Some special content warnings for this chapter specifically: It contains hallucinations, drowning, vomit, blood, childbirth, heavy body horror, and very large spiders.

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He woke in a clearing with the noontime sun blazing down on him.

Groaning, Castiel felt the slimy grass under him and sat up. His head felt like it was stuffed full of cotton, his mouth felt heavy, and his limbs ached with pain, but he was alive. His pack was missing.

Keeping his eyes closed tightly, he clutched his throbbing head and moaned. "Meg?"

He opened his eyes when she didn't answer, and swallowed down a scream when he saw where he was.

The bare, dead tree ringed by skulls stretched toward the sky a few feet away from him, the black, empty sockets of the skulls staring at his face as he scrambled away from them. Tammy's body was gone. This time, there was nothing hanging from the branches.

Forcing himself to his feet, Castiel took two steps away from the tree before his injured leg gave out and he fell back onto the ground. He tried to crawl for the trees instead, dragging his injured leg behind him as he tried desperately to get away from the tree ringed by skulls. The grass under his palms felt slippery, and left the same oily residue behind as the leaves on the trees had. The dirt was hot from the sun, and felt oddly spongy as he felt it plump back up under his hands, even as he flattened it.

When he reached the edge of the clearing, he screamed.

All of the trees in his vision that ringed the clearing bore the small, parallel slashes that he'd made to mark his way through the forest. A strange, high-pitched giggle flowed from the leaves, mocking him. Despite the sun shining above him, the leaves glowed brightly with the giggle, the light fading again when the trees fell silent.

Scrabbling at the ground, Castiel found a long, thick stick and used it to help haul himself to his feet again. Shaking, he scanned the clearing for any sign of Meg or the shadow dogs or his backpack. He saw no evidence of anything in the clearing, not even an indent in the grass where his body had been.

The skulls stared back at him, grinning. One of them, its jaw still attached, floated up into the air.

"She is not here," it said in a small, slimy voice. The skull's jaw didn't move when it spoke, but Castiel saw two faint lights shining in the empty eye sockets. "You will not find her."

"Is this the forest speaking to me, or Crowley?" he asked the skull. He tried to keep his voice calm, but his hands began to shake, betraying his nerves.

"Both. Neither. They are one in the same now."

He pursed his lips. "I see."

"Do you?"

"I believe I do. Thank you for the answers."

"Whatever you believe you know, it does not matter. You still will not find your whore."

Castiel ignored the jab and nodded courteously at the skull. "I thank you none the less."

The light dimmed in the skull's eye sockets, then went out altogether. It hovered in the air for another moment before falling to the forest floor with a small thump. He looked at it for a minute longer, waiting to see if it would talk again, or if any of the other skulls would speak. When they did not, he turned and limped into the forest, using the stick to help him walk. His injured foot hurt every time he put pressure on it, forcing him to drag it behind him. He ignored the pain and focused on finding Meg.

He walked for what felt like hours, limping down the path while his eyes darted back and forth, looking for any signs of supernatural forces. But there was nothing except for the dirt path and strange, silent trees. The sun didn't move from its position in the sky, making it impossible for him to chart how much time had passed. His injured leg throbbed in pain.

Eventually, he was too tired to go on, and fell onto the dirt. Trembling, he managed to maneuver himself into the bushes that lined the path and tried to sleep, praying that the bushes would offer some protection. When he woke, he struggled back onto the path and began walking again.

The sun never moved.

Castiel wasn't sure how long he walked down the dirt path. It seemed to stretch in front of him forever, endless and unchanging. When he grew tired, he shuffled into the bushes to sleep. When he woke, he walked for as long as he could before his body gave up on him. His foot grew worse, pus oozing from the bite marks and pooling in his boot. The scratches from the vines stung every time he moved them, stretching the healing skin, causing the wounds to reopen and leak blood. He walked less and less each time he woke as hunger gnawed at his belly and thirst sapped the moisture from his throat, and he was sure that he was going to die there without finding Meg.

Eventually, he fell and could not get up again.

Groaning, he probed his chapped lips with his tongue and felt the skin split. Blood bubbled from the cuts, salty and bitter, but he could not resist lapping at the wounds. The leafy canopy spun above him, wavering in and out of focus, before it began to glitter and expand. Castiel rolled onto his eyes and squeezed his eyes shut, wishing futilely that he had held on to his pack with its supply of water and meager store of food. He would've given anything for a small, bruised apple or strip of dry, bitter jerky, or even just one sip of warm water.

When he opened his eyes, a new tree had sprung up in front of him, its branches hanging low with ripe, green pears. The fruit looked unnaturally bright, with sparkling emerald skin and crisp, new-looking leaves, and he found himself reaching for it without thinking, fingers curling around the fruit until his fingernails pierced the delicate skin, sending sticky juice running down his fingers.

It smelled like heaven, and felt firm in his palm. He pressed the pear to his face and inhaled its sweet, sharp scent, stomach rumbling with hunger. Meg's warnings about not eating the food crept into his mind, but the pear smelt so good, and he was so hungry, that he could not help but take a bite.

It tasted like fresh fruit and jam, like the scent of summer days settling deep in the back of his throat and rain in the air, like sweet cakes and honey. He devoured it, sinking his teeth into the tender fruit again and again until the juice dribbled down his chin and neck. When it was finished, he reached out and took another, and then another, until his hunger was finally sated and his stomach was full for the first time in what felt like weeks. New strength flowed through his limbs, and his foot ceased throbbing in pain.

Getting to his feet, Castiel stared down at the remains of his meal. Revulsion swept through him as his head cleared. Meg had warned him about eating the food the forest provided, but he had done it, anyway. He knew he had to try to find one of the safe places, but Meg had never taught him how to identify them, and the path he'd been walking had been the same for what felt like several days. Unless he went crashing through the trees, he would be stuck there when whatever hallucinations the food brought on struck him.

Grabbing his stick, Castiel limped hastily down the path, gripping the wood with both hands when the dirt began to rise and fall rhythmically under his feet, rolling like the waves he'd seen at the ocean as a child. Closing his eyes, he tried to ground himself, recalling the day that Azazel and Chuck had rounded up their children and brought them to the shore. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't picture his father's animated face or Azazel's stern expressions, or the way Meg's eyes had lit up when she saw the ocean. Instead, all he could picture were the waves, the way the crystal blue sea had rolled onto the land.

When he opened his eyes, the dirt path under him was gone, replaced with water that rushed around his ankles in a gray-green tide. It foamed when it hit him, and gently tugged at the legs of his pants, encouraging him to walk. He stared down at the water, dread creeping into his stomach, and squeezed his eyes shut again.

"It isn't real, it isn't real, it isn't real," he chanted to himself as he walked, using the stick to probe the ground in front of him so he would not walk over unseen ridges or rocks. "It isn't real, it isn't real, it isn't real."

But it felt real. He could smell the salt from the sea, could feel his leggings and trousers hanging heavy from the water clinging to them, and could feel the waves lapping at his body. Daring to look again, he saw thousands of small, brightly colored fish swimming past his legs, each one sparkling like a gemstone. The forest still rose around him, but he was unable to see the path under the cloudy water, even if he could feel it under his feet. Suddenly afraid of creatures lurking in the murky river, he lunged for the nearest tree to scramble up the branches. But the wood crumbled under his hands, the bark slipping through his fingers in jagged chunks. The pieces vanished before they hit the water, sparkling as they tumbled downward.

Scrambling backward, his back hit a tree on the other side of the path. The trunk of that one crumbled under his touch, too, sending him crashing toward the ground. The water flowed outward from the path and into the place where the tree had been and rose around him, covering his head. He flailed, tried to stand, and fell back into the water. It frothed around his eyes, stinging, and flowed down his nose and into his mouth as he screamed. It felt heavy in his lungs and burned like fire. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to push himself up again.

Then it was gone.

Coughing, Castiel rolled onto his hands and knees and heaved, trying to expel the water from his belly. When nothing came up, he opened his eyes and saw that the ground under him wasn't wet, and that there was no evidence of water having been there at all. Moving slowly, he raised one arm and felt his face and hair, confusing when he found that it was perfectly dry, aside from his sweat.

Confused, he looked up and saw the tree that he had crashed into. It was still standing, its leaves perfectly still, and there was so evidence of water on it, either.

Gulping down air, he turned so his back was resting against the tree and tried to control his breathing when a high, feminine scream tore through the air.

Recognizing Meg's voice, he struggled to his feet. Grabbing his walking stick, he limped in the direction of her screams, frantically calling her name. Moving as fast as he could, Castiel crashed through the greenery, swatting aside branches with his stick and arms as thorns from the low-growing plants sliced into his clothing and drew blood. The sun vanished without warning, lighting up the trees with their eerie, green glow as moonlight spilled through the gaps in the canopy above him.

Meg's screams stopped when he stumbled into a small, oval shaped clearing. He saw her on the other side, near the tree line. Naked, her belly was swollen with child, skin stretched taunt over the bulge. Her hair was in disarray, strands wrapped around the weeds poking up through the ground, and there was blood pooled under her body. Her skin looked pale gray in the moonlight.

Stumbling across the clearing, he fell to his knees next to her and raised her head into his lap, trying to shake her awake. Her head lolled with his motions, and he recoiled when he saw a large, jagged wound across her throat that still leaked blood.

"No. No, no, no," he moaned. "Meg, wake up. Wake up!"

The body under him didn't stir. Instead, he saw part of her belly bulge outward, as if something was pushing at her skin from inside, trying to break free.

He couldn't think clearly. Sliding her head out of his lap, Castiel worked his way down Meg's body and gently laid both hands on her swollen stomach. Whatever was inside of her pushed again. He was certain that there hadn't been enough time for their child, if they had conceived one, to grow that large, but Meg had told him that time moved differently in the forest, and there she was in front of him, belly swollen with the evidence of their coupling.

And she was dead. Dead because he hadn't reached her in time, because they'd gotten separated and he hadn't found a way to get them out of the woods where she was trapped. Tears began to gather in the corner of his eyes, spilling over when he pressed his ear to Meg's stomach and heard a strong, steady heartbeat.

The baby was still alive.

Fumbling with his boot, Castiel tried to extract his small dagger, but the tears in his eyes made it impossible for him to see. Finally grabbing it with slippery fingers, he wiped the tears from his eyes and tried not to look at Meg's face.

"I'm sorry," he choked. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry."

He rested the point of his dagger on his skin and took a deep breath to steady himself when he saw how badly his hands were shaking. He stopped, cleared his eyes of tears once again, and prepared to sink the dagger into Meg's dead flesh when the baby pushed against her stomach again and a tiny ripping sound came from Meg's body.

Horrified, Castiel watched as Meg's stomach split open. Blood bubbled from the small wound, but did not flow. The small cut expanded, opening wider and wider, until a small hand poked out from the slit. Castiel reached forward, intent on helping the child, when a long, thin leg covered in fine brown hair emerged after the hand.

He scrabbled backward with a yelp, dropping his dagger on the grass as he slid away from Meg's body. There was a small, sloppy sound, like melons dropping on stone, and the slit widened yet again, another hand emerging followed by five more long, thin appendages that resembled spider's legs. The creature in Meg's belly let out a small screeching noise as it emerged, covered in fluids, and skittered down her body.

Its top half looked like a baby, with chubby cheeks and a soft, fat stomach. Unable to support the weight of its head, it lolled from side to side on the thing's neck as its bright blue eyes, an exact replica of his, darted around the clearing. It was covered in slick, red blood and fluids that plastered its black hair to its head. But the thing changed at the stomach, the body expanding behind it like a large, horrifying insect covered in fine, dark hair. Six narrow, pointed legs extended from the main body, supporting the thing as it skittered closer and closer to Castiel. It moved awkwardly, slipping on the blood soaked grass, legs splaying out in all directions before it righted itself and continued moving forward.

Trembling, Castiel snatched his dagger up off the ground and continued to push himself backward, swinging wildly at the slowly-advancing creature. The monster skittered forward, undeterred. Suddenly, its head straightened, and it fixed its deep blue eyes with his, as if looking into his very soul. The creature's perfect pink lips opened, revealing a row of pointed teeth, before it spoke in a high, feminine voice.

"Daddy? Daddy, why are you crying?" it asked, reaching out one short, fat arm.

Heart pounding, Castiel scrambled away until his back hit a tree. The rough bark bit into his torn clothes, scraping his skin. He wanted to run, to turn and leave the woods and the malformed creature that he and Meg had created behind, but his legs seemed frozen. Unable to tear his eyes away, he could only watch as his daughter moved closer, stretching out both arms as if asking for a hug.

"Don't you love me, daddy?" she asked, skittering to a stop between his spread legs. Shaking, Castiel pressed himself against the tree. "You and mommy made me together. You loved me when you made me, didn't you? You love mommy."

Swallowing hard, Castiel tried to open his mouth to scream, but all that came out was a dry, brittle rasp. The spider girl laughed at him when she heard it, pink lips spreading unnaturally wide into smile that showed off rows and rows of pointed teeth. He slashed at her with his dagger, but aimed wildly and missed, causing her to laugh again.

She walked up his body on delicate spider legs, the points hooking into his flesh and drawing blood from half a dozen wounds. Pain shot through as body as if he'd been stabbed, and his daughter smiled wider. He felt something warm and wet run down his leg, and realized almost distantly that he had wet himself. Heart hammering in his chest, Castiel couldn't even spare enough emotion to feel shame, not with the rows of needles inches from his face.

"You killed her," she said, leaning forward so her teeth were even with his face. "Now you're going to die, too."

His daughter's teeth, sharper than any knife or sword, sank into his nose, neatly severing it and sending blood pouring down his face. Screaming, Castiel swatted at her and brought his knife down into her insectlike body again and again. But she only continued laughing at him, bringing her teeth down onto his face to chew off parts of his cheeks as if she did not feel the blows.

But Castiel could feel them. He kicked his legs wildly, twisting and bucking, but she somehow stayed in place. Her teeth felt like fire in his face as she ripped the flesh away, and he could feel cold air rushing to fill the gaps she left behind in his face as she chewed and swallowed, cruelly ripping away his skin and fat and muscle.

She pulled away and smiled at him. Blood lined her teeth, pink and frothing like the ocean. "I love you, daddy," she said, and then kissed him, small lips soft and plush against his own. He struggled, trying to push her away, but he felt the child laugh against his mouth as she forced her small tongue past his lips and gripped his tongue with her teeth, severing the organ and making it impossible for him to even scream as she ate away at his lips and tongue and chin until the lower half of his face was gone. Her teeth shaved through bone, through everything he was, until he was sure that he would die.

And then it was over.

Screeching, he rolled wildly onto his side, fists and dagger batting at the empty air as he panted, still fighting. When he realized that the creature was gone, he leaped to his feet and scanned the clearing, looking for any signs that the creature was still there, or of Meg's body, but he found none. Shaking, he cautiously ran his fingers over his face, relieved to find it intact.

Then, falling to his knees, he doubled over and vomited onto the grass again and again, his whole body heaving with the effort. The vomit tasted sour in his mouth, like rotting meat, even though the small puddle of half-digested food under him sparkled like emeralds.

He fell heavily onto his side, rolled away from the mess, curled himself into a ball, and began to cry, praying that all of the food had been purged from his body. The pain, the terror, all of it had felt so real that he knew he would never forget the strange creature he had seen, or the sensation of having the flesh torn from his face. His body shook as his tears ran down his face and in that moment he stopped caring about the world around him. He didn't care if Crowley's shadow dogs found him there, unable to protect himself, and dragged him away, didn't care if the witch himself appeared to finish him right then. He squeezed his eyes shut to stifle the tears and found himself praying that, when he opened them again, he would be back in his bedroom in Araboth, snug under the blankets in his own bed, and that the nightmare of the woods had been nothing but a bad dream before his wedding.

His tears eventually stopped on their own. He stayed where he was, curled up on the grass, breathing in the steadying scent of dirt and nature. He didn't know how long he lay there, waiting for the growling of the shadow dogs or another vision to hit. But nothing came, even as the glowing green light on the trees faded and the sun peeked over the horizon, bathing him with warmth.

More screams broke with the dawn, echoing through the forest. Unlike before, they weren't anonymous screams of the dead, or Meg's screams. This time, the screams sounded like his siblings. He heard Gabriel's voice, high and shrill with pain, heard Michael praying in an increasingly panicked voice as growls rose out of the forest with his voice. He even heard Lucifer.

Lucifer had died at home, bleeding inside of his brain after falling from his horse and dashing his head against a rock while he was hunting. Here, in the forest, Castiel once again heard his brother's small moans of pain as he lingered for days in his bed, his injuries too great for the castle healer to fix. They sounded exactly like they had ten years ago. When Castiel had been a child, Lucifer's death rattle had sounded as loud as thunder, and there in the woods, he felt like a child again when he heard them.

But Lucifer was dead and gone, and couldn't possibly be in the forest with him.

Castiel covered his ears with his hands and curled himself into a ball to block out the voices, but they kept coming. Anna's voice joined the chorus, shrieking as if she was being tortured. Hael's voice came next, then Hannah's, her small, high voice impossibly loud. Last of all he heard his parent's, heard his father shouting as Castiel had imagined Chuck had shouted during the last moments of his life. He heard is mother's screams of childbirth.

Castiel gritted his teeth and pressed his hands harder against his ears to fight the sounds. But they grew louder and louder, as if they were moving closer, and he was unable to block them out until he, too, began to scream.

"Not real, not real, not real!" he screeched, curling up as tightly as he could. "Not real, not real, not real, not real!"

He heard a crashing sound, like someone running through the bushes, but he refused to open his eyes, not caring what it was, or if it would kill him. Meg's voice joined the screaming around him, but her voice was full of worry instead of pain. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and felt something shake him, and heard Meg's voice screaming his name.

"Castiel! Castiel, stop screaming!" Meg yelled. "Whatever you're seeing, it isn't real!"

"You're not real!" he yelled back. "Let go of me! Enough!"

"I'm real," Meg promised. "I'm real. Open your eyes. I'm right here!"

"You're lying," he whimpered. "It's a lie. You're not real. You were dead. I saw you."

"I'm not dead. I'm right here. Look at me, Clarence. Open your eyes," Meg coaxed. "Open your eyes."

He shook his head and tried to inch away from her, but Meg forcibly grabbed him and rolled him onto his back. Straddling him, she grabbed his face in both hands and tore his hands away from his ears. He looked, and then he screamed.

It was Meg, still dressed in her feathered gown, but her eyes were gone, replaced by two deep, black holes. Fresh blood glistened wet and scarlet on her cheeks, and there were chunks of flesh missing from her bare arms as well, the wounds weeping red and raw against her pale skin. The bodice of the gown had been torn away, exposing her chest. The skin between her breasts had been torn open, exposing her ribs and heart, which lay still between her lungs.

He twisted under her, trying to buck her off of him and reaching out to rake his nails down his face. Unlike the other hallucinations, which seemed to feel no pain when he injured them, the Meg straddling him pulled away, as if afraid of getting hurt. Strength flowed through his limbs, and he began to fight harder, managing to throw the hallucination off.

He wriggled onto his stomach and tried to crawl away, unable to look into Meg's ruined face again. He only managed to move a few feet when the hallucination's weight settled on his back again and he felt cold, clammy hands probe his skin.

"I don't know what you're seeing, but whatever it is, it isn't real," Meg told him. "I'm real. And I'm healthy and alive. I promise."

Castiel pressed his face into the dirt and shook his head. "Not real, not real."

"Cas, I'm real," she said softly. "I'm real. Just calm down and come with me. We have to move. If I found you, something else will."

He whimpered and shook his head again. "No. No more. Please, please, no more."

"Castiel, get up. Get up and come with me. It isn't safe here," the hallucination pleaded. "Don't make me get violent."

"You will. It always does. You always were. I loved you, anyway."

Meg's voice became sharper, more demanding. "Get up. Now. Get the fuck up and come with me."

He went completely limp under her and let out a small breath. "No."

"Don't make me hurt you."

"You'll do whatever you want, then you'll disappear, and I'll be back to normal. Fighting it is pointless. Do whatever you want. You can't use her to hurt me anymore."

The hallucination grunted in frustration above him. "I'll apologize for this when you're making sense again."

He jerked. Hallucinations didn't apologize.

He started to roll over when something hard knocked him in the back of the head and his vision swam. He felt hands gently stroke the back of his neck as black fingers crept across his eyes, and felt a soft kiss to his head just before he fainted.