ABBEY RIVER - NIGHT
Well, that just happened.
Without a thought to his own safety, (or any number of other things) Dean Winchester leaped off the Underwood Street Bridge to save his fallen compatriot, Castiel - instincts are a hell of a drug. Once he was in the dark, freezing river, Dean had to fight off the instant regret that almost overcame him and look for Castiel. Luckily his parka caught the light when he his back broke the surface of the water. He was face down - not the best sign, but it was better than having to search the bottom for him.
Dean fought the current over to him and slung an arm around him, doing his best to keep both their heads above water. He swam them both in the direction of the river's edge, rapidly coming up to the dark underside of the bridge. It wasn't long before both could crawl ashore and Dean did his best to wake Castiel. Struggling on all fours, Castiel coughed up a lung's worth of river water.
"Cas, you alright?" Dean asked, half shouting and shivering his cojones off. Castiel struggled to talk for a moment, rasping pathetically. "Breathe first," Dean said, "talk later."
Castiel shook his head emphatically - or as emphatically as he could in his current start of froze-assedness. His voice croaked, but he managed to get it out. "The driver," he said.
If he hadn't already been freezing, Dean would've blanched. In his knee-jerk rush to get the bad guy - and then his desperation to save his friend - he'd forgotten all about the civilian. The part of his brain that rationalized things like that started griping about how clearing the scene was Sam's job, but it wasn't loud enough to stop him feeling like he'd killed the guy himself.
And just when it seemed like things couldn't get worse: a lower place. What was left of Meg's goons came to fish the boys out of the drink and dragged them to a nice, dry spot where Meg was waiting with the crate.
She was, as usual, grinning ear to ear. "Well, snap my garters!" Meg began, finally getting a good look at Dean.
"Do us a favor and spare the monolog," Dean said, puffing water.
"Not a chance, precious. You're back in the game, I feel entitled to make a fuss. In fact, me and mine are baking a cake for you and yours as we speak. "
"How, by knockin' over trucks? Guess evil really doesn't pay."
She frowned facetiously and shook her head. "Not like your boss, right? Damn, Dean! You were a lotta things, but I never pegged you for a gold digger."
Castiel frowned a for-really frown. "What is she talking about?" he asked Dean, as if Dean knew.
And it was in that moment that Meg finally realized what else her net had caught. This soggy, poofy-parka'd, graceless mess was the one and only Castiel. "Is that... Ring-a-ding-ding." She turned to one of her thugs, "Hold my calls," and advanced on Castiel, just pleased as punch at first, but rapidly unimpressed. She snickered. "Oh, snap... What happened to you, Clarence?"
The way she said it was half cruel. Careless, wicked. Like he was beneath her now. But there was also real pity for the powerful angel he once was, enough that Castiel couldn't hide his embarrassment for the moment.
"You can kill us," he said in glum defiance. "It won't save you."
"I'm not gonna kill you," she said, all delight again. "Well, not both of you. I need one of you to take a message to your boss: 'We know what Phase Two is. And we're not the ones going down.'"
Dean and Castiel exchanged a look. What the eff was she talking about?
"What boss?" Dean asked, well past done with Meg's meggery.
She didn't follow. "Seriously? You're back from the dead. I caught you, guarding his van! You tried to save one of his pigs and you're still gonna pull that company line on me? He must have you pretty whipped."
The metaphoric ton of bricks just hit Castiel - Meg and her boys didn't come with the Inferno van, they came to rob it. The driver was one of Crowley's minions. And Meg (quite logical for a change) assumed that Crowley brought Dean back to work for him. So Castiel was halfway between relief that they hadn't let a human civilian die and annoyance that they'd risked their lives breaking up some stupid demon feud. But they weren't any less screwed here. It was more of a 'rock and a hard place' situation.
"You think we're working for Crowley?" Castiel asked, in a tone that spoke to just how stupid a conclusion he thought that was.
"Playing dumb isn't gonna save your skin. I mean, I might save some for later but... that's personal."
"Aw, christ," Dean said to himself, grudging the truth. "We're on the same side, Meg. Technically."
"You two really think I'm stupid, don't you?"
Dean and Castiel looked at each other again. There was a little nodding, shrugging in agreement.
Meg turned back to her goons. "Did I walk into that one? I feel like I did." She turned back to Dean. "Gimmie the line again."
"We didn't come here to workshop your tight five, Meg," Dean said. "We're after Crowley, same as you. And I'm not back from the dead. There's a whole other thing goin' on here you don't know squat about. Hell, I'm the one that's in it and I don't even get it."
"He's from another timeline," Castiel said, just blurting the 'previously on' spiel. "A version of events where the Winchesters didn't die. That world's iteration of Crowley sent him and Sam here to avert a prophecy that ends with his death at their hands. The spell that sent them here won't return them until they've killed the Crowley of your world and fulfilled the prophecy."
Meg - who by now was sitting on the edge of the crate with her arms folded, looked only a little incredulous. "Oookay. That... kind of makes sense. I just have one question. Who dressed you like that?"
Dean tried his double damnedest to stifle the snicker that came up. "Shut up, Meg," he said, totally not smirking.
"Screw it, I'm must be gettin' soft," Meg said, hopping off the crate. "I believe your sorry asses. But I don't need your help taking Crowley down. Because I know how to beat him at his own game."
She smiled at Dean. He smiled back, but in a wry, annoyed kind of way.
"The weapon," Meg said. "Crowley's secret nuke, the one he's killing angels with? I know what it is."
"I've played enough Dumb Dora for the night," Dean said. "If you wanna run your mouth, do it, but don't wait for me to set your lines up, alright?"
Meg rolled her eyes, sighing in disgust. Is this what she got for sharing?
"It's called The Devil's Fire, scrote," she went on. "A fairy weapon, nothing to look twice at. Heaven's never even heard of it. But it can tap into the power of any supernatural creature and turn them into... some kind of cannon-. The lore's not crystal clear on that. But it fits the hits, right? How else could a squirt like him be taking out the big boys like Raphael? Shooting angels out of the sky? And I think-." She put out a hand and one of her guys handed her a crowbar. "He's moving it around the board."
Dean and Castiel both looked almost disappointed. Did Meg really think Crowley would hide his superweapon in a van when he had a fortress? Or had she really just gotten so desperate that she was willing to grasp at any straw? Well, she seemed sure of herself as she went ahead and pried the top off the crate. And it wasn't long before she had it open and rummaged through its contents. T-shirts, mugs, hats. Zealot box stuffers and gift shop fodder. And she started screaming her head off in frustration, throwing shirts and mugs around, breaking the crate apart with her bare hands. This might've been building up for a while.
"We have an advantage," Castiel said, loud enough to carry over the meltdown. "Crowley would clock you or any other demon coming at him from a mile off, but he lets hundreds of humans into his studio whenever he films an episode. He doesn't know the Winchesters are alive. Here, now. Putting a small army of hunters together now, we can blindside him."
Meg stood brooding a moment, panting, still a bit crazed. Still a bit in her own head. But his words kinda got through. "Yeah, let 'em go." It took a sec for her silent henchmen to do as they were told and set Castiel and Dean loose, as this did not feel like the demony thing to do.
"When we roll outta town, you meatheads wanna head to St. Louie," Dean said. "If anything's gonna happen, it's gonna happen there."
Meg didn't respond, still just standing there, fuming quietly. Castiel and Dean headed back up the embankment back toward the road.
"Aw crap," Dean said to himself.
"We shouldn't trust her," Castiel said.
"Nah, she hates Crowley more than we do, she'll clear a path. But you're friggin' grounded when we get home." Castiel gave him the done-est look. "Or sleepin' on the couch, I don't know how you guys do."