Hell's Bells 2: I'm Coming On Like A Hurricane
Title: Hell's Bells Part 2: I'm Coming On Like A Hurricane
Authors LJ Username: safiyabat
Artists LJ Username:disreputabled0g
Pairing(s): Meg/Abaddon
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 16,603
Summary: This chapter: Meg and Abaddon meet up and make plans. Meg even finds them an unexpected ally in the battle against Crowley - and in her battle for Abaddon's heart. Of course, when you get two demons out and about looking for a good time things are bound to get a little out of hand, right?
Warnings: Violence. Gore. Also, the main character is a demon and so is the woman she loves. This factors into their moral decisions.
Link to fic masterpost here. View the previous chapter here. View the next chapter here.
Link to art masterpost here.
Meg teleported to Boston, materializing in the basement apartment of a building that hadn’t passed fire codes since the New Deal. She didn’t materialize alone, unfortunately. One of the apartment’s residents sat on a swampy little couch directly across from where she materialized. The guy reeked of recreational herbology and of several days without renewing his acquaintance with his shower; a pile of textbooks by his side indicated that he was most likely a college student. “You weren’t here a minute ago,” he told her slowly.
“No, Shaggy. I wasn’t.” She smiled sweetly at him. “Tell me, Shaggy. Do you believe in God?”
“Well Nietzsche says that God is dead -“
She gestured with her hand and his head spun three hundred and sixty degrees. It had been a long, long time since she’d had the pleasure of hearing bones crack like that. Sam would have given her that “What the hell are you doing?” look, the “Oh my god you can’t just go around killing people” look. He might have even yelled a bit. Fortunately for everyone involved - except maybe Shaggy - Sam wasn’t here. She walked out of the apartment and onto the street, taking the two blocks to the bar with an extra spring in her step.
Abaddon was already there of course. A creature that old, that powerful could hardly conceal her essence and Abaddon would probably not really want to anyway. Her hands twitched by her sides - it had been centuries since she’d seen the Knight. What would she say? What would she want from Meg?
She walked into the bar. At this time of day it wasn’t crowded; the few patrons were scattered about and not terribly interested in people not of their party. What would they possibly say or do if they knew about the ancient and terrible power in their midst? Would they run in terror or turn back to their beer and nachos, pretending that it didn’t exist after all? The brunette ignored the not-terribly-perky host and looked around the well-lit dining room for a moment before finding her at a tall table against the wall, in a black leather jacket and a tee shirt that read “The Devil Made Me Do It.” Meg’s mouth went dry, and she hadn’t known that a demon’s mouth could go dry that way. She could see Abaddon’s true form, all black smoke and pulsing hellfire, but the meatsuit she’d chosen was just stunning. It suited the knight perfectly - feminine and graceful and powerful and strong and Meg couldn’t help but stare for a moment.
The older demon spotted her and those full red lips parted in a smile. “Meg,” she greeted in a voice that sent jolts of electricity down her meatsuit’s spine. “It is so good to see you again. Come, sit down, have a drink.”
She obeyed. How could she not? Her feet moved almost of their own accord. After a second she was able to jolt her brain back into awareness. Abaddon would not welcome demons who couldn’t function when confronted with beauty. “It’s been too long,” she replied as she climbed up into the barstool. “Have you been here a while?”
“I got here early,” the redhead shrugged. “This place has over a hundred different beers on tap alone. What’s the point of being Queen of Hell if you can’t enjoy the finer things in life?” She passed her guest a menu. “The food is good too.”
The waitress came over to take their order and Meg selected an IPA pretty much at random. She liked the bitterness. “So I hear you’ve been back for like a year and change?” Meg prodded.
Magnificent if stolen eyes rolled. “Ugh. Winchesters. I went chasing Henry Winchester into a closet, he cast a frigging time travel spell and both he and I come out in 2013. What the Hell? He couldn’t even get the damn spell right!” She shook her head. “I think he was looking for his son, instead he gets his grandsons.” She shivered. “Savages, both of them.”
“We’ve met.” She laughed a little. “But you’re not wrong. All three are savages. If you think Sam and Dean are bad you should have met their father.”
“Bad?”
“At least you can get your drink on with Dean. John didn’t have a single redeeming characteristic. And I’ve actually worn Sam - let me tell you, that was no picnic.” She shuddered.
“Really? Did you learn anything useful?”
“It was years ago. I learned that he has about as much interest in Hell or Heaven or anything supernatural as he does in the stuff that grows on the underside of old decaying barges. If we’d just leave him alone he’d be happy enough to leave us alone.” She shrugged. Sam had been good to her. “It was Sam who helped me, you know.”
“Was it really?” She raised an eyebrow. “Why would Sam Winchester help a demon? He’s got a bit of a reputation you know.”
She grinned. “Me and Sam, we’ve got a connection. Besides the whole I-wore-his-skin thing.”
“But the Winchesters are with Crowley,” she frowned. “I mean, can you imagine that? You step forward in time nearly sixty years and Crowley is running Hell? Crowley? How does that even happen?” She took a sip from her beer.
Meg sighed. “When Lucifer rose Crowley was the only one - the only one with any standing anyway - who wasn’t overjoyed. He didn’t think that Our Father was all that fond of us. Anyway, whatever Lucifer actually thought of us the Apocalypse failed. I think a lot of demons were disillusioned and wanted to try something different… I did what I could but I was too linked to the old regime. Azazel’s daughter, Lucifer’s general.” She made a face. “You know how that goes.”
“And now you want to fight Crowley again.”
“I never wanted to stop fighting Crowley,” Meg corrected. “He stabbed me with an angel blade but missed the heart. I hid out in an oil drum and went dormant until Sam figured out I was still around and woke me up. You hate Crowley because of what he did to Hell. Crowley worked with the Winchesters to bring Lucifer down during the Apocalypse so he could take over. He’s a traitor to all demons, to all of Hell. I want him dead as much as you do.”
Abaddon smiled again and Meg melted. Just a little. “But Meg - I’m still confused. The Winchesters brought you back, and they’re with Crowley.”
She laughed. “It was just Sam, Abaddon.”
“They’re really a very matched set.”
“Not anymore. I guess that Dean did something pretty terrible to Sam so he’s not following him blindly like a lost little dog anymore. He has to tread carefully and I don’t think he’ll hurt Dean but he hates Crowley probably as much as I do. And First Blade or no, I think he’d rather you and Dean didn’t meet up. He doesn’t think Dean’s necessarily working for Crowley entirely of his own free will.” Meg sighed. She didn’t want to talk about Sam. Or Dean. “I know I’ve been out of the game for a while, Abaddon, and I don’t have much in the way of armies to offer. I’ve got hellhounds. I can make more and there’s no one else that can train them better or make them faster.”
“No, there isn’t.” The senior demon smiled as the waitress slipped Meg’s beer onto the table. “You always were tops with the hounds. I always admired that about you.”
Her stomach fluttered and she felt her cheeks redden. “Really?”
“Oh yes. It’s a rare skill. I was never much good with them myself. You’ve also been talking to some of the other ancients.”
“I have. They’re… a little more receptive, I guess. Some of them are holding out for results. Some of them are still iffy on the idea of a Knight ruling.” She shrugged. “We’re not going to convince them with words. Only proof that you can think and work and rule in the long term, with ordered and structured evil as well as rivers of blood and walls of fire, are going to bring those people around.”
“What do you get out of all of this?” Abaddon wanted to know. “At the end of the day, what benefit do you derive from working with me? You’re Azazel’s daughter. Surely some of those people at least would rather see you on the throne than me.”
She grinned. “I don’t care about ruling. It’s not what I was brought up for. You know my father never designated me as his heir. Sure I’d rather rule than have Crowley running around putting queues and sound stages in but I don’t actually care about being Queen myself. I care about what’s best for Hell.”
Abaddon stared into her eyes for a moment. “Is that so?”
“It is.”
“I suppose that’s not terribly different from my own view. I don’t see why any of those fossils didn’t decide to do something about the Crowley situation but since they didn’t I think they’ve lost their right to object.” She licked her lips. Meg’s eyes locked onto her tongue. “I’ve heard rumors that Azazel did designate an heir.”
“He did. The heir isn’t interested in ruling either.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I wore his skin. And we’ve discussed the issue since then. Believe me. Sam Winchester is not about to make a run on the throne of Hell.”
Abaddon’s jaw dropped just as the waitress returned with a tray full of appetizers. “You’re joking.”
“Honest to Lucifer.” Meg held a hand up. “Long story, but if he chose to do what he needed to he could probably give you a run for your money.”
“Then why doesn’t he? What’s wrong with him?”
She waved a hand. “His brother gets all butthurt about it. Which makes him get all butthurt about it. Friggin Winchesters. I’m telling you. If the two of them could just get over themselves and even pretend to be reasonably well-adjusted people they’d probably have taken over the world by now.”
A red eyebrow rose as Abaddon’s perfect mouth bit into a deep-fried shrimp. “Do you think you might have a slightly skewed definition of ‘well-adjusted?’"
Meg helped herself to a piece of quesadilla. “What?”
They changed to more general topics then, mostly reminiscing about the good old days demons were demons and men cowered in fear as they should and when there wasn’t anything particularly wrong with a bathtub full of blood if that was what you wanted of a morning. Eliza Bathory - that had been one of Abaddon’s protégées. She’d been proud of that one. Meg talked about riding forth with the Great Khan and leaving pyramids of skulls as a warning to those who might resist. Abaddon talked about Andersonville and the decay and violence of the human spirit; it had been like a microcosm of the Pit itself. Meg brought up Altamont and how it hadn’t taken more than a gun to make an unholy mess just a few months after Woodstock. “I remember you at the sack of Rome,” Abaddon told her after the check came. “There was this temple, or maybe it was a church by then. A bunch of patricians had taken refuge in there and you had your hounds and you just let them go to town and I think the blood must have been up to your shins and you were standing there in the middle of it in this white tunic that just clung to your meatsuit. I said to your father, ‘That one’s really something, Azazel. She’s really something.’”
Meg blushed again. “Really? You remember that long ago? I’d have thought you’d have been busy with other things that day. It was a pretty big day for all of us.”
“What can I say? You stood out. You still do.” She reached out and touched Meg’s hand. “If you’re still interested in fighting Crowley, Meg, then come with me.”
The demons left the bar and headed for the alley behind it. Meg could see the medical examiner’s van and more than a few flashing lights near the building in which she’d materialized. Apparently Shaggy had roommates. Once they were out of sight Abaddon took her hand and darkness engulfed them.
They reappeared in an abandoned warehouse, the preferred abode of demons everywhere. “Welcome to the Bronx,” her hostess informed her, walking immediately. “This isn’t our only base but it’s my favorite at the moment. We’ve got as many operatives keeping eyes and ears out for Crowley as we can. Last I heard he’s become addicted to human blood.”
Meg laughed out loud. “What, really? A blood junkie?”
“I guess it was part of a trial to close Hell. I interrupted your little Sam Winchester while he was injecting Crowley.” She glared at Meg briefly. “He set me on fire, you know. Holy oil.”
The brunette winced. “Ouch. Been there. Done that.” She could still feel the flames if she let herself think about it too much, and the angel’s lips on hers. Which was the more painful memory depended on the moment. “Okay. So we track blood bank robberies until we find him.”
Some of the overly-muscled demons behind Abaddon exchanged glances. “I’m afraid it’s going to take a few days to find someone with that capability and possess them,” she commented. “But it’s a good idea.”
Meg grinned. “We already have someone who can do that for us,” she pointed out. “And as luck would have it, he’s waiting for a check-in.”
Abaddon’s face went from intrigued to annoyed. “Winchesters? Really?”
“Look. He’s every bit as invested in ending Crowley as we are. Let’s let him help.” She reached out and put a hand on Abaddon’s. “If he double-crosses us we can kill him.”
The beauty hesitated. “I want to talk to him. Meet with him.”
“He’s not going to be too keen on that. Dean keeps him on a pretty short leash and he thinks you’re stealing souls from living human bodies.”
Abaddon pulled back with a hiss. “I would never!”
“I know. I told him that but he - well, he didn’t get a great impression of you.” She shrugged.
“I want to talk to this man. I want to know who’s been - that’s not right. That’s absolutely - that’s beyond forbidden. I’m a monster but I’m not -“
She approached the knight slowly, with her hands visible. “Abaddon,” she said in a quiet, soothing voice. She caught the eyes of the backup demons and dismissed them with her eyes; they fled. “Listen. I know that’s not something you would do. You’re an honorable demon. I know it. You know it. Every demon who has ever interacted with you knows it. I’m going to try to talk Sam into a meeting with you and he’ll know it too. But he’s still going to help us track blood banks because he knows that it’s the right thing to do. Okay?” Abaddon nodded, crossing her arms over her chest.
Meg took her phone out of her pocket and made the call. Sam, as it turned out, was in fact extremely reluctant to meet face to face with Abaddon. Ultimately the only thing that convinced him to meet with Abaddon was constant cajoling not on the theme of family, not on the theme of revenge, not even on the theme of enmity but on the plain and basic fact that the best way to help Dean would be to get rid of Crowley, and that the best way to get rid of Crowley would be to not try to do it alone. Getting him to start tracking blood bank thefts was a lot less work. It was in fact as simple as, “Can you find a way to track blood bank thefts so we can figure out where Crowley is?”
To which he replied, “Yeah, sure. It’ll take me about ten minutes to set up a filter by quantity to adjust for probable vampires.”
Abaddon shook her head in wonder. “I don’t think I’d have tried that.”
“What?”
“Asking nicely.”
“Sam and I have an understanding.”
“I can see that.”
Meg raised an eyebrow. “You almost sound jealous.”
“You care for him.”
“Maybe I do. We are allowed to care for our families you know. I cared for Azazel. I cared for Lucifer - I still do, even though I know more now.” She shrugged. “I cared for Castiel. I care for -“ She stopped herself.
“What’s wrong, Meg?” Abaddon stepped in closer. “Is there something bothering you?” She reached out to stroke Meg’s face. “I can see why He relied on you so heavily, you know.”
Few people had ever praised Meg all that much - mostly Lucifer, really. Alistair, a little bit. Abaddon, when she’d been very young and training. “You find a cause and you serve it,” the general told her Knight. She’d said it before and she’d say it again. “I’ve committed to you, Abaddon.”
“And I’m grateful, Meg.”
She bit her lip. She wasn’t entirely sure how to feel here, how to respond. “There’s nothing to be grateful for until we win,” she observed.
The redhead laughed and pulled back, her hand trailing lingeringly across Meg’s cheek as she moved. “I guess that’s a good point.” She started stalking off toward another part of the hideout. “Doesn’t mean we can’t have fun along the way.”
Well. Meg knew exactly how to feel about that. And it wasn’t good about the missed opportunity that was for sure.
It took Sam a few days to make it to the frankly seedy tavern in central Jersey that Abaddon had selected as the meet-up spot. The place was sufficiently grungy that even Meg thought it could use a visit from the Board of Health or maybe just a match, but Sam had literally grown up in places like this so he’d probably feel right at home. The two demons took a seat at a table in the corner where they could see the entrance and the kitchen doors; of course within about five minutes a couple of mouth-breathers approached. “Let us buy you a couple of drinks,” the first demanded, eyes on Abaddon’s cleavage as he signaled for a waitress.
“That’s okay, thanks,” Meg told him through a thin smile. “We’re waiting for someone.”
“Yeah, but you found us, babe,” the other guy replied with a grin. “I’m Dennis. This is Troy.”
“Hi, Dennis. Hi, Troy.” Abaddon showed all her teeth before blowing a kiss to Troy. As she did, a tiny little puff of black smoke floated over to him and into his lungs as he inhaled. She darted an amused glance at Meg, whose grin became more genuine. Abaddon really knew how to party.
She followed suit. Her little smoke ring wasn’t as perfectly formed as Abaddon’s and didn’t float as smoothly but Dennis snapped to just as jerkily as Troy did. Abaddon winked at her. “Dennis,” Meg purred. “Troy was having some very naughty ideas about your wife just a moment ago. About the things she could do with that mouth of hers. I wonder - should you really be going around hitting on women in bars with a man who wants to do things like that to the mother of your children?” Dennis went red in the face. Meg giggled.
Abaddon laughed a little. “Come on, Troy. If he cared he wouldn’t be encouraging you to be alone with her so often. And it’s not like you didn’t see him eyeing your sister last week. I think you should hit him.” She gestured and Troy wound up and decked Dennis. Dennis reeled with the punch.
“Are you really going to take that?” Meg wondered into the mustachioed man’s ear. “From a guy who’s only half a step away from stealing your woman from you?” Dennis got up and dealt a vicious uppercut to Troy’s jaw, knocking him into the pool table.
This in turn disrupted the pool game, which went over about as well as could possibly be expected considering the high-stakes game taking place and by now neither demon needed to influence a thing. Within a minute the sound of a pool cue being cracked over someone’s head could be heard over the blaring jukebox. Within five minutes they got the sound of breaking glass and the unmistakable scent of blood.
Within ten Sam was looming over them, watching the chaos with a shake of his head and a little twist of his lips that almost approximated a smile. “Seriously?”
“Why do you have to assume that has anything to do with us?” Meg pouted.
“Because you’re the only ones not involved,” he retorted. “And if I try I can see a trace of you over the ugly one bleeding on the floor.” He sat down. “It’s good to see you, Meg.” He glanced over at Meg’s companion. “Abaddon.”
She sniffed. “Planning to set me on fire today, Sam?”
“It wasn’t on the agenda, no. I try to keep that sort of thing to a minimum when I’m around civilians. There tends to be a lot of running and screaming. Causes migraines, makes it hard to work. You know how it is. Planning to chuck me through any windows today?”
Meg snorted. It was good to know that the kid hadn’t lost any of his sass through all of the crap in his life.
The knight’s smile was a little more genuine. “I think I’m getting enough entertainment from the in-flight show at the moment, thanks.” A waitress approached and she ordered a pitcher for the table. “I hope you don’t mind our having a little bit of fun.”
He shrugged. “It doesn’t exactly draw attention. The staff hasn’t even called the cops, you know? Besides, it kind of makes me feel nostalgic. Meg said you wanted to meet up.”
She nodded gracefully. “Some of the old guard haven’t given their allegiance to Crowley,” she explained carefully, “but they’re unwilling to give their allegiance to me because Azazel’s designated heir is still out there.”
Meg burst out laughing at the look on Sam’s face. “Oh for the love of - seriously? I don’t know how to be any clearer about not wanting any part of Hell. No part. I mean, how do you say ‘no thanks’ more clearly than by putting Lucifer back into his goddamn cage and jumping in with him?” He shook his head.
Abaddon chuckled a little, probably more or less involuntarily. “That’s the thing with demons, Sam. The only way anyone cares what we actually want is if we make them care.”
His face could be a dissertation. “I don’t give a crap who rules Hell, okay? Hell and I have nothing to do with each other.”
“Hell is in your blood, like it or not,” she challenged.
“So is nitrogen but I’m not moving to Pluto anytime soon,” he retorted. “I mean, look. There have been demons I’ve gotten along with. There have been demons I’ve actually been pretty fond of.”
“Aw, thanks, Sam,” Meg drawled, even though she had to admit that it felt pretty good to hear that admission from him.
“But that doesn’t mean that I’m interested in being a player in infernal politics,” he continued. “It’s something that was inflicted on me, okay? I’ve spent my whole life trying to get away from it. If it weren’t for the whole stealing the souls of living people thing -“
“I am not doing that!” she hissed, eyes going black in her rage. Meg grabbed her hand and she calmed slightly. “I demand to know by what right you question my honor.”
“There was a convent, Saint Bonaventure. It’s the place where you possessed Josie Sands.” He wasn’t cowed by her display even knowing what she could do. Abaddon nodded curtly and he continued. “The site is abandoned now but one of the possessed nuns was still active there, a Sister Agnes. She was harvesting souls from the living and she told me it was on your orders. I’ve found other factories that were also harvesting souls since then.”
“And what did you do with the souls?” the knight wanted to know. Meg squeezed her hand.
“I freed them. I’ve been soulless,” he spat back. “I’m not about to let that happen to anyone else.”
“Good,” she returned. “I want an army, yes. A loyal one. And Crowley having the First Blade and a good loyal little dog answering to me is a problem. But first of all, I’m an honorable knight. I’m trying to restore Hell, not debase it the way Crowley has. Secondly, Agnes and I worked together under Azazel but we weren’t friends. She wasn’t working for me. I haven’t had the time to set up those factories in any way that would actually benefit me yet. Those are Crowley’s factories. Thirdly, turning souls into demons just turns them into demons. You can’t ensure a demon’s loyalty. We’re demons. We choose to be loyal or not. We’re not angels, we don’t have programming.”
Sam considered this. “All right.”
Meg blinked. “Really?”
“I was starting to question Agnes’ insistence that it was all for Abaddon when I noticed how extensive the network of factories was.” He shrugged. “Your explanation seemed reasonable. Here’s the thing. I’m willing to help you with Crowley to the extent that I can - I’m not going to juice myself back up, no one wants that, but there are other ways that I can help. I’ve got one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“We save Dean.”
Abaddon frowned. “Did you miss the part where he has the Mark of Cain and is trying to kill me?”
“It’s kind of hard to miss that part, Abaddon. It doesn’t exactly make him a joy to live with, believe me. But Crowley engineered that, Crowley pushed him into that when he was grieving for Kevin, and he wasn’t really giving informed consent. That’s all I want. We save Dean, we don’t treat him like a target. Is it a deal?”
Abaddon glanced at Meg. Meg met her eyes and nodded. The knight didn’t know enough about Sam to know how useful he could be but Meg did; Meg also knew just what a pain in the ass he could be if they didn’t work with him. If a not-dead brother was the price of his assistance, or at least an attempt at a not-dead brother, then it was probably worth it. “Fine. We’ll make a good-faith effort to not have your brother die. But we’re not sacrificing ourselves or each other for him.” She felt something flutter inside her at the caveat about not sacrificing each other for Dean.
“Valid,” he agreed as the waitress returned with their pitcher and some glasses. “He is trying to kill you.”
“Should we seal the deal?” she asked him, and quirked her eyebrow up.
The corners of his mouth twitched a little. “How about if we just shake on it and Meg does the kissing?”
The women exchanged glances. Meg blushed. So, surprisingly, did Abaddon. All three laughed a little. “Tell me about the blood banks,” the knight instructed.
The meeting continued with a lot less tension. Sam explained how he’d narrowed down the pattern in blood bank robberies and occasional disappearances and backed it up with security camera footage of Crowley to show his movements across the country. He also explained how the Mark was affecting Dean, giving him an added layer of bloodlust and dickery that Meg found frankly repugnant. He explained that Crowley was holding the Blade hostage to ensure Dean’s good behavior and through Dean Sam’s. Abaddon, in her turn, shared the preparations she’d been making. She warned her newest ally to stay specifically away from New Orleans and from San Diego, and told him about the hideout in the Bronx. She shared the work Meg had been doing among the old guard and with the hellhounds and the brunette smiled at the note of awe in her old mentor’s voice. When the beer was gone they parted ways, with the demons returning to their not-actually-abandoned warehouse and the human starting his long journey back to wherever it was that he went.
Abaddon turned to Meg. “I believe,” she told her calmly, “that you have a family deal to seal.”
If Meg had had a heart it would have raced in her chest. She didn’t fake the happy smile that creased her lips when she laughed and stepped forward to cradle the senior demon’s face with her hands, touching her own dark lips to Abaddon’s red ones. Meg had dreamed about kissing Abaddon for centuries. As a very young demon, fresh from the rack, she’d seen in Abaddon everything that she wanted to be. She’d sought out the senior fiend for training hoping that by emulating her style and her grit she might become worthy of either serving her or being her or perhaps being with her, she didn’t know. She’d been too low-ranking, of course, and she hadn’t been a Knight. She’d had to rely on other skills, other talents and other assets. Abaddon had always been in the back of her mind as an icon, an inspiration. Now here she was with her hero’s mouth on hers, their hands in each others’ hair and their tongues seeking the last vestiges of beer and sulfur in each other’s mouths.
“Come with me,” the redhead demanded, taking her hand. The would-be queen teleported her to a bedroom - an actual bedroom, with clean sheets on the bed and everything. “It’s an apartment in Brooklyn,” she explained. “I come here when I want to wash up or something.” She stroked Meg’s face. “You’ve done well, Meg.”
She smiled and kissed her queen’s palm. “Thank you.”
The knight guided her over to the bed and kissed her again. This time there was a lot less laughter and a lot more intent. Meg didn’t laugh either, just shook her jacket off. Abaddon helped her with the rest.
Authors LJ Username: safiyabat
Artists LJ Username:disreputabled0g
Pairing(s): Meg/Abaddon
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 16,603
Summary: This chapter: Meg and Abaddon meet up and make plans. Meg even finds them an unexpected ally in the battle against Crowley - and in her battle for Abaddon's heart. Of course, when you get two demons out and about looking for a good time things are bound to get a little out of hand, right?
Warnings: Violence. Gore. Also, the main character is a demon and so is the woman she loves. This factors into their moral decisions.
Link to fic masterpost here. View the previous chapter here. View the next chapter here.
Link to art masterpost here.
Meg teleported to Boston, materializing in the basement apartment of a building that hadn’t passed fire codes since the New Deal. She didn’t materialize alone, unfortunately. One of the apartment’s residents sat on a swampy little couch directly across from where she materialized. The guy reeked of recreational herbology and of several days without renewing his acquaintance with his shower; a pile of textbooks by his side indicated that he was most likely a college student. “You weren’t here a minute ago,” he told her slowly.
“No, Shaggy. I wasn’t.” She smiled sweetly at him. “Tell me, Shaggy. Do you believe in God?”
“Well Nietzsche says that God is dead -“
She gestured with her hand and his head spun three hundred and sixty degrees. It had been a long, long time since she’d had the pleasure of hearing bones crack like that. Sam would have given her that “What the hell are you doing?” look, the “Oh my god you can’t just go around killing people” look. He might have even yelled a bit. Fortunately for everyone involved - except maybe Shaggy - Sam wasn’t here. She walked out of the apartment and onto the street, taking the two blocks to the bar with an extra spring in her step.
Abaddon was already there of course. A creature that old, that powerful could hardly conceal her essence and Abaddon would probably not really want to anyway. Her hands twitched by her sides - it had been centuries since she’d seen the Knight. What would she say? What would she want from Meg?
She walked into the bar. At this time of day it wasn’t crowded; the few patrons were scattered about and not terribly interested in people not of their party. What would they possibly say or do if they knew about the ancient and terrible power in their midst? Would they run in terror or turn back to their beer and nachos, pretending that it didn’t exist after all? The brunette ignored the not-terribly-perky host and looked around the well-lit dining room for a moment before finding her at a tall table against the wall, in a black leather jacket and a tee shirt that read “The Devil Made Me Do It.” Meg’s mouth went dry, and she hadn’t known that a demon’s mouth could go dry that way. She could see Abaddon’s true form, all black smoke and pulsing hellfire, but the meatsuit she’d chosen was just stunning. It suited the knight perfectly - feminine and graceful and powerful and strong and Meg couldn’t help but stare for a moment.
The older demon spotted her and those full red lips parted in a smile. “Meg,” she greeted in a voice that sent jolts of electricity down her meatsuit’s spine. “It is so good to see you again. Come, sit down, have a drink.”
She obeyed. How could she not? Her feet moved almost of their own accord. After a second she was able to jolt her brain back into awareness. Abaddon would not welcome demons who couldn’t function when confronted with beauty. “It’s been too long,” she replied as she climbed up into the barstool. “Have you been here a while?”
“I got here early,” the redhead shrugged. “This place has over a hundred different beers on tap alone. What’s the point of being Queen of Hell if you can’t enjoy the finer things in life?” She passed her guest a menu. “The food is good too.”
The waitress came over to take their order and Meg selected an IPA pretty much at random. She liked the bitterness. “So I hear you’ve been back for like a year and change?” Meg prodded.
Magnificent if stolen eyes rolled. “Ugh. Winchesters. I went chasing Henry Winchester into a closet, he cast a frigging time travel spell and both he and I come out in 2013. What the Hell? He couldn’t even get the damn spell right!” She shook her head. “I think he was looking for his son, instead he gets his grandsons.” She shivered. “Savages, both of them.”
“We’ve met.” She laughed a little. “But you’re not wrong. All three are savages. If you think Sam and Dean are bad you should have met their father.”
“Bad?”
“At least you can get your drink on with Dean. John didn’t have a single redeeming characteristic. And I’ve actually worn Sam - let me tell you, that was no picnic.” She shuddered.
“Really? Did you learn anything useful?”
“It was years ago. I learned that he has about as much interest in Hell or Heaven or anything supernatural as he does in the stuff that grows on the underside of old decaying barges. If we’d just leave him alone he’d be happy enough to leave us alone.” She shrugged. Sam had been good to her. “It was Sam who helped me, you know.”
“Was it really?” She raised an eyebrow. “Why would Sam Winchester help a demon? He’s got a bit of a reputation you know.”
She grinned. “Me and Sam, we’ve got a connection. Besides the whole I-wore-his-skin thing.”
“But the Winchesters are with Crowley,” she frowned. “I mean, can you imagine that? You step forward in time nearly sixty years and Crowley is running Hell? Crowley? How does that even happen?” She took a sip from her beer.
Meg sighed. “When Lucifer rose Crowley was the only one - the only one with any standing anyway - who wasn’t overjoyed. He didn’t think that Our Father was all that fond of us. Anyway, whatever Lucifer actually thought of us the Apocalypse failed. I think a lot of demons were disillusioned and wanted to try something different… I did what I could but I was too linked to the old regime. Azazel’s daughter, Lucifer’s general.” She made a face. “You know how that goes.”
“And now you want to fight Crowley again.”
“I never wanted to stop fighting Crowley,” Meg corrected. “He stabbed me with an angel blade but missed the heart. I hid out in an oil drum and went dormant until Sam figured out I was still around and woke me up. You hate Crowley because of what he did to Hell. Crowley worked with the Winchesters to bring Lucifer down during the Apocalypse so he could take over. He’s a traitor to all demons, to all of Hell. I want him dead as much as you do.”
Abaddon smiled again and Meg melted. Just a little. “But Meg - I’m still confused. The Winchesters brought you back, and they’re with Crowley.”
She laughed. “It was just Sam, Abaddon.”
“They’re really a very matched set.”
“Not anymore. I guess that Dean did something pretty terrible to Sam so he’s not following him blindly like a lost little dog anymore. He has to tread carefully and I don’t think he’ll hurt Dean but he hates Crowley probably as much as I do. And First Blade or no, I think he’d rather you and Dean didn’t meet up. He doesn’t think Dean’s necessarily working for Crowley entirely of his own free will.” Meg sighed. She didn’t want to talk about Sam. Or Dean. “I know I’ve been out of the game for a while, Abaddon, and I don’t have much in the way of armies to offer. I’ve got hellhounds. I can make more and there’s no one else that can train them better or make them faster.”
“No, there isn’t.” The senior demon smiled as the waitress slipped Meg’s beer onto the table. “You always were tops with the hounds. I always admired that about you.”
Her stomach fluttered and she felt her cheeks redden. “Really?”
“Oh yes. It’s a rare skill. I was never much good with them myself. You’ve also been talking to some of the other ancients.”
“I have. They’re… a little more receptive, I guess. Some of them are holding out for results. Some of them are still iffy on the idea of a Knight ruling.” She shrugged. “We’re not going to convince them with words. Only proof that you can think and work and rule in the long term, with ordered and structured evil as well as rivers of blood and walls of fire, are going to bring those people around.”
“What do you get out of all of this?” Abaddon wanted to know. “At the end of the day, what benefit do you derive from working with me? You’re Azazel’s daughter. Surely some of those people at least would rather see you on the throne than me.”
She grinned. “I don’t care about ruling. It’s not what I was brought up for. You know my father never designated me as his heir. Sure I’d rather rule than have Crowley running around putting queues and sound stages in but I don’t actually care about being Queen myself. I care about what’s best for Hell.”
Abaddon stared into her eyes for a moment. “Is that so?”
“It is.”
“I suppose that’s not terribly different from my own view. I don’t see why any of those fossils didn’t decide to do something about the Crowley situation but since they didn’t I think they’ve lost their right to object.” She licked her lips. Meg’s eyes locked onto her tongue. “I’ve heard rumors that Azazel did designate an heir.”
“He did. The heir isn’t interested in ruling either.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I wore his skin. And we’ve discussed the issue since then. Believe me. Sam Winchester is not about to make a run on the throne of Hell.”
Abaddon’s jaw dropped just as the waitress returned with a tray full of appetizers. “You’re joking.”
“Honest to Lucifer.” Meg held a hand up. “Long story, but if he chose to do what he needed to he could probably give you a run for your money.”
“Then why doesn’t he? What’s wrong with him?”
She waved a hand. “His brother gets all butthurt about it. Which makes him get all butthurt about it. Friggin Winchesters. I’m telling you. If the two of them could just get over themselves and even pretend to be reasonably well-adjusted people they’d probably have taken over the world by now.”
A red eyebrow rose as Abaddon’s perfect mouth bit into a deep-fried shrimp. “Do you think you might have a slightly skewed definition of ‘well-adjusted?’"
Meg helped herself to a piece of quesadilla. “What?”
They changed to more general topics then, mostly reminiscing about the good old days demons were demons and men cowered in fear as they should and when there wasn’t anything particularly wrong with a bathtub full of blood if that was what you wanted of a morning. Eliza Bathory - that had been one of Abaddon’s protégées. She’d been proud of that one. Meg talked about riding forth with the Great Khan and leaving pyramids of skulls as a warning to those who might resist. Abaddon talked about Andersonville and the decay and violence of the human spirit; it had been like a microcosm of the Pit itself. Meg brought up Altamont and how it hadn’t taken more than a gun to make an unholy mess just a few months after Woodstock. “I remember you at the sack of Rome,” Abaddon told her after the check came. “There was this temple, or maybe it was a church by then. A bunch of patricians had taken refuge in there and you had your hounds and you just let them go to town and I think the blood must have been up to your shins and you were standing there in the middle of it in this white tunic that just clung to your meatsuit. I said to your father, ‘That one’s really something, Azazel. She’s really something.’”
Meg blushed again. “Really? You remember that long ago? I’d have thought you’d have been busy with other things that day. It was a pretty big day for all of us.”
“What can I say? You stood out. You still do.” She reached out and touched Meg’s hand. “If you’re still interested in fighting Crowley, Meg, then come with me.”
The demons left the bar and headed for the alley behind it. Meg could see the medical examiner’s van and more than a few flashing lights near the building in which she’d materialized. Apparently Shaggy had roommates. Once they were out of sight Abaddon took her hand and darkness engulfed them.
They reappeared in an abandoned warehouse, the preferred abode of demons everywhere. “Welcome to the Bronx,” her hostess informed her, walking immediately. “This isn’t our only base but it’s my favorite at the moment. We’ve got as many operatives keeping eyes and ears out for Crowley as we can. Last I heard he’s become addicted to human blood.”
Meg laughed out loud. “What, really? A blood junkie?”
“I guess it was part of a trial to close Hell. I interrupted your little Sam Winchester while he was injecting Crowley.” She glared at Meg briefly. “He set me on fire, you know. Holy oil.”
The brunette winced. “Ouch. Been there. Done that.” She could still feel the flames if she let herself think about it too much, and the angel’s lips on hers. Which was the more painful memory depended on the moment. “Okay. So we track blood bank robberies until we find him.”
Some of the overly-muscled demons behind Abaddon exchanged glances. “I’m afraid it’s going to take a few days to find someone with that capability and possess them,” she commented. “But it’s a good idea.”
Meg grinned. “We already have someone who can do that for us,” she pointed out. “And as luck would have it, he’s waiting for a check-in.”
Abaddon’s face went from intrigued to annoyed. “Winchesters? Really?”
“Look. He’s every bit as invested in ending Crowley as we are. Let’s let him help.” She reached out and put a hand on Abaddon’s. “If he double-crosses us we can kill him.”
The beauty hesitated. “I want to talk to him. Meet with him.”
“He’s not going to be too keen on that. Dean keeps him on a pretty short leash and he thinks you’re stealing souls from living human bodies.”
Abaddon pulled back with a hiss. “I would never!”
“I know. I told him that but he - well, he didn’t get a great impression of you.” She shrugged.
“I want to talk to this man. I want to know who’s been - that’s not right. That’s absolutely - that’s beyond forbidden. I’m a monster but I’m not -“
She approached the knight slowly, with her hands visible. “Abaddon,” she said in a quiet, soothing voice. She caught the eyes of the backup demons and dismissed them with her eyes; they fled. “Listen. I know that’s not something you would do. You’re an honorable demon. I know it. You know it. Every demon who has ever interacted with you knows it. I’m going to try to talk Sam into a meeting with you and he’ll know it too. But he’s still going to help us track blood banks because he knows that it’s the right thing to do. Okay?” Abaddon nodded, crossing her arms over her chest.
Meg took her phone out of her pocket and made the call. Sam, as it turned out, was in fact extremely reluctant to meet face to face with Abaddon. Ultimately the only thing that convinced him to meet with Abaddon was constant cajoling not on the theme of family, not on the theme of revenge, not even on the theme of enmity but on the plain and basic fact that the best way to help Dean would be to get rid of Crowley, and that the best way to get rid of Crowley would be to not try to do it alone. Getting him to start tracking blood bank thefts was a lot less work. It was in fact as simple as, “Can you find a way to track blood bank thefts so we can figure out where Crowley is?”
To which he replied, “Yeah, sure. It’ll take me about ten minutes to set up a filter by quantity to adjust for probable vampires.”
Abaddon shook her head in wonder. “I don’t think I’d have tried that.”
“What?”
“Asking nicely.”
“Sam and I have an understanding.”
“I can see that.”
Meg raised an eyebrow. “You almost sound jealous.”
“You care for him.”
“Maybe I do. We are allowed to care for our families you know. I cared for Azazel. I cared for Lucifer - I still do, even though I know more now.” She shrugged. “I cared for Castiel. I care for -“ She stopped herself.
“What’s wrong, Meg?” Abaddon stepped in closer. “Is there something bothering you?” She reached out to stroke Meg’s face. “I can see why He relied on you so heavily, you know.”
Few people had ever praised Meg all that much - mostly Lucifer, really. Alistair, a little bit. Abaddon, when she’d been very young and training. “You find a cause and you serve it,” the general told her Knight. She’d said it before and she’d say it again. “I’ve committed to you, Abaddon.”
“And I’m grateful, Meg.”
She bit her lip. She wasn’t entirely sure how to feel here, how to respond. “There’s nothing to be grateful for until we win,” she observed.
The redhead laughed and pulled back, her hand trailing lingeringly across Meg’s cheek as she moved. “I guess that’s a good point.” She started stalking off toward another part of the hideout. “Doesn’t mean we can’t have fun along the way.”
Well. Meg knew exactly how to feel about that. And it wasn’t good about the missed opportunity that was for sure.
It took Sam a few days to make it to the frankly seedy tavern in central Jersey that Abaddon had selected as the meet-up spot. The place was sufficiently grungy that even Meg thought it could use a visit from the Board of Health or maybe just a match, but Sam had literally grown up in places like this so he’d probably feel right at home. The two demons took a seat at a table in the corner where they could see the entrance and the kitchen doors; of course within about five minutes a couple of mouth-breathers approached. “Let us buy you a couple of drinks,” the first demanded, eyes on Abaddon’s cleavage as he signaled for a waitress.
“That’s okay, thanks,” Meg told him through a thin smile. “We’re waiting for someone.”
“Yeah, but you found us, babe,” the other guy replied with a grin. “I’m Dennis. This is Troy.”
“Hi, Dennis. Hi, Troy.” Abaddon showed all her teeth before blowing a kiss to Troy. As she did, a tiny little puff of black smoke floated over to him and into his lungs as he inhaled. She darted an amused glance at Meg, whose grin became more genuine. Abaddon really knew how to party.
She followed suit. Her little smoke ring wasn’t as perfectly formed as Abaddon’s and didn’t float as smoothly but Dennis snapped to just as jerkily as Troy did. Abaddon winked at her. “Dennis,” Meg purred. “Troy was having some very naughty ideas about your wife just a moment ago. About the things she could do with that mouth of hers. I wonder - should you really be going around hitting on women in bars with a man who wants to do things like that to the mother of your children?” Dennis went red in the face. Meg giggled.
Abaddon laughed a little. “Come on, Troy. If he cared he wouldn’t be encouraging you to be alone with her so often. And it’s not like you didn’t see him eyeing your sister last week. I think you should hit him.” She gestured and Troy wound up and decked Dennis. Dennis reeled with the punch.
“Are you really going to take that?” Meg wondered into the mustachioed man’s ear. “From a guy who’s only half a step away from stealing your woman from you?” Dennis got up and dealt a vicious uppercut to Troy’s jaw, knocking him into the pool table.
This in turn disrupted the pool game, which went over about as well as could possibly be expected considering the high-stakes game taking place and by now neither demon needed to influence a thing. Within a minute the sound of a pool cue being cracked over someone’s head could be heard over the blaring jukebox. Within five minutes they got the sound of breaking glass and the unmistakable scent of blood.
Within ten Sam was looming over them, watching the chaos with a shake of his head and a little twist of his lips that almost approximated a smile. “Seriously?”
“Why do you have to assume that has anything to do with us?” Meg pouted.
“Because you’re the only ones not involved,” he retorted. “And if I try I can see a trace of you over the ugly one bleeding on the floor.” He sat down. “It’s good to see you, Meg.” He glanced over at Meg’s companion. “Abaddon.”
She sniffed. “Planning to set me on fire today, Sam?”
“It wasn’t on the agenda, no. I try to keep that sort of thing to a minimum when I’m around civilians. There tends to be a lot of running and screaming. Causes migraines, makes it hard to work. You know how it is. Planning to chuck me through any windows today?”
Meg snorted. It was good to know that the kid hadn’t lost any of his sass through all of the crap in his life.
The knight’s smile was a little more genuine. “I think I’m getting enough entertainment from the in-flight show at the moment, thanks.” A waitress approached and she ordered a pitcher for the table. “I hope you don’t mind our having a little bit of fun.”
He shrugged. “It doesn’t exactly draw attention. The staff hasn’t even called the cops, you know? Besides, it kind of makes me feel nostalgic. Meg said you wanted to meet up.”
She nodded gracefully. “Some of the old guard haven’t given their allegiance to Crowley,” she explained carefully, “but they’re unwilling to give their allegiance to me because Azazel’s designated heir is still out there.”
Meg burst out laughing at the look on Sam’s face. “Oh for the love of - seriously? I don’t know how to be any clearer about not wanting any part of Hell. No part. I mean, how do you say ‘no thanks’ more clearly than by putting Lucifer back into his goddamn cage and jumping in with him?” He shook his head.
Abaddon chuckled a little, probably more or less involuntarily. “That’s the thing with demons, Sam. The only way anyone cares what we actually want is if we make them care.”
His face could be a dissertation. “I don’t give a crap who rules Hell, okay? Hell and I have nothing to do with each other.”
“Hell is in your blood, like it or not,” she challenged.
“So is nitrogen but I’m not moving to Pluto anytime soon,” he retorted. “I mean, look. There have been demons I’ve gotten along with. There have been demons I’ve actually been pretty fond of.”
“Aw, thanks, Sam,” Meg drawled, even though she had to admit that it felt pretty good to hear that admission from him.
“But that doesn’t mean that I’m interested in being a player in infernal politics,” he continued. “It’s something that was inflicted on me, okay? I’ve spent my whole life trying to get away from it. If it weren’t for the whole stealing the souls of living people thing -“
“I am not doing that!” she hissed, eyes going black in her rage. Meg grabbed her hand and she calmed slightly. “I demand to know by what right you question my honor.”
“There was a convent, Saint Bonaventure. It’s the place where you possessed Josie Sands.” He wasn’t cowed by her display even knowing what she could do. Abaddon nodded curtly and he continued. “The site is abandoned now but one of the possessed nuns was still active there, a Sister Agnes. She was harvesting souls from the living and she told me it was on your orders. I’ve found other factories that were also harvesting souls since then.”
“And what did you do with the souls?” the knight wanted to know. Meg squeezed her hand.
“I freed them. I’ve been soulless,” he spat back. “I’m not about to let that happen to anyone else.”
“Good,” she returned. “I want an army, yes. A loyal one. And Crowley having the First Blade and a good loyal little dog answering to me is a problem. But first of all, I’m an honorable knight. I’m trying to restore Hell, not debase it the way Crowley has. Secondly, Agnes and I worked together under Azazel but we weren’t friends. She wasn’t working for me. I haven’t had the time to set up those factories in any way that would actually benefit me yet. Those are Crowley’s factories. Thirdly, turning souls into demons just turns them into demons. You can’t ensure a demon’s loyalty. We’re demons. We choose to be loyal or not. We’re not angels, we don’t have programming.”
Sam considered this. “All right.”
Meg blinked. “Really?”
“I was starting to question Agnes’ insistence that it was all for Abaddon when I noticed how extensive the network of factories was.” He shrugged. “Your explanation seemed reasonable. Here’s the thing. I’m willing to help you with Crowley to the extent that I can - I’m not going to juice myself back up, no one wants that, but there are other ways that I can help. I’ve got one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“We save Dean.”
Abaddon frowned. “Did you miss the part where he has the Mark of Cain and is trying to kill me?”
“It’s kind of hard to miss that part, Abaddon. It doesn’t exactly make him a joy to live with, believe me. But Crowley engineered that, Crowley pushed him into that when he was grieving for Kevin, and he wasn’t really giving informed consent. That’s all I want. We save Dean, we don’t treat him like a target. Is it a deal?”
Abaddon glanced at Meg. Meg met her eyes and nodded. The knight didn’t know enough about Sam to know how useful he could be but Meg did; Meg also knew just what a pain in the ass he could be if they didn’t work with him. If a not-dead brother was the price of his assistance, or at least an attempt at a not-dead brother, then it was probably worth it. “Fine. We’ll make a good-faith effort to not have your brother die. But we’re not sacrificing ourselves or each other for him.” She felt something flutter inside her at the caveat about not sacrificing each other for Dean.
“Valid,” he agreed as the waitress returned with their pitcher and some glasses. “He is trying to kill you.”
“Should we seal the deal?” she asked him, and quirked her eyebrow up.
The corners of his mouth twitched a little. “How about if we just shake on it and Meg does the kissing?”
The women exchanged glances. Meg blushed. So, surprisingly, did Abaddon. All three laughed a little. “Tell me about the blood banks,” the knight instructed.
The meeting continued with a lot less tension. Sam explained how he’d narrowed down the pattern in blood bank robberies and occasional disappearances and backed it up with security camera footage of Crowley to show his movements across the country. He also explained how the Mark was affecting Dean, giving him an added layer of bloodlust and dickery that Meg found frankly repugnant. He explained that Crowley was holding the Blade hostage to ensure Dean’s good behavior and through Dean Sam’s. Abaddon, in her turn, shared the preparations she’d been making. She warned her newest ally to stay specifically away from New Orleans and from San Diego, and told him about the hideout in the Bronx. She shared the work Meg had been doing among the old guard and with the hellhounds and the brunette smiled at the note of awe in her old mentor’s voice. When the beer was gone they parted ways, with the demons returning to their not-actually-abandoned warehouse and the human starting his long journey back to wherever it was that he went.
Abaddon turned to Meg. “I believe,” she told her calmly, “that you have a family deal to seal.”
If Meg had had a heart it would have raced in her chest. She didn’t fake the happy smile that creased her lips when she laughed and stepped forward to cradle the senior demon’s face with her hands, touching her own dark lips to Abaddon’s red ones. Meg had dreamed about kissing Abaddon for centuries. As a very young demon, fresh from the rack, she’d seen in Abaddon everything that she wanted to be. She’d sought out the senior fiend for training hoping that by emulating her style and her grit she might become worthy of either serving her or being her or perhaps being with her, she didn’t know. She’d been too low-ranking, of course, and she hadn’t been a Knight. She’d had to rely on other skills, other talents and other assets. Abaddon had always been in the back of her mind as an icon, an inspiration. Now here she was with her hero’s mouth on hers, their hands in each others’ hair and their tongues seeking the last vestiges of beer and sulfur in each other’s mouths.
“Come with me,” the redhead demanded, taking her hand. The would-be queen teleported her to a bedroom - an actual bedroom, with clean sheets on the bed and everything. “It’s an apartment in Brooklyn,” she explained. “I come here when I want to wash up or something.” She stroked Meg’s face. “You’ve done well, Meg.”
She smiled and kissed her queen’s palm. “Thank you.”
The knight guided her over to the bed and kissed her again. This time there was a lot less laughter and a lot more intent. Meg didn’t laugh either, just shook her jacket off. Abaddon helped her with the rest.