Chapter 4: Below Zero

Legs stretched out in front of him, Castiel was leaning to the headboard, probing and examining his stomach. He didn't feel like he was as strong as he could be, but all outside signs of the injuries were gone and moving made his belly only slightly tender. He was ready to teleport without ill effects.

Perhaps he could've waited for a while longer, but doing the right thing by Meg was way overdue, he should've already thought about freeing her the last time Crowley had her. If the Winchesters were wrong and she was alive, it was worth a try. He knew exactly what circle of hell he would find her. After all, Crowley himself had given him the grand tour of hell and getting Meg out should not be much different than taking Dean or Sam back, or the other half a dozen people he had liberated throughout history. Not as if he could get stuck like it was with purgatory. Mentally imagining himself going through the gate Crowley had taken him through when showing him the endless queues, the next moment he stood shuffling with the rest of the troubled, punished individuals in the line leading to nowhere.

An entry and presence as powerful as an angel's grace would be felt throughout all levels of hell, but that's what Castiel was banking on. Even if Meg didn't recognise the exact resonance of his grace's signature for being too far away, she would maybe let out a stray thought/prayer towards her angel. Preferably before he was attacked.

Quiet and apathetic souls and other spiritual entities previously standing in the queue like lethargic zombies turned around slowly, for the moment only closing a circle round him as if waiting for some hive mind to give them an order. He could of course still smite them, send them to a different level of hell, but it would've been better if he could keep use as much of his grace as possible for getting out of here, especially as he wasn't at full power.

"Clarence.." The name tingled with incredulity in his ears. It was clear it hasn't been uttered with a human mouth, but Meg's unique optimistic sarcasm was unmistakable without the James Stuart film reference even. Heading and location certain, he flew to the target without a second thought, finding himself sitting on the floor of a small prison cell facing a thorny, chaotic dark green ball of energy, with streaks of black and the occasional ginger. Meg's true form, her rebellious nature with red flashes inside the spheroid containing her energy largely intact.

"You shouldn't be here Castiel," Meg called out nervously, forgetting about her use of nicknames in the importance of the moment. He came for her, could it be?

"Neither should you," Castiel smiled, looking around, "these are the category of cells where they throw away the key and never bother coming around, right? The ones in the same place as Lucifer's cage." His surroundings seemed familiar from when he came down for Sam.

"Adjacent," Meg pointed with a tendril of energy behind her, "but you can't see through the wall. He talks to me though. Old papa Lucifer. What do you want with him?" She swirled, sounding suspicious.

Castiel shook his head, waving her off, "where's your vessel?" Maybe this part of hell was not guarded for it being rather unnecessary given its location, but the king of hell will surely be told of an angelic intruder and he wanted away by then.

"Church cemetery by Lucifer's crypt. Crowley had the body thrown on top of some 18th century Irish sailor named Lochlann MacKenna which I'd rather not think about. It would be better if I got a new meatsuit, I'm not sure how long that's been disintegrating with the time differences here?"

"No." Castiel held resolutely, "I like that vessel."

"Suit yourself," Meg laughed, the ginger coloured elements of her essence swirling and multiplying with her amusement over his possessiveness, "your grace, your effort putting it back together," she gave the appearance of a very Meglike shrug.

Castiel closed his eyes, starting work. Replication wouldn't be too hard, not as if he didn't remember every inch of that body from the memory of their time together in the hospital and afterwards before Meg dropped him off by the Winchesters as they were summoning Crowley. At the same time, he opened his arms, making a move to pull the demon into his lap. She wrapped herself around him compliantly enough.

It was best to do everything quick and at the same time. His mind working on the vessel and transporting it to their earlthy destination, he let a forcefield surround them, cloaking Meg's demonic signature with it and thus disabling the symbols keeping her captive, then teleported them both into the main hall of the bunker.

Meg took a deep breath as she sensed she was in the flesh and hastily pushed herself away from Castiel to check that everything was as it should be with her meatsuit, as well as take in her surroundings. Her locks of hair dangled in front of her eyes as she surveyed the myriad of books around her and the extensive arsenal of weapons, "I see you coloured my hair black," she giggled self assuredly turning back towards Castiel. "Clarence?" She reached out to him just in time for his legs to give out, coughing blood onto her newly reconstructed cleaner than ever leather jacket.

"It's safe here..don't leave," he pleaded, holding onto her arms even though his eyes were closing as she let him down on the floor onto her lap.

"Not like you to overdo madness, is it." Meg grunted her displeasure at him sarcastically, in fact worried for his wellbeing. She patted his cheeks gently, gentler than she should've been, but was Azazel's daughter even who she identified herself as anymore? Castiel's mouth trembled, but that was all the response she was going to get and going by the profound, sickly pallor of his skin and the inexplicable flood of blood soaking his clothes coming from the direction of his stomach, her saviour was out of commission for a while.

Meg paused for a moment, his unconsciousness reminding her of their time in the hospital, but the cold sweat breaking out on his brow and his pain filled expression ultimately brought her into swift action. Back in her vessel at full demonic strength, she lifted him up and deposited him on the flat divan by the wall, her eyes frantically searching for a bathroom with towels and a possible a medical kit as she went. Credit to the bunker's flawlessness, it was all there as required, so she could set out to undress and bandage him, try to soothe his perspiring brow with moistened hand towels. Finally, when none of it was seeming to make him any better, she resorted to another familiar, holding his hand in hers', softly caressing his knuckle and murmuring what she thought were comforting words in Enochian.

It was how the Winchesters had found her, bursting through the door with their own worries and urgency about the trials.

Tbc