The Devil At Work
Title: The Devil At Work
Author: desertport
Recipient: spn_summergen*
Rating: R
Warnings: Violence
Author's Notes: To my prompter, I hope you like this! Thank you to dotfic for the beta, and smilla02 for crucial brainstorming help.
Summary: Meg needs instructions after Lucifer is defeated.
Meg crouched in the tall grass, one hand shading her eyes from the dust stinging her face. The wind itself seemed spooked. Several hundred yards away, a hole opened up in the soil beneath the graves, a maw both familiar and terrible. She had clawed her way out of Hell many times and never seen a passage so deep. Meg caught her breath as Lucifer, in Sam's body, fell backwards into it, clutching the archangel Michael. Before she could do more than cry out, clamping her palm over her mouth to muffle the sound, the hole closed, no sign of it ever having been.
The whole drama took less than a minute. Meg stayed far longer than that. She waited for Dean WInchester and his friends to leave. She stayed well into the night, knowing nothing would be happening in Stull again. She stayed through dawn, just... thinking.
Morning found her sitting against a rock, one foot kicked up over her knee, watching the sky unblinkingly.
The noise of the woods changed and quieted.
"Finally," she murmured.
Two demons stepped out from the trees behind her, making so much noise she hardly had to look to know they were there. "Impatient little buggers, aren't you. Come to mama."
They raced forward through the tall grass, long knives raised. Meg had time to stand up. She swept one off his feet and stood on his crotch to keep him on the ground. Over his yells, the other demon stabbed toward her belly. It was a strong strike, but Meg countered with her sword, the one she had taken from a dying angel in Milwaukee. That was right after she'd climbed out of the Pit, where Lucifer had sent her following her failure to contain Castiel in Carthage.
The demon hadn't expected a weapon, stupid when you go into a fight, and he certainly hadn't expected an angelic sword. Meg slashed him open and then even more open. He fell gaping to the ground.
The demon she held under her heel talked when she put the sword to his throat.
"You even think of blowing smoke out of here, I will end you. Capish?"
The demon coughed and sputtered, so she held the sword close enough to draw a lot of blood. He talked after that. Weakling.
~~
In Wyoming, more demons from Crowley caught up to her as she stood outside the train tracks that formed a devil's trap around the graveyard where her father had been murdered. She took care of them the way she would have taken care of Dean Winchester, had he been there instead.
It was hard to tell if the tracks had been repaired, so she didn't cross them, just whispered, "I'm doing what you did, Father," and left.
~~
If humans were wise, they wouldn't have rebuilt the convent in Ilchester, Maryland, after Lucifer rose from it. But then, they hadn't closed it decades earlier, after Azazel possessed a priest and murdered eight nuns. Humans were suicidally optimistic creatures.
Meg sauntered in through the back door, cutting the alarm system with one telekinetic burst, the same way she had the lock. A short inspection of the darkened building revealed the chapel in its previous location, directly on top of the thin space between earth and the Cage. Meg wondered at that. Humans didn't consciously know where the walls stood, but their holy spaces consistently lined up with them. In this case, the convent had been the site of a massacre--a sacrifice--and the coming of Lucifer; it was even more potent than it had been naturally.
The sisters slept in spartan, yet comfortable cells, doors unlocked. It was child's play to walk inside and kill them in their beds. And play it was. Demons were not ideological by nature; even she, a special brand of demon, Azazel's own daughter, needed to give in to bloodlust from time to time. The sad part was she couldn't afford to let them scream and alert their sleeping sisters. One at a time, Meg slipped into a cell, stood over a bed, and brought down her angel sword. Once they were silenced, she had her fun. By the time she made it to the final room, Meg was red all over.
But this cell was locked. Meg concentrated her powers. "Knock-knock," she said, and blasted open the thick cedar door. A stifled scream echoed above the crash of strong wood to the floor, and Meg stepped daintily over the splinters to find a fully habited woman pressing herself against the far wall.
"Impressive," Meg said. "I didn't make a sound as I murdered all your sisters." The woman whimpered. "How did you know to lock the door?"
"I--I felt an evil presence that not even prayer would dispel." Tears ran down her cheeks. "This is a terrible place. Everyone feels--felt it, but we thought it was our imagination. Because of the massacre and the bomb.
Meg barked a laugh. "You think that was a bomb?" She flashed her black eyes. "Do you want to know what that really was, truly?"
The woman sobbed. "No, please...."
Meg walked forward until she was pressed against the woman, whose tears had increased. Meg licked one side of her face, savoring the salty taste, a counterpoint to the blood washed across her own face. The terror was what she had missed in the twenty rooms previous.
"Your 礎omb' was the single greatest event of this millenium. It was the rising of Lucifer himself."
"No..." the woman cried, staring into Meg's black eyes. She appeared to be frozen, incapable of moving. Meg feinted forward for the pleasure of watching her flinch.
"Yes," Meg said, "For over a year he walked the earth. All those earthquakes, tornados, fires... those were him. The 奏ragedy' in Carthage, you remember that? The women and children murdered by their husbands and fathers and buried in a mass grave?"
The woman moved as if to cross herself, but Meg pressed closer, so there was no space between them.
"The near destruction of Chicago? That was him too. For one year, Lucifer terrorized you poor people, and you didn't even know it."
"We--we knew it," the woman stuttered. "The devil is always at work in this world. Our prayer mitigates his work. Where is he now?"
Meg pulled back and slapped her. "Your prayer is empty, and he'll be back as soon as I can make it happen."
"Hail Mary full of grace," the nun intoned, gaining courage. Meg let her continue her prayer, leaning in to lick the other side of her face, enjoying the woman's trembling.
"What's your name?" Meg asked when the prayer was over.
"S-Sister Mary St. George," the woman said. "What--what is yours? Who are you?"
"I'm a demon!" Meg said. "My father is Lucifer, and I have no use for prayer, because I have met him, and I know where he is, and I'm going to bring him out."
"No," whispered the woman. "No, in the name of--"
Meg slapped her before she could say the name of God.
"I've been his servant all my life. In an hour or so, we're going to have a little conversation." She brought up her sword. "And I'm going to really, really enjoy this."
~~
It took over the estimated hour to move the bodies to the chapel, even using her powers to push and throw them across the halls. She could have waited for midnight mass and killed them all at once, an echo of what her father had done. But while he had valued expediency, Meg liked to think she had style.
Once the nuns and their loose body parts were strewn across the floor, Meg approached the altar. "Father?" she asked. Azazel had created her. He was her father. But ultimately so was Lucifer. It was one of the mysteries Azazel had taught her. "Can you hear me?"
"Daughter," came a slow, anguished voice from the mouth of the nun laid over the altar. Sister Mary St. George spoke in a masculine voice not her own. Meg had been careful of her vocal cords. But Meg's joyous smile froze at the creak of the door far behind her. There was no lock on it. She glanced behind and saw a dark figure approach. Not now, she thought, drawing her sword.
"You must prepare for my coming. Lay waste to my enemies."
"Uh-huh." Meg edged away from the altar to give herself room to fight. "Go on, Father."
The dark figure gained speed, yelled, then charged, taking the dais steps two-by-three. Meg swung her sword but was surprised to find it met by another one, identical to hers. So Crowley had wised up and armed his assassin effectively. She pushed forward, her weapon clanging against the demon's. They fought, circling each other on the dais, wrecking the ornate paraphernalia set up around the altar.
"Find the Horsemen's rings, connect them at this place," Lucifer said, voice nearly indistinguishable over the combat. Meg entered the demon's immediate space, up close and personal, her preferred fighting style. An elbow to his chin, but he drove the hilt of his sword into her midsection. She heaved forward in pain. "And daughter," Lucifer said, as if he didn't know she was in a fight for her life and his freedom against a strong opponent. His confidence galvanized her. She dropped into a roll and kicked in the demon's knee, breaking it backwards. He fell on his ass, silent as he had been throughout the fight. Meg threw herself to her feet.
"Yes, Father. Anything you command."
She disarmed the demon and stabbed him in the throat. Before she could do more, though, the demon fled its host, the roar of its smoky exit from the man's mouth almost drowning out Lucifer's next words.
"Bring me Dean Winchester, daughter. I have Sam's body. My first act will be to use it to kill his brother. Keep him alive until then."
The escaped demon had to be reporting this conversation to Crowley this very minute. His interference would make this quest problematic. "I will, Father."
"My second act will be to anoint you and place you at my right hand."
Meg hadn't even considered the possibility of a promotion. All she had wanted was to please Lucifer.
"Destroy Crowley and the angels," Meg repeated, "find the rings. Free you and present you with Dean Winchester all tied up and ready for execution." Lucifer sure didn't ask for much. This would be a long game, and there would surely be unexpected setbacks. But Azazel had taught her how to play patiently, and how to adjust for the wrenches the Winchesters liked to throw into the works. In a matter of years, Lucifer would once again walk the earth.
Sister Mary was right. The devil really was always at work in the world.
The End
* Where the intended recipient defaulted, stories are posted as gifts for the community as a whole.
Author: desertport
Recipient: spn_summergen*
Rating: R
Warnings: Violence
Author's Notes: To my prompter, I hope you like this! Thank you to dotfic for the beta, and smilla02 for crucial brainstorming help.
Summary: Meg needs instructions after Lucifer is defeated.
Meg crouched in the tall grass, one hand shading her eyes from the dust stinging her face. The wind itself seemed spooked. Several hundred yards away, a hole opened up in the soil beneath the graves, a maw both familiar and terrible. She had clawed her way out of Hell many times and never seen a passage so deep. Meg caught her breath as Lucifer, in Sam's body, fell backwards into it, clutching the archangel Michael. Before she could do more than cry out, clamping her palm over her mouth to muffle the sound, the hole closed, no sign of it ever having been.
The whole drama took less than a minute. Meg stayed far longer than that. She waited for Dean WInchester and his friends to leave. She stayed well into the night, knowing nothing would be happening in Stull again. She stayed through dawn, just... thinking.
Morning found her sitting against a rock, one foot kicked up over her knee, watching the sky unblinkingly.
The noise of the woods changed and quieted.
"Finally," she murmured.
Two demons stepped out from the trees behind her, making so much noise she hardly had to look to know they were there. "Impatient little buggers, aren't you. Come to mama."
They raced forward through the tall grass, long knives raised. Meg had time to stand up. She swept one off his feet and stood on his crotch to keep him on the ground. Over his yells, the other demon stabbed toward her belly. It was a strong strike, but Meg countered with her sword, the one she had taken from a dying angel in Milwaukee. That was right after she'd climbed out of the Pit, where Lucifer had sent her following her failure to contain Castiel in Carthage.
The demon hadn't expected a weapon, stupid when you go into a fight, and he certainly hadn't expected an angelic sword. Meg slashed him open and then even more open. He fell gaping to the ground.
The demon she held under her heel talked when she put the sword to his throat.
"You even think of blowing smoke out of here, I will end you. Capish?"
The demon coughed and sputtered, so she held the sword close enough to draw a lot of blood. He talked after that. Weakling.
~~
In Wyoming, more demons from Crowley caught up to her as she stood outside the train tracks that formed a devil's trap around the graveyard where her father had been murdered. She took care of them the way she would have taken care of Dean Winchester, had he been there instead.
It was hard to tell if the tracks had been repaired, so she didn't cross them, just whispered, "I'm doing what you did, Father," and left.
~~
If humans were wise, they wouldn't have rebuilt the convent in Ilchester, Maryland, after Lucifer rose from it. But then, they hadn't closed it decades earlier, after Azazel possessed a priest and murdered eight nuns. Humans were suicidally optimistic creatures.
Meg sauntered in through the back door, cutting the alarm system with one telekinetic burst, the same way she had the lock. A short inspection of the darkened building revealed the chapel in its previous location, directly on top of the thin space between earth and the Cage. Meg wondered at that. Humans didn't consciously know where the walls stood, but their holy spaces consistently lined up with them. In this case, the convent had been the site of a massacre--a sacrifice--and the coming of Lucifer; it was even more potent than it had been naturally.
The sisters slept in spartan, yet comfortable cells, doors unlocked. It was child's play to walk inside and kill them in their beds. And play it was. Demons were not ideological by nature; even she, a special brand of demon, Azazel's own daughter, needed to give in to bloodlust from time to time. The sad part was she couldn't afford to let them scream and alert their sleeping sisters. One at a time, Meg slipped into a cell, stood over a bed, and brought down her angel sword. Once they were silenced, she had her fun. By the time she made it to the final room, Meg was red all over.
But this cell was locked. Meg concentrated her powers. "Knock-knock," she said, and blasted open the thick cedar door. A stifled scream echoed above the crash of strong wood to the floor, and Meg stepped daintily over the splinters to find a fully habited woman pressing herself against the far wall.
"Impressive," Meg said. "I didn't make a sound as I murdered all your sisters." The woman whimpered. "How did you know to lock the door?"
"I--I felt an evil presence that not even prayer would dispel." Tears ran down her cheeks. "This is a terrible place. Everyone feels--felt it, but we thought it was our imagination. Because of the massacre and the bomb.
Meg barked a laugh. "You think that was a bomb?" She flashed her black eyes. "Do you want to know what that really was, truly?"
The woman sobbed. "No, please...."
Meg walked forward until she was pressed against the woman, whose tears had increased. Meg licked one side of her face, savoring the salty taste, a counterpoint to the blood washed across her own face. The terror was what she had missed in the twenty rooms previous.
"Your 礎omb' was the single greatest event of this millenium. It was the rising of Lucifer himself."
"No..." the woman cried, staring into Meg's black eyes. She appeared to be frozen, incapable of moving. Meg feinted forward for the pleasure of watching her flinch.
"Yes," Meg said, "For over a year he walked the earth. All those earthquakes, tornados, fires... those were him. The 奏ragedy' in Carthage, you remember that? The women and children murdered by their husbands and fathers and buried in a mass grave?"
The woman moved as if to cross herself, but Meg pressed closer, so there was no space between them.
"The near destruction of Chicago? That was him too. For one year, Lucifer terrorized you poor people, and you didn't even know it."
"We--we knew it," the woman stuttered. "The devil is always at work in this world. Our prayer mitigates his work. Where is he now?"
Meg pulled back and slapped her. "Your prayer is empty, and he'll be back as soon as I can make it happen."
"Hail Mary full of grace," the nun intoned, gaining courage. Meg let her continue her prayer, leaning in to lick the other side of her face, enjoying the woman's trembling.
"What's your name?" Meg asked when the prayer was over.
"S-Sister Mary St. George," the woman said. "What--what is yours? Who are you?"
"I'm a demon!" Meg said. "My father is Lucifer, and I have no use for prayer, because I have met him, and I know where he is, and I'm going to bring him out."
"No," whispered the woman. "No, in the name of--"
Meg slapped her before she could say the name of God.
"I've been his servant all my life. In an hour or so, we're going to have a little conversation." She brought up her sword. "And I'm going to really, really enjoy this."
~~
It took over the estimated hour to move the bodies to the chapel, even using her powers to push and throw them across the halls. She could have waited for midnight mass and killed them all at once, an echo of what her father had done. But while he had valued expediency, Meg liked to think she had style.
Once the nuns and their loose body parts were strewn across the floor, Meg approached the altar. "Father?" she asked. Azazel had created her. He was her father. But ultimately so was Lucifer. It was one of the mysteries Azazel had taught her. "Can you hear me?"
"Daughter," came a slow, anguished voice from the mouth of the nun laid over the altar. Sister Mary St. George spoke in a masculine voice not her own. Meg had been careful of her vocal cords. But Meg's joyous smile froze at the creak of the door far behind her. There was no lock on it. She glanced behind and saw a dark figure approach. Not now, she thought, drawing her sword.
"You must prepare for my coming. Lay waste to my enemies."
"Uh-huh." Meg edged away from the altar to give herself room to fight. "Go on, Father."
The dark figure gained speed, yelled, then charged, taking the dais steps two-by-three. Meg swung her sword but was surprised to find it met by another one, identical to hers. So Crowley had wised up and armed his assassin effectively. She pushed forward, her weapon clanging against the demon's. They fought, circling each other on the dais, wrecking the ornate paraphernalia set up around the altar.
"Find the Horsemen's rings, connect them at this place," Lucifer said, voice nearly indistinguishable over the combat. Meg entered the demon's immediate space, up close and personal, her preferred fighting style. An elbow to his chin, but he drove the hilt of his sword into her midsection. She heaved forward in pain. "And daughter," Lucifer said, as if he didn't know she was in a fight for her life and his freedom against a strong opponent. His confidence galvanized her. She dropped into a roll and kicked in the demon's knee, breaking it backwards. He fell on his ass, silent as he had been throughout the fight. Meg threw herself to her feet.
"Yes, Father. Anything you command."
She disarmed the demon and stabbed him in the throat. Before she could do more, though, the demon fled its host, the roar of its smoky exit from the man's mouth almost drowning out Lucifer's next words.
"Bring me Dean Winchester, daughter. I have Sam's body. My first act will be to use it to kill his brother. Keep him alive until then."
The escaped demon had to be reporting this conversation to Crowley this very minute. His interference would make this quest problematic. "I will, Father."
"My second act will be to anoint you and place you at my right hand."
Meg hadn't even considered the possibility of a promotion. All she had wanted was to please Lucifer.
"Destroy Crowley and the angels," Meg repeated, "find the rings. Free you and present you with Dean Winchester all tied up and ready for execution." Lucifer sure didn't ask for much. This would be a long game, and there would surely be unexpected setbacks. But Azazel had taught her how to play patiently, and how to adjust for the wrenches the Winchesters liked to throw into the works. In a matter of years, Lucifer would once again walk the earth.
Sister Mary was right. The devil really was always at work in the world.
The End
* Where the intended recipient defaulted, stories are posted as gifts for the community as a whole.