Masters - Supernatural - 3/3
Title: Masters
Author: twisted_slinky
Artist: agirlnamedtruth
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Spoilers for up to season 7. Violence, language, torture, gore, het sex, dub-con/non-con, religious subtext, Hell
Characters/Pairings: Meg/Dean, Meg/Castiel, Crowley, Alastair, Azazel, Lucifer, Sam
Summary: They knew her by Meg, but in Hell, she was called a different name. Dean just didn’t realize it at the time. Castiel, though, always knew. This is the tale of the fall of a demon with a cause.
Wordcount: ~15k
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. Made for sick twisted kicks, not profit.
Notes: Please don't read if you're under the age restriction, especially this first part. The timeline on this skips around a bit, but just, fair warning, the italics are supposed to be Season 7 'Nurse' Meg chatting to coma!Cas. Dean's right-she does enjoy the sound of her own voice…
A big thanks to agirlnamedtruth for the beautiful art! Check out her masterpost, where you can see other wallpapers and a fanmix.
Art Masterpost II Story Masterpost
III.
A Demon's Fate
2013
"…Why don't you open those baby blues and set me on fire again?"
The tease hung in the air a moment, filling the quiet void of the private room, before Meg sighed down at the still body on the bed. Castiel remained in place, ignoring her words, just as he usually did. Whatever was happening in that big angelic brain of his was obviously more interesting than her company.
This gig was really trying her patience. If she was back to her old self, if she had even a handful of her old allies…But she didn't. She had suicidal Wonder Twins with a hankering for Dick and a catatonic Superman who couldn't get it up if he wanted to.
"Oh, how the mighty have fallen." She wasn't sure who she was referring to, but she hoped the angel took it personally. After all, she'd been roaming the earth during his brief escapade as the new God in town. Was hard to miss something like that.
"I would have worshiped you," she confessed, quietly, and then grinned.
"I'll admit, I was a bit disappointed when I heard that you'd been working with Crowley. When I realized I'd been played as much as the Winchesters. Kudos on the manipulation. But you turning on the King? Now that I could appreciate, despite the outcome. You know, you could have looked me up during your reign."
Meg tilted her head to the side, following the line of dark shadows over the features of his face. By lamplight, it was hard to see his lashes fluttering in response.
"But you'd probably have just used me up, like all the rest, wouldn't you?" Her hand stayed on the angel's thigh, fingers tapping impatiently against the lukewarmth of the cotton scrubs over his muscles. "Or would you have appreciated a servant like me? Someone who'd kill for you. Someone who'd get on their knees for you…"
His kiss was fresh on her mind again, a sensation she couldn't quite be rid of, no matter how hard she tried: the burn stayed with her. It angered her that it was so fresh a memory, and she so prone to recollecting it, like some daydreaming schoolgirl remembering the first hand to slip under her skirt.
She paused her fingers, raising a brow in thought. It would be fun, running her hand up that leg, cupping the bulge in his pants and demanding he wake up, but she had a feeling that wouldn't go over too well if it actually worked and the Winchesters found out about her 'tactics'. Sure, it was amusing to picture what their faces would look like, and heaven knew, 'Nurse Masters' had been forced to fake a sponge bath for her favorite 'patient' in order to keep up the belief that there was an actual human in this room, so she knew he wasn't exactly sensitive to her wandering touch, but…
"I'm hoping not to be smote the moment you wake up," she muttered, back to being bored out of her mind. And it appeared she'd stay that way a bit longer-she pulled her hand away, leaning back into her chair once more.
"Well, Clarence, I think we're done with story time for the day. Probably a good thing, since I don't know how Act 3 of our little play ends." Needing a distraction from her thoughts, she pulled her MP3 player out of her top pocket, tapping in her ear buds and letting a hard beat fill her head. Then she picked up the magazine beside her chair, courtesy of the waiting room, and flipped it open, smirking at a glossy photo of a drunken pop star tripping out of a limo.
"Let's play a game of spot the celebrity Leviathan." She shot the angel a glance. "I'll start. Lohan? Nope. Big Mouths have better taste than demons. What about Selena Gomez?" She paused, waiting for an answer and receiving none. "Could be. I wouldn't trust anyone of those ex-Disney kids…"
Her voice drifted off as she settled in on an article about a new album release. She wouldn't admit it, on the rack or not, but it was oddly not as upsetting as she'd expected, being stuck in one place, playing the part of a human, spending her days on mindless deeds. Like paperwork and texting dirty jokes to the Winchesters-not that they ever replied, the dicks.
It was almost peaceful. Boring, but peaceful. It was almost close to the afterlife she'd been promised.
But it wasn't to last. Couldn't. There was still work to be done.
Thunder rattled the windows, loud enough for her hear over Ozzy. Lightning lit the world outside, flashing bright enough to cast new shadows over the already darkened room. She glanced up, warily recollecting the evening news and its mention of clear skies. It took a moment for what she was seeing to sink in: Castiel was staring directly at her.
Not a few feet away, on the bed, sitting upright, the angel was watching her intensely.
She froze in place. "Uh. Hi."
He blinked, cocking his head. "Hello, Meg."
Slowly he reached out over the edge of the mattress tapping her magazine with one finger.
Meg was silent a moment longer, her eyes finally travelling down to the page again. "They ate Bradley Cooper?" She raised a brow at Castiel's curt nod. "The bastards."
His brow scrunched up in thought-which Meg was pleased to see. After hearing about what he'd sucked out of Sammy-boy's brain, she hadn't known if he was going to be able to form those again.
"I don't particularly like this game," he said, his voice gravelly. "Perhaps we can play something involving dice now. Or we can go outside."
Meg slowly stood up, pulling the phone from her pocket as she moved. "Sure, Clarence. We could do that. Or we could call one of your good buddies to come and play with you instead. How's that sound?"
Castiel seemed to consider it. "I do not understand your fascination with Clarence Odbody. I have very little in common with a fiction depiction of an Angel Second Class. Are you implying I have yet to earn my wings? Because that is not an actual practice."
She blinked, and he was gone. As was her phone. "Son of-"
"Also, it's raining outside now."
Meg spun on her feet, finding the angel standing behind her, his shirt peppered with damp spots. He cocked his head again, staring at her. "There's a library in the other ward. I read it," he said, his voice quick but level. "There was a book on arachnids. I've determined that you remind me of a spider. Generally aggressive with a tendency for manipulative hunting techniques. Did you know there are several species of arachnids that enjoy snuggling? Perhaps that's why you made such an efficient caretaker. It's unfortunate that you can't weave webs, though."
Meg opened her mouth, pausing to catch up with the spill. "Why do I get the feeling you didn't exactly wake up on the sane side of the bed?" She held out a hand. "My phone?"
"Later. First, I need to find where the board games are stored. Then we should apologize to the bees-there's really much to be done today."
"No kidding."
Castiel reached out, touching her arm gently before leaning into her. She froze, stiff with surprise as she felt his breath against her shoulder. "Thank you." The words brought a tingle to her skin, a slight burn, like too much sun on a hot day. "You stayed by my bed…my very own saint." He pulled away, staring down at her. "I owe you," he said, somewhat softer.
If she didn't know better, she would have thought he meant it.
It should have been easy, leaving them behind. She knew well enough when she was beaten-it was how she'd survived so long in the first place. And this fight the dumbasses were planning with the Big Mouths? It was suicide.
She'd already done more than her fair share. She'd babysat. She'd killed demons for them, and an angel-which, incidentally, didn't help her get off their radar. She'd kindly not stolen their tablet/prophet duo. All things considered, she'd been downright nice.
Escape had seemed like an easy answer. Run to the edge of the earth, hide out until the idiots killed themselves off, then show up to squash the survivors and take the throne from the King. Easy. But then, she'd never had an angel shadowing her before. She'd never had someone who asked her to stay.
Granted she'd said no, but here she was anyhow. Waiting to take part in another battle that promised an unhappy ending and didn't help her get any closer to taking down Crowley.
"How the hell do I get myself into these messes?"
Meg didn't receive an answer aside from the purr of the Impala as it rolled onto the gravel leading up to the abandoned gas station. She crossed her arms over her chest, acting as if she'd been waiting far longer than a few minutes for the others to show. She'd expected there to be a passenger in the car, but only Dean's face stared up at her through the windshield. He parked, leaving the motor running, and stepped out.
"This is a stupid plan," she noted, before he could close the door behind him.
"It's what we've got," he bit back. His jaw tensed, rolling slightly as he snapped his mouth closed, and Meg recognized the expression. It wasn't just annoyance in his dark eyes. Or anticipation. He was holding something back. "And you volunteered."
She smirked, pretending not to notice his mood. "Oh, I didn't say it wouldn't work. Just that it was stupid-which fits, considering who we're going after. Where's our angel?"
Dean's frown deepened, if that was even possible. "Saying goodbye to daffodils or some shit. He's supposed to pick me up here so we can go get Sam and the supplies. He won't run off this time."
"No, I guess not. Instead, he's off preparing for his inevitable demise." Meg huffed out a laugh, but her eyes were lit with quiet anger. "Lovely."
Dean gave the car a forlorn glance, ignoring her comment. "I swear, if you hurt her-"
Meg rolled her eyes, then stretched her lips into a smile. "Won't get a scratch on 'her,'" she promised, tracing a line across her chest with one finger. "Cross my little black heart."
She slipped past him, putting her back to the hunter and opening the door wide again. Dean's feet shifted behind her, catching her attention, and she hesitated, waiting for him to make a move.
"Jehanne."
Meg stiffened, then glanced over her shoulder, seeing him, just a few feet away. "So, cat's out of the bag then. How long have you known?"
He didn't answer, that hard glare he'd perfected long ago twinkling in his eye. Meg didn't think it was directed entirely at her. No, Dean Winchester hated himself too much to ever put his focus entirely on a mere demon anymore. One second, she was considering how best to rub what she knew in his face, the next she was slammed against the passenger's door, Dean holding that damned blade she hated so much tight against her neck.
She grimaced, then forced out a laugh. "You sent Cas away for a few minutes, hoping to get this out of the way before he could stop you," she guessed. He remained in place, throat bouncing as he swallowed. "So much for honesty. Well? Your move, pretty boy. What'cha gonna do with that pig-sticker?"
"I've known for a while," he finally said, his voice barely more than a growl, but she could understand him well enough. He was so close that she could practically feel the words vibrating against her. "You didn't say anything. This whole time…you didn't say a damn thing."
"Neither did you," she pointed out. "What happens in Hell stays in-well, I guess that's not exactly true, is it?"
Dean pressed the blade down harder, still not quite breaking skin. He looked lost in his thoughts, eyes darting over her face, looking for features Meg couldn't remember and he obviously couldn't get out of his head.
When his voice returned, it was weighted, so heavy it barely made it out between those pouty lips of his. "The things you did to me..."
"The things you did to me," she echoed back, before he could continue. "Not that I'm complaining."
Her eyes brightened, and she slowly reached out, sliding a hand down his chest, despite the threat at her neck. He didn't move to stop her as her fingers reached his belt. "I think you paid me back in the pit, don't you, Dean? At least for the things you didn't like me doing." She tugged at the leather, her grin open, pleased, when it gave, letting her find the zipper beneath. "Or is this about the things you did like?"
"Don't-"
She curled her fingers away from the denim. Stopping wasn't something she would have done in Hell. But there were rules topside-not that she usually heeded them-and they were going to battle soon. She couldn't break him if she wanted to win.
"What exactly are you hoping to accomplish here, Dean-o? A little pre-fight-to-the-death coitus, or are you just looking for a chance to spill a bit of that famous Winchester angst? Because we both know you're not going to kill me. Not when there are other things you want to kill so much more…Not when your BFF Cas wants me alive."
He pulled the blade away, stepping back, out of her grasp. His loosened belt flopped against his jeans, unattended and drawing her eyes, but his expression was blank, only a hint of darkness in his gaze. And it wasn't lust.
"I just-" He broke off, shaking his head, taking in a shallow breath. "Why didn't you tell me down there? Why didn't you tell me after…after you'd won? You gloat. It's what you do. Or were you just waiting for the right time to rub salt in the wound?"
"Salt in the wound-you know, that's the exact thing I thought when I heard you were taking the big trip down under...I didn't tell you because I didn't. Win, that is," she answered and slid into the open door of the Impala.
Dean didn't move to stop her, but she rolled down the window. He looked like some abandoned dog on the side of the road, his big wet eyes staring out accusingly. "I broke," he said, as if it were a confession. "I broke. Alastair won. You won."
Meg chuckled at his somber tone, but she could feel something building in her head, itching to get loose. Felt a hell of a lot like guilt, but she wasn't going to deceive to herself on that front-that couldn't be right. She wasn't the type to feel those things, not anymore. "I didn't lie to you, Dean, when I told you those souls deserved to be on your rack. You can hold on to that shame of yours, keep it with you for all these years, but if you ask me, you did nothing wrong. I'm sure Alastair tried rub it in your face, but he was just trying to get you worked up-maybe he was a bit jealous too. But like knows like, and you're a soldier. Sometimes soldiers get their hands bloody. That's all."
Dean was silent a moment, staring down at the blade in his hand until he finally slipped it back inside his jacket. "Jehanne," he said, then swallowed the name back down. "Meg. Whoever the hell you are-"
"Just shut up." Meg snorted, amused. "This is the part where you let go with some lofty speech along the lines of 'after this, we're back to being enemies'. And maybe you'll tack on some bit about staying away from your boyfriend. You can save it, Winchester. I know the score."
Dean raised a brow. "Actually, I was just going to threaten to send you back to Hell in a paper sack if you wreck my baby."
Meg shrugged, biting down a fresh grin as she considered her 'surprise arrival' for the Leviathans. "Same thing in Winchester-speak. Oh, and, if I do go back to Hell thanks to your ingenious little plan here, you're going with me-wouldn't be the same down there without my old bunk-buddy."
She put the car into drive, hitting the gas while he was still cursing her. It should have been pleasure driving the smile on her face, but it was a mockery of itself. Dean remembering was supposed to be a moment, a final moment. The one before the big climax, when he realized he'd been fucked by her, literally. She was supposed to feel nothing but glee as he relived all those games they played together in Hell.
But the knowledge just left her itching to get out of her skin instead.
Over the past few years, riding around in this meatsuit, going by this name, she'd become a solid entity, not a shifting creature of smoke. Something about it had made her feel real. Like a person again.
And now Dean had pointed out the elephant in the Impala, that she was someone else entirely, no matter what she was known as. Great.
"You appear distressed."
Meg jumped, surprised by the voice, and cut the steering wheel, sliding the car into the other lane before she gained control and pulled off the side of the road. Castiel sat in the seat beside her, glancing at her profile as if she were some odd curiosity.
"Is it because we're due to lay siege upon the Leviathan within the hour?"
She shook her head, annoyed, and put the car in park. "You missed your pet hunter-he's at the gas station a few miles back. Waiting for you, you feathered taxi."
Castiel stayed put. "Yes. He is. But I wished to speak with you first."
"Oh? Do the bees want you to deliver a message?"
Castiel frowned, turning to look out the front windshield, as if offended. "I know that was sarcasm. You have no real interest in the hive."
Meg shook her head. The angel was moody today, to say the least. Maybe knowing you were headed to your doom did that to a guy. "Got me," she admitted.
He nodded, obviously satisfied with the answer, then grew still again. "I heard you. Your confession."
Meg raised a brow. "I'd hardly call claiming my name as my own a conf-" She broke off. "You mean at the hospital…Huh. Guess someone was paying attention in class. Learn anything new?"
"No," he replied, sounding sad. "Nothing new."
Meg waited for more, but he remained silent, staring off into the nothing. She rolled her eyes. "So you're upset with me now? Had a momentarily lap in insanity and suddenly realized that your new gal-pal is the same woman who tortured your favorite human all those years? Guess that matters to you again, now that you're running off toward death trying to get his forgiveness."
He reached out, touching her shoulder. Meg felt herself being pulled away. The world changed, and suddenly she wasn't inside the Impala any longer but sitting atop it, the sheet of metal under her popping as she curled her legs up before they fell over the side. The open road beside them was rural, deserted, which was probably a good thing, since humans tended to find people teleporting on top of classic cars odd.
"Guess we're back to crazy-Cas, then. Don't you think you're wasting those frequent flyer m-?"
Her back slammed against the metal, and she realized he was still grasping her shoulder, holding her down. Meg blinked, dazed for a moment as her head hung off the back of the roof, dark hair spilling down the window beneath. Her world had turned upside down. Before she could pull herself up, she felt a hand press down between her breasts, holding her in place.
With a groan, she lifted her head, finding eyes as bright as the blue sky behind them staring at her. Into her. His expression was sober instead of distant, and she could have mistaken it for anger.
"What? You don't like me anymore?" she sneered.
He licked his dry lips. "I owe you, as I said before, and I may not have another chance to repay that debt. So, I'm going to give you what you requested of me. The fire you crave."
Meg could taste her pulse on her tongue as he lowered himself down closer, laying against her side. She choked the words out, before they could be swallowed again, "Do it."
The warm breath passing between them in those inches of space was a tease because his lips didn't move to press against her, not like she'd expected. At first, she'd thought he was hesitating, but then she felt the hand at her chest slide down to her belt. There wasn't going to be a kiss-that wasn't what he was giving her.
"Do you even know how to-"
She forgot the sentence when his grip ripped her pants down to her hips, leaving her bare to the world. Naked to the daylight instead of the darkness she was used to. She trembled, feeling the chill off the metal, or, at least, that was what she told herself. As much as she wanted to raise her head, see exactly what his hand was doing, his eyes kept her trapped in place.
But she could certainly still feel what he was doing.
Rough fingers slid along her part, hesitantly caressing her until they found slickness on those barren lips. Meg knew it shouldn't have came as a surprise when two of his fingers suddenly slid into her without warning, but her body bucked anyhow, clenching around him.
Castiel's face remained impassive. Watching. Waiting.
"It will hurt."
Meg wasn't sure if that was supposed to be a warning or an enticement. "It better," she grunted, already wiggling her ass, trying to get him to move. Then he did, working his fingers into her, his thumb snagging her clit as he moved, the sleeve of his coat tickling her inner thigh.
The heat felt just like it should. All warm and encompassing and not what she needed, but that changed as he began to move faster.
A flicker…
There it was-the fire. Holy. Mighty. Swallowing her whole. But oh-so different from the oil that Castiel had thrown her on to. Not, this was far more like his kiss.
As soon as it arrived, it overtook her. Her body was flushed with it, but the flames didn't show-they couldn't be seen by humans or demons. They couldn't harm flesh. No, these only touched souls, and hers was an impure thing, and they consumed it, greedily.
Meg writhed when his fingers suddenly disappeared, but the fire had no time to dim. Faster than she could follow, he was on top of her. She couldn't see him, but she could imagine what that uniform-those cotton scrubs she'd stared at for weeks-must have looked like bunched at his hips, his vessel's swollen cock lining up with her. And every image in her head was wiped when she felt him push in with one fast thrust.
The fire burned.
She threw back her head, screaming against the sudden onslaught and writhing as he continued to force himself deeper. She could almost feel his grace, filling her, pushing her out of the body. Agony: this was agony, and it was wonderful.
Her muscles tightened around him, and she came with his name on her lips, still shaking, long after he pulled out of her, leaving her cold again.
"All of that thorny pain," he whispered. "Beautiful."
He was gone before she recovered, leaving her on the side of the road, alone atop the Impala. She crawled off on numb legs, finding her seat inside once more. The flames had burned. Had left her weak, too, but not in the ways that would matter in the battle to come; as she well knew, a demon with a cause was always stronger than the rest.
Back on the rack again:
Where she belonged. The thought brought a wet chuckle from her lips. It spilled out, coating her tongue in blood when it turned into a cough. She'd always been told she'd be back on it again, but for a moment, she'd been foolish enough to think that nagging voice in her head was wrong. That she'd escaped it forever.
She wasn't in Hell. That much she knew. Hell she had escaped from so many times that it would have been considered a cake-walk instead of a prison sentence. No, she was on Earth still, in some man-made pit of steam and grease and rust. And, she'd been here long enough to gather that the prophet was nearby, captured again.
Out of habit, she tugged on the restraints holding her body down against the skeletal metal rack beneath her, but they didn't give more than a groan.
"Good. You're awake," a voice said, drawing her attention. Her eyes tracked the shadow moving to her side until the demon came into view again, a familiar sight with his well-tailored suit and well-sharpened knife. "So glad to see you with us again. We've some catching up to do."
Crowley's grin should have turned her stomach, but she couldn't help but mirror it.
"Here?" Meg asked, feigning confusion. "Where your tools are so...limited? Why-don't tell me the King of Hell is having trouble pulling one little demon back down into the pit."
His face darkened, his smile suddenly bitter. "Oh, don't worry, Jehanne-I'll figure out how you've grounded yourself here soon enough. What did you do? Cook up a few more of those silly sigils, like the ones on your necklace?"
Her eyes hardened. "Meg," she corrected. "The name's Meg now."
Crowley chuckled. "Yes. I forgot. Meg." He bent down, eyes level on hers. "Well, Meg. We'll get you back home and in your own private corner of Hell in no time. I'm cooking up something special just for your return…A few centuries with Alastair's replacement should put you back on track, don't you think? Having you kiss my ring will be so much more satisfying than simply killing you."
Meg only grinned back, her teeth stained red with blood. "Not gonna happen."
Mostly because she wouldn't be going to Hell, not any time soon. Demons talked. Especially dim-witted demons left to guard the boss's leftovers. So, she already knew where her purpose could be found, where her cause remained, and it wasn't in Hell. Or Heaven, or Earth, for that matter. But she'd find it again. Soon.
"We'll see," Crowley said. "Until then-" He held the blade up. "Let's have a bit of fun. For old times' sake."
Thank you for reading!