Castiel had been expecting Crowley's castle to look like something out of a horror novel. He'd expected to see blood on the walls, human bones used as decorations, and rats to be scurrying around the corridors. But it looked like an ordinary place to Castiel. The walls were bare, gray stone, and completely unadorned save for the torches that were there for light. The floor was covered by a worn, red rug with gold trim that was coated with dust. Every step he, Meg, and the corpses took sent dust fluttering into the air. The shadow dogs glided silently beside them, their paws neither sending up dust nor leaving paw prints behind.
"Were you expecting skulls or viscera or just plain old dead bodies?" Meg asked him.
"Well, yes. But you've been here before."
"Not to this part of the castle," she told him. "If I'm remembering right, then you won't be disappointed later on. Course, we might be dead by the time we get to the gross stuff, so I guess you'll still wind up disappointed."
Castiel shuddered. "The corpse hole."
She nodded. "If we die, then that's the way we're leaving. You might get to see some pretty torture tools, though."
"Lucky me."
"Well, I did escape from him, so he'll probably torture me first," Meg said cheerfully. "Or he'll torture you and make me watch. Either way, I don't imagine it being pretty. That's if we don't kill him. If we do manage to kill him…"
"We return home to a joyful wedding ceremony and listen to your father nag us about giving him grandchildren?"
"Ruby's got that covered."
"Meg, I know your father. He'll just use Ruby's baby to nag us more. He'll go on about how close the three of you were as children because you were all close in age, and how good it is for kids to have friends, and how he was raised around all his cousins."
The conversation proved to be a good distraction, and Meg seemed to sense it, laughing as though they were taking a stroll through the castle gardens back home. "Well, I don't care what dad says. Unless I wind up pregnant from our little liaison in the forest, we're not having kids for another five years."
"We do need an heir," Castiel pointed out.
Meg snorted. "Five. Years."
The memory of the spider child crept into his mind. Shuddering, Castiel nodded. "Alright. Five years."
She smiled at him. The corpse walking in front of them stopped in front of a set of large, scarred wooden doors, forcing them to stop as well. The wood had been brown once, but had faded over time to a light sandy color, and sported deep scratches.
The corpse stiffly raised its arm and, unable to make a fist, limply hit the door. Castiel felt his mouth go dry and swallowed hard. "I love you."
Meg rolled her eyes. "Don't say it like that."
"Like what?"
"Like this is the last time you'll ever say it. The next time you say that, we better be at home."
He opened his mouth to reply, but the door swung open before he could. The two corpses behind them came forward and gave them both rough shoves to force them through the door. The shadow dogs bounded forward, yipping happily as they rushed toward the man standing near the window. His back facing them, and the room was dimly lit, so Castiel could only make out the man's black tunic and trousers. The room was made of stone just like the others, and the walls were covered with garish tapestries depicting various means of torture.
The corpses went back behind the door, and two men emerged from the shadows. They were dressed in old, poor clothing that was torn and rotten in places, and their heads sat awkwardly on their necks and lolled from side to side with their movements. Their eyes, when Castiel saw them, were bloodshot and bulging out of their sockets. Their swollen purple tongues poked out from between blue lips, and their fingertips were black from the blood pooling in them.
"Hanged men," Meg whispered as they slowly closed the doors. Castiel pressed closer to her, suddenly afraid. But Meg stood tall and proud, waiting for the man by the window to turn around.
Castiel had to stifle a scream when he did.
Parts of the man looked normal. He was shorter than Castiel had expected, with dark, thinning hair and clothes that had once been good quality but had thinned out with age. One of his eyes was a strange, glowing red, just like the shadow dog's eyes. But most of his face and neck was a patchwork of dead, blackened skin and shiny pink burns that openly wept thick, yellow pus. The skin had completely rotted away around one side of his jaw, exposing his teeth, and one of his eye sockets was completely empty. He raised a blackened hand at them in greeting, and Castiel watched as a chunk of skin slid away with a strange sucking sound to reveal the stark, white bone underneath. The flesh dissolved before it hit the carpeted floor, turning into a puff of foul-smelling black smoke.
"Crowley," Meg greeted.
The man smiled, stretching out the open skin on the burned side of his mouth, sending pus dribbling through the hole and onto his teeth. He flicked his gaze toward Castiel and tutted. "Meg, Meg, Meg, what would your daddy say if he saw you running around with a little loverboy? Why, you look like the perfect picture of a whore."
Meg bared her teeth at Crowley. "You look like a dragon chewed you up and spit you out, but here I was trying to be polite and not mention it."
Crowley's smile dropped. "You still have quite a tongue on you. But we'll fix that soon enough."
Castiel drew Meg behind him. "Don't touch her."
Crowley laughed. "Loverboy speaks! That one seems quite devoted to you, Meg. Cast a little spell on him?"
"You and I both know I don't have enough power to do that," Meg said, stepping out from behind Castiel's arm.
"You seemed to have enough power when you burnt up my dogs."
"As far as I know it was a one time deal. But enough talk. Are we gonna make with the torture now?"
Crowley let out a dry rasping noise, and Castiel reached out to grab Meg's arm to pull her behind him again. More hanged men slipped out from behind the garish tapestries before he could, their bulging, bloodshot eyes rolling toward the couple as they slowly shuffled toward them, black hands twitching.
Bile rose in Castiel's throat, but Meg stood perfectly still, even as the hanged men came up behind them and wrenched their hands behind their backs. They were extraordinarily strong despite being corpses, and no matter how hard Castiel struggled he could not dislodge them. Their hands were cold as ice, and dug painfully into his wrists. He was sure that, if he was alive come morning, there would be bruises there.
"Now the fun begins," Crowley drawled. He walked toward a tapestry that showed two women dangling from hooks while small, devilish imps poked at them with spikes. He shoved it aside to reveal a tall, wooden door and gestured for the hanged men to follow as he slipped through it. The door was so narrow that they had to walk in a single line to go through it, and Castiel lost sight of Meg as the hanged men pushed him in front of her.
He kicked wildly as he was forced through the passageway and threw himself from side to side, trying to dislodge the dead man. But the fingers around his wrist were tighter than a vice, and he could not escape, no matter how furiously he struggled. He heard Meg sigh loudly behind him. "Knock it off, Clarence. We got this."
"Your attitude is admirable, my dear, but you're entirely wrong," Crowley said over his shoulder.
Meg didn't answer. The hanged men shoved the two of them through the door into another large, stone room. This one had bare walls, and the windows were covered by thick, velvet curtains that had once been a bright, brilliant red, but over time had faded to the rusty color of old blood. Bronze chandeliers swung from the ceiling on rusted chains. The room itself held several tables, each one of them covered by a white cloth spotted with blood and fluids. The center of the room held a large, bronze tub engraved with runes, and next to it was a shiny, still contraption that was shaped like a circle and attached to several chains. Old bloodstains coated the stone around the tub.
Crowley turned around with his arms stretched outward. "Welcome."
Castiel saw Meg looking at the tub. If she was afraid she showed no sign of it, keeping her voice calm and rolling her eyes. "You really need to clean in here."
"Someone took my maid and flew off. Which reminds me…" Crowley strode up to them and reached into Meg's gown with his burned hand. She wrinkled her nose and spat at him, sending a glob of phlegm splattering across his cheek. Crowley withdrew his hand, pulled it back, and struck her across the face. Castiel roared and leapt forward.
"Meg!" he shouted. "Don't touch her!"
Meg spat again, only this time there was blood in it. Grease was smeared across her cheek from Crowley's burnt hand, and bits of blackened flesh as well.
"I could string up loverboy first, you know," Crowley commented. Meg bared her teeth at him. Blood dripped down her chin.
"It won't work."
"He is only a peasant, true. But his blood will be good enough to heal my face."
Crowley glided away from Meg and over to one of his tables to draw the sheet off. Castiel felt his blood run cold as Crowley revealed the array of knives neatly spread on the wood. He fingered each one in turn, good hand trailing across the blades, before he picked up a small, pinched knife that was barely longer than Castiel's little finger.
Crowley glided back to Castiel and smiled. "Let's see how you taste, eh?"
"Fuck you," Castiel spat. He had never used vulgar language in his life, preferring to speak properly, and the word sounded awkward coming from his mouth. Crowley must have sensed it, because he laughed and raised the knife.
"What a mouth. Perhaps I'll have to cut both your tongues out. I could have them with my supper."
The cut Crowley made on Castiel's cheek was shallow, but it burned and bled all the same. Castiel hissed when he felt the metal on his cheek, and he tasted his own blood when it dripped down into his mouth. Crowley only smiled and ran his fat, pink tongue along the cut, making Castiel shiver. The other man's breath was hot and sour against his face, and he smelled like burned, rotten meat.
Crowley pulled away and licked his lips. "What's this? A prince dressed like a peasant? This day just keeps getting better and better."
"You can't use him for your spell," Meg said.
Crowley reached out and grabbed Castiel's face to hold him still. "I most certainly can. He's pure."
"I'm not," Castiel said quickly.
"He's not," Meg agreed. "The spell said you needed a virgin of noble blood. He's not a virgin."
Crowley removed his hands from Castiel's face and strode over to the large, circular contraption in the middle of the room. "A common mistranslation, I'm afraid. Some idiot witch that lived centuries ago took it to mean that purity meant virginity. The spell requires a pure soul, untainted by murder, and your boy here fits the bill just perfectly."
Castiel felt his knees go weak, and saw Meg's eyes widen in fear. She swallowed hard. "No! Don't touch him! Don't you fucking touch him!"
Crowley shook his head. "Such a mouth. I prefer them quiet." Meg struggled against the hanged man holding her, feet kicking wildly as she twisted in his grasp. Crowley only shook his head and strode back over to her. "I think I preferred it when you were a bird."
Meg threw herself forward and sank her teeth into Crowley's burned hand when he raised it near her mouth. Crowley shrieked like a teakettle and pulled it away. A long strip of flesh followed, exposing the fragile bones of his fingers to the air. Slick, red blood and thick, yellow pus poured from the wound. The torn flesh dangled from Meg's mouth for a moment before she dropped it on the ground and spat on it. Blood and grease lined her lips and dripped down onto her pale chest. The strip of skin sizzled for a moment before it curled in on itself, dissolving until it was nothing more than an oily, black smear on the floor.
Crowley growled and slapped her again, shoving his hand into her bodice while she recovered from the blow. He hissed as he pulled the protection amulet out of her dress and yanked it over her head with his good hand. Crowley dropped it as soon as it was free of Meg's neck, and Castiel could see the star and flames burned into his open palm. Castiel yelped as Crowley brought the heel of his shoe down on the amulet, shattering it.
Meg jerked once and gasped, her legs folding under her. The hanged man let her go and stood motionless behind her as Meg struggled to breathe. Her dress seemed to tighten on her, and there was a small flash of light that obscured her body. When it faded she had changed back into a crow.
Wings out, she dove for the crushed protection amulet, but Crowley was faster. He casually whacked her to the side, sending Meg's small form tumbling across the floor, wings flapping wildly as she tried to regain her balance. The hanged man shuffled to her side and gently scooped her up, thumbs pressed over her wings to prevent her from flying. Meg pecked wildly at his hands, ripping at them with her beak and sending chunks of blackened flesh fluttering to the floor. But the hanged man didn't feel it. He calmly walked her to the other side of the room and waited for Crowley to pull the sheet off of a small birdcage before he gently placed Meg inside. She screamed and cawed, throwing herself against the bars. Crowley turned to Castiel and smiled.
"Now, how about we have our fun?"
Crowley snapped his fingers. The other hanged man came to Castiel's side so each one could grab his arms. Crowley stroked his skeletal hand with a small smile on his face as the hanged men dragged Castiel to the circular contraption in the middle of the room. The headless corpses came through the door, their limbs moving jerkily as they stumbled toward him.
"Strip him," Crowley ordered.
Growling, Castiel kicked wildly at the headless corpses, but every time they fell they simply rose again and shuffled back toward him. They eventually got their hands on his tunic, ripping it down the front to expose his chest to the open air. The hanged men temporarily relinquished their hold on his arms to yank the tattered remains of his tunic and his cloak off of him until he was exposed. Their arms went around his neck when he struggled, keeping him in a stranglehold until he was scrabbling at their flesh and struggling to breathe, all thought of fighting forgotten.
Crowley nodded. "Chain him."
The hanged men dragged him toward the circular contraption in the middle of the room and held him against it while the headless corpses chained his wrists and ankles to it. Spread against it, he was unable to move when they wound another chain around his waist and a second one around his neck to keep him pinned. The metal was cold against his bare back, and sticky with old blood and fluids.
Gasping for air, he tried to twist his head, but it only made the chain dig into the soft skin of his throat. He yanked on the chains, but wound up trying to shrink back when Crowley approached and delicately picked up his protection amulet by its chain, avoiding the pendant.
"My, my. You two have found a very powerful witch. But it won't save you now." Crowley dropped the amulet back onto Castiel's chest. "Shall I cut your tongue out first? The stump bleeds an awful lot, you know. But we can't have you dying before the spell's completed. I could take a finger, or a toe. Those stumps bleed, but you'll still be useful for a while, after."
Crowley walked over to his table of knives and selected one, walking back to hold it against Castiel's face. Small and curved, the metal was cold against the skin of his cheek.
"Or we could take some skin off and work from there," Crowley continued. "I could start with your pretty face. Of course, most victims die before you reach their waist, but I could keep you alive with magic. Keep the shock at bay, or staunch the blood loss until you're nothing more than a walking corpse like my boys here. I could even keep you, after, and make you work for me."
"Do what you want," Castiel said. "I'm not afraid of you."
"That, my boy, is a very big mistake," Crowley said softly. He reached out with his good hand and ran his fingers through Castiel's hair, fingering the ends. "Such pretty hair. You and Meg made quite a picture. Shall I flay her after as well? Keep the two of you together after you die, as a pretty pair of corpses?"
"She's not afraid of you, either," Castiel growled.
"Neither of you have to be. I'll kill you all the same. And once I'm free of this place, I'll kill her father, too. I'll kill the entire royal family, and the plan Lilith and I put into place two hundred years ago will finally come to fruition."
"Lilith is dead, and there are more witches in Ennom now than there ever were. You won't get far once you get out of here."
"But none of those witches have had over two hundred years to hone their Craft, have they?"
"Lilith is still dead."
Crowley smiled slyly. The tip of his tongue poked out of the hole in the side of his face. "She is. She fled from me and created those little pockets of safety in the forest, but it is easy enough to bring her back. I do have her relative right here, after all. And this. I do have this."
Crowley walked over to another table near the room's only window and pulled the sheet off to reveal the body of a young woman. Her skin was pale as milk, her hair was as golden as the sun, and her pink lips were stretched into a peaceful expression. Her hands lay folded over her stomach. Crowley had dressed the body all in white and carved symbols into the wood around her. Her chest rose and fell slightly, almost as if she was breathing.
"I found her and brought her here, and kept her all these years," Crowley said. He walked over to the table and gently stroked the woman's face with his good hand, brushing back her hair. His face softened, and Castiel swore he could almost see affection fill Crowley's good eye. "Not dead, not quite, but merely sleeping. Preserved, waiting for the day when I could break free and we could rule together. Your blood will free me, and Meg's blood will awaken her from her slumber."
Castiel swallowed hard. "She won't have you. She'll run again."
"She'll see reason," Crowley argued. "One way or another, I'll make her see reason." Crowley turned away from the body and walked back over to Castiel, grabbing a different knife as he did. The blade gleamed in the torchlight. "But the time for talk is over. First, I'll cut you. Shallowly in some places, and deeper in others, and you'll begin to bleed. Then I'll drain you into the tub. Once I've covered myself in your blood and drink it, I'll be free. If you're a good boy, I'll kill you outright. If you're not, I'll keep you alive so you can watch as I slit your whore's throat and bathe Lilith in her blood."
"Why not just slit my throat and be done with it?"
"Ritual, of course. The spell requires specific patterns." Reaching down, Crowley fingered Castiel's sword belt. Castiel thought he felt the metal itself shivering at the witch's touch, but the sword did not hum or pulse with life, staying quiet. "You can't use any magic with your hands bound, and I don't sense that much in you to begin with, not enough to harm me, anyway. I'll let you die with this, as a gift to you. I'll let you die as a man."
Castiel smiled. Meg had quieted in the background, and he couldn't turn his head to see her, but he felt strangely calm. Crowley took his smile for one of surrender and grinned back at him and raised the knife, not bothering to look at the cage where he'd stashed Meg, or even at Lilith's body, or at anything but Castiel's chest.
He began muttering to himself in another language as he made the first cut, digging the knife deep into the skin above Castiel's right nipple. Castiel gritted his teeth and focused on the wall behind Crowley's head, sucking in a breath when the man curved the cut.
He smiled wider when he saw Meg, still a crow, flutter onto one of the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. She tilted her head down at the two of them and opened and closed her beak without sound. Castiel tried to nod, but was hampered by the collar. His sword began to hum softly.
"Keep still," Crowley muttered.
Meg spread her wings.
"Did you know that crows are some of the most intelligent birds in the animal kingdom?" Castiel asked. "They've been known to hold grudges, recognize humans, and even work locks."
Crowley's eyes widened. He looked over Castiel's shoulder at Meg's cage and cursed, turning around as Meg screamed and launched herself down from the chandelier. Crowley swiped his knife at her, missed, and screamed and Meg's claws sunk into his one good eye. The chandelier swayed the flames on the candles dancing back and forth as Crowley screamed and tried to bat Meg off of his face. She screeched and tore at his bad eye socket as well, sending blood streaming down his face.
Crowley fell to the floor, his hands pressed over his face to staunch the blood. Meg fluttered onto Castiel's shoulder and picked at his protection amulet, using her beak to swing it up over his head and onto her hers, tumbling sideways toward the floor once it was free. A bright light surrounded her again, and once it faded she was on her knees before him, his protection amulet swinging from her neck.
Her face and chest were smeared with blood and grease, and there were bruises forming on her face from where Crowley had slapped her. Her hair was in disarray around her head, and she was still in the feathered gown.
"Thank you," Castiel panted. Meg stood on shaking legs and rushed for his chains, tugging at them to free him. She managed to get his arms free as Crowley writhed on the ground. He stopped shrieking and stood, hand pressed over what had been his good eye. The other empty socket seemed to glow with a deep, red light.
"Bitch," Crowley growled. "You want to die first?"
Meg groped for Castiel's sword and pulled it free, turning to face Crowley. She held the sword awkwardly, as if unsure how to use it. Castiel knew that she'd gotten far more training in the art of torture with her uncle than she ever had with a sword. "Clarence, get out of that thing so you can help me."
"You don't have enough magic of your own to hurt me, even with your little toy," Crowley taunted. "I don't even have to do anything to you. My men can take care of everything."
Meg snarled. "Think again."
The hanged men shambled forward. Despite her shaky hold on the sword, she swung it with all her strength, sending it through the hanged men's bowels so they tumbled to the floor. Their organs spilled onto the stones, bright pink and bloodless, leaving gaping holes in their bodies before they collapsed onto the floor and did not get up again. She swung at the headless corpses next, splitting them in half. The steel swept through the bones and meat and gristle as easily as a knife sliding through butter, sending the bodies tumbling on top of the hanged men. Their insides spilled out, black and rotten, but they did not bleed or twitch. The sword seemed to shine with its own internal light, and Castiel could clearly see the metal pulsing like a beating heart.
Crowley's empty eye socket stretched open in surprise. "It's not possible."
Meg spat on the bodies while Castiel unchained himself and awkwardly stumbled from the circular contraption. Blood still wept from the wound on his chest, soaking the hair that fell over it. His arms were stiff from being tied, and his throat felt as if someone had taken sandpaper to it, but he smiled all the same. "It is."
"It's true that neither of us have much magic," Meg said. "But this thing has enough magic in it to kill even you."
Crowley snarled and removed his hand from his face. The red light in his eye sockets grew brighter. "We'll see."
Meg drew her dagger and handed the sword back to Castiel. "You're better with this thing than I am. I can't kill him with the dagger, but I can hurt him enough to get him down so you can shove that thing through his skull."
Castiel nodded and held the sword out in front of him. Crowley only smiled and held his hand out. "Big mistake, kids. She may have a protection amulet, but you don't."
Meg glanced between the two of them. Fire appeared in Crowley's open palm and hovered there for a moment before it blazed forward. Meg shoved Castiel hard, sending him toppling to the floor as she leapt the other way. The smell of singed feathers filled the room, and Castiel heard Meg scream as she batted at the flames that had caught her dress.
Crowley laughed. The knives on the uncovered table flew into the air behind them, their blades shining in the firelight. Castiel stood and prepared to run toward Meg when the knives shot forward. He screamed a warning, but Meg calmly held up her hand and shouted something in a language that Castiel didn't know and the knives stopped, sinking into the air in front of her as if they were hitting an invisible barrier. They stayed there, vibrating, as Meg turned and launched herself at Crowley.
She aimed too high and wound up tackling him around the chest instead of the waist, sending the two of the tumbling to the floor. Castiel circled them as they screeched and rolled, Meg plunging her dagger into Crowley over and over. The witch cursed and grabbed a fistful of Meg's hair, yanking out several strands as he tried to dislodge her. Meg shook herself free, raised herself onto her knees so she was straddling him, and raised the dagger again.
The glowing lights in Crowley's empty eye sockets dimmed then flashed brighter. Castiel screamed as Crowley grabbed Meg's wrist before she could sink the dagger into his flesh, turned it, and plunged the dagger into her stomach. Meg jerked and looked down in horror as Crowley smiled and slowly withdrew the blade almost all the way before he shoved it back into her belly and gave it a twist. She made a strange gurgling noise and clutched at the dagger, pressing on the wound around it. Blood leaked out from between her fingers. The knives stuck in the air behind Castiel clattered to the floor.
Crowley shoved Meg off of him and stood, yanking the dagger out of her stomach before she hit the floor. She curled her arms around her stomach and groaned, trying to struggle to her feet but falling back onto the ground. Crowley gave her a kick and turned to face Castiel, the fingers of his good hand curled around the hilt of Meg's dagger.
"You've been very bad, loverboy," Crowley said. "Now you get to watch her die."
Castiel screeched and leapt at Crowley. The witch sent another jet of flame streaming from his palm, aiming it at Castiel's head. Castiel barely managed to doge it, weaving out of the fire's path. The jet still caught the ends of his hair, singing away the strands as he raised his sword and brought it down, severing the witch's hand from its wrist. Dark red blood poured from the stump. The skeletal hand that landed on the floor twitched and tried to right itself, the fingers flailing in an attempt to stand and scuttle back to its master. Castiel crushed it under his heel, grinding the bones against the stones as he brought his sword down again and severed Crowley's good hand. It joined its brother in trying to crawl back to its body, fingers splayed out like a demented spider, until Castiel forced the point of his sword through the palm of Crowley's severed hand, pinning it to the ground.
The witch cursed and began chanting under his breath. Without hesitation, Castiel shoved his fingers into the other man's mouth and grabbed hold of his fat, pink tongue and yanked. It came away easily, flesh parting from flesh with a wet sucking noise. The stump wiggled pink and damp through the hole in the side of Crowley's face.
"I'm sick of hearing you talk," Castiel growled. He hooked his fingers into the hole in the side of Crowley's face and pulled, slowly stripping off a large chunk of skin, exposing the witch's jaw and cheekbone to the air. "You're not so tough, not without your magic. You're nothing but a rotting old corpse. Your shadow dogs are more frightening than you are."
Crowley gurgled deep in his throat. The stump of his tongue twitched as he tried to talk.
Castiel shook his head. "Can't summon them without your voice, can you? You really aren't that scary, you know. Meg and I just should've saved ourselves some time and did this in the first place. It's too bad I can't take my time with you like Meg would've liked."
Castiel stepped back and raised his sword. It hummed in anticipation, the black metal giving off a warm, white glow. Smoke rose from the blood on the blade, curling in thin lines toward the ceiling. Crowley turned and tried to flee, showing his back. His tunic was soaked with blood, making the fabric stick to his skin in odd places. Castiel raised his sword and aimed for a spot at Crowley's spine where Meg had already stabbed. His steel slid into the witch's back as if it were moving through water, easily cutting through skin and bones and gristle, severing Crowley's spine. The witch toppled down onto the stone, his body completely immobile. Castiel walked next to him, sword raised, and said a quick prayer before bringing his blade down into Crowley's neck to separate his head and body. The sword gave a final, triumphant hum, followed by a small sucking sound. Castiel watched in fascination as Crowley's blood ran upward and sunk into the metal, making the blade seem even darker than before.
Castiel removed his sword. The corpse jerked once, went still, and then began to bubble, Crowley's burned skin bursting open and leaking foul-smelling pus onto the stones before it began to dissolve in rancid black smoke. Castiel watched with a mix of horror and fascination until Crowley's body was nothing more than a smear of oily-looking black liquid on the floor.
Meg groaned. Castiel sheathed his sword and rushed to her side, falling onto his knees next to her. He gently shifted her onto her back, slipping one hand under her to cradle her head. She ignored him and continued muttering, her hands moving over her belly.
"Meg, it's done," he said softly. "We'll get you out of here and to the castle healer or Ruby. You'll be fine."
"Shut. Up," she ground out, teeth pressed tightly together.
He blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Shut up," she repeated. She moved her hands and stretched them up toward his face. Castiel caught her hand in one of his and pressed it to his cheek. She already felt cold.
"It's okay," he soothed. "It's okay. I'm here."
Meg jerked her hand out of his grasp and fisted it in his hair to pull him closer to her. Her other hand swiped through the still weeping cut on his chest, fingers pressed deep into it to keep it bleeding. He yelped and instinctively tried to pull away, but her hold on his hair only tightened.
Once her fingers were coated, Meg released him and slapped both her palms against the wound in her stomach. She began speaking in Latin, fingers dancing over the cut. She said a final word and a strange, blue light began to shine, spreading outward from the wound and then slowly withdraw back into it. Once it faded, the cut looked shallower, and barely bled.
He tentatively reached out and stroked the wound. Meg hissed and batted his hand away. "Don't."
"How did you do that?" he breathed.
"Blood heals, remember?" she said, giving him a faint smile. "Help me up."
He slid his arm under her and helped her into a sitting position. She fell against him, her back hitting his chest, and sighed. He prepared to stand when the castle shook around them and a deep rumbling sound rose up from below. Meg's fingers dug into his wrist in alarm as the stones from the celling began to rain down on them, vanishing into dust moments before they collided with his head. The floor began to break apart, melting into thick, gray liquid and sinking into the ground.
"The castle's going!" Castiel shouted. "Meg, we have to move!"
Meg shook her head and reached into the neck of her gown to clutch her protection amulet. "Stay close."
Squeezing his eyes shut, Castiel wrapped his arms around Meg's middle and bowed his head over hers to shield her as the rumbling grew louder. He could hear more stones falling, could hear the walls collapsing and the chandeliers hitting the floor. High, fearful screams sounded from every direction. He felt his backside hit something hard as the floor dropped out from underneath them, and then heard nothing as the rumbling and screaming stopped as one.
Castiel slowly opened his eyes and found that the castle was gone. Instead, they were in the middle of a clearing in the forest. Sunlight streamed down on them, warming his bared flesh. It was still oddly silent, but Castiel no longer felt as if a strange weight was pressing down on him, and he breathed clearly for the first time since he had entered Hangman's Wood to rescue Meg.
"It's done," he told her, lifting his head. "The castle's gone as well."
"She's not, though," Meg said quietly, jerking her head to the side. Castiel turned and saw Lilith on the other side of the clearing. The table she had been resting on had survived the destruction of the castle, but she had not fared well. Her body was coated in dust, and her breathing seemed shallower.
"She's dying," Castiel observed. "Whatever spells Crowley had in place to keep her preserved and comatose are fading."
"How long do you think she has?"
"Not long."
Meg looked at Lilith for a moment longer and then gave his hair a tug. "I can't walk yet. Pick me up and bring me over there."
He was confused, but did as he was told, gingerly slipping his hands under her knees and around her back. Meg wound her hands around his neck and leaned close to him, the feathered skirt of her gown rustling as he walked. Once they reached Lilith, Meg looked between her sleeping form and her own hands, a frown of concentration on her face. The blood on her hands was nearly dry, but still wet enough that Castiel could see it smearing across her skin when she rubbed her fingers together.
"Put me down," Meg ordered. "On the table."
"Are you sure that's a good idea?"
"Put me down."
He obeyed her. Meg sat up shakily and pressed her fingers to the oozing wound on her stomach, collecting her own blood, and then reached over and began smearing it on Lilith's skin. She moved her fingers across any exposed skin she could find, covering the woman's arms and chest and face in red. Once she was finished, Meg gently pried Lilith's mouth open and reached her fingers inside to press her them against the woman's tongue.
Meg closed Lilith's mouth and pressed her fingers against her eyelids. "Live."
Lilith gasped and her eyes flew open. Her eyes were as blue as his own, but they were wide with fear and darted around the clearing, finally resting on Meg's. Her blood-smeared hand lifted from the table to rest on Meg's cheek. Meg twined their fingers together and held it there, a smile on her face.