is bothering you, Meg?"
"Abaddon. I should have been itching to rip her skin off and tear it to shreds. But to be honest . . ." she shook her head. "I wasn't hardly bothered. I almost didn't want too. Not because I felt sorry for her, she was a bitch and deserved a slower death, but because I just didn't feel the passion I used to."
"And that isn't a good thing for you."
"I'm a demon, Cas. I'm not supposed to give a crap about what others think of me, and I'm supposed to enjoy the little things like pointless deaths and torture. But I just don't feel the fire anymore, so I do care what people think, and I don't care about death or torture. All I really want is to have you think of me as something more than another abomination. Hell, I almost felt guilt the other day when Ellen and Jo approached me about the redemption thing."
"I think of you as so much more than an abomination," Castiel said seriously, gazing into her eyes with that intensity he carried with him. "I think of you as my friend, and my ally, and . . ." he looked conflicted, like his emotions were confusing him again. "And as I said, I love you. You are very valuable. Not only as a member of this team or an ally, but to me in general." He paused, frowning. "I don't understand why it is called falling in love. Your love didn't cause me to fall or even stumble. You caused me to rise and take responsibility for my atrocious actions – and you stayed with me the entire time. When the boys told me you were dead, I felt this . . . rare . . . raw emotion, it's the worst I've yet to encounter. I believe it is described as desperation."
"Oh, Clarence," Meg breathed, in a state of shock that shook her to the core. She felt an odd occurrence in her eyes, and realized that it was tears, hot and salty. They burned her eyes and her skin as they dripped down her cheeks.
"These," Castiel said, referring to the tears he wiped away with his thumb. "These have been making an almost daily appearance in my life. You never get used to them. But then again, I don't think we're supposed to."
Meg tried to keep the tears in as she lay on his chest, listening to his heartbeat and wondering if her heart beat to keep her body alive or if it beat for him.
