paradisalogs | Forget the hearse 'cause I'll never die [Closed]

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Forget the hearse 'cause I'll never die [Closed]

Who: Meg, Cas, & Dean
What: Patching her up after she gets shot by Silva
When: Nov 1st, some time after midnight
Where: Castiel's room A.K.A. Switzerland
Rating: R for Meg and Dean cursing like sailors and probably graphic descriptions of don't-try-this-at-home surgery & possible related nudity, F for Feels, and A for Angst, B for Bitching, P for Pain, S for Soap-er-natural drama

Meg trudged through the castle towards the clinic, dreading every second of it. She wasn't loving the idea of what lay ahead of her - dramatic reactions, explaining why two clean shots to her chest that were still bleeding profusely hadn't killed her yet, and trying to act like this didn't hurt like a bitch so people would just leave her alone afterwards.

She knew she'd feel better just getting the bullets out, but they were too deep to try to dig out herself without making the inevitable scars that much worse. Not only was she 100% stuck with this meatsuit, she was fond of it, and she'd rather keep it pretty, thanks. Priorities. Speaking of that, maybe she'd grab a shower first.

She laughed a little as she passed a mirror in the hall - she looked like some twisted low-budget Carrie remake that took place during a Christmas pageant. The moment passed all too quickly when she began coughing up blood that dripped down her chin and neck and she looked down, glaring at the ruined costume. Next time she went charging in after a psychopath, she'd be sure to wish up a bullet proof corset for underneath her gown.

Whatever the bullets were lodged in made breathing feel like her chest was being ripped apart. Her own blood was still flowing freely from the wounds, seeping down the front of the dress and mingling with the smear of Silva's. The halo hung sideways and its glow had faded. Red splotches spattered the feathers of her wings and flecked her pale skin.

It damn well couldn't come anywhere near actually killing her, but this was certainly slowing her down more than Meg would like to admit. She took a bad step thanks to her spinning head and swimming vision, barely catching herself before falling flat on her face. She slammed her fist against the wall, venting pain and frustration in a mumbled string of obscenities as she pushed off and kept walking.

Her delusions of grandeur about changing and showering before going to get help were fading fast. The blood loss was hitting her and she felt weak and dizzy as she practically fell out of the elevator on the seventh floor, cursing again as it set in that she really should have just sucked it up and gone straight to the clinic. She needed help, and she needed it soon if she didn't want to be found passed out in the hallway looking like she'd been shot to death. Nobody needed to see that. She couldn't help chuckling again, consequently coughing and sputtering, clutching her chest and wincing in pain.

She really only had one choice here. She loathed the idea of Cas seeing her like this, but his room was right there and she knew perfectly well that he would want to help her. She looked longingly at her own door as she passed it and stumbled towards his, steadying herself against the door frame as she knocked.

"Cas? It's Meg. Open up.

...and don't freak out."

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Fortunately enough, Castiel wasn't asleep.

He didn't actually sleep a whole lot in general, having a difficult time managing it both because his mind refused to quiet long enough to fall asleep, and because whenever he did he was soon awoken by nightmares. Therefore, Castiel usually didn't bother even attempting to sleep until he was so exhausted he couldn't stay awake any longer.

That time hadn't come yet, so he was instead just lounging on his bed and reading a book from the library, entranced by the fairy tale until the knock on his door startled him. Before Meg even spoke he knew it was probably her--only she or Dean would be knocking on his door after midnight--but she didn't sound good. And a warning not to freak out usually meant freaking out was warranted; he knew that much.

He crossed his room to the door in no time, pulling it open and a little stunned by the sight of her. She was a demon, so he knew the injuries were likely not fatal, but they wouldn't be fun either and something twisted oddly in his chest at the idea of her being hurt at all, but he ignored it and focused on the task at hand.

Castiel reached out to support her, carefully guiding her back into his room a bit for safety, and opened his mouth to ask her what happened before he remembered he couldn't talk. He rarely found the loss particularly frustrating, but he did then, because she was hurt and for him to help her he couldn't communicate, but he couldn't help without her telling him exactly what had happened.

He gave a look, hoping she would understand and explain, while he tried to get her to sit down on the bed.

She'd be fine, really, and it was frustrating as hell that the bullets' placement meant she actually needed some help. Meg knew she was just gonna have to suck it up and deal, so she let him guide her into the room and willingly sat down on the bed. She looked up at him, and tried to give a reassuring smile.

"You should see the other guy."

Castiel took his hands away from steadying her long enough to sign a quick reply.

Who was it?

Because human or not, Castiel was entirely willing and able to go shank them for this, and he would. But as much as he wanted to do that, it could wait; he needed to help her first, and though he couldn't tell exactly how bad the injuries were, he knew they weren't anything he was capable of fixing.

He felt another flash of frustration and uselessness; he wouldn't have been able to heal her if he had his powers anyway, because grace and demons don't mix, but at least he would have had a healing ability. Now he was entirely unhelpful, but again, this wasn't the time to be concerned about that. He knew someone who could help, after all.

I need to get Dean.

She shifted to support herself on the mattress and winced a little as she moved.

"Silva, the guy I was looking for earlier. He killed a guy and Beckett - she was a cop back home - wanted to question him, so I offered to bring him in. He put up a little bit of a fight, but he's the one knocked out in a jail cell so I guess you could say mission accomplished."

She tried to shrug nonchalantly and winced again as she felt the bullet closer to her shoulder shift. She barely caught that last part, but she did, and she sat bolt upright and shook her head vehemently, gritting her teeth against the pain. The last thing she needed right now was more of Dean's ungrateful dick attitude.

"No. I'm fine. I'll just go down to the clinic or something. Here, help me up."

She stood up, wobbling a little, and moved for the door again.

Castiel frowned at the explanation--why was Meg involved in catching some murderer anyway?--but he was much more concerned about her reaction. He considered physically trying to stop her from leaving, but he probably wasn't stronger than her like this even with her being injured, and fighting stubbornness with force rarely worked anyway.

So instead he just got in front of her, looking a little distressed--purposefully--and signed quickly.

Meg, please.

Let Dean help, so that Castiel could be sure Meg is going to be fine. He didn't trust the clinic himself, or much of anyone around here, but he trusted Dean and therefore he was the only person Castiel wanted Meg seeking help from. Who knew if the people at the clinic knew what they were doing, even if they weren't malicious?

She could see that she was definitely going to have to explain herself later - which was fine, she knew of all people Cas would probably understand getting in a little over your head while trying to help some friends.

When he cut her off and gave her that look, she rolled her eyes. If it were literally anyone else she would have pushed past them and stumbled her own damn way to the clinic, but it was him. She glared back defiantly for a moment, but it wasn't long before she cracked. Even if she was more powerful than he was now, she was clearly utterly incapable of denying him anything. She gave a defeated sigh and met his eyes again.

"Dammit, Cas. Fine. Call him up here, if you insist."

She winced as she sat back down on the bed, muttering just loud enough for him to hear, in the softer voice that was really just for him.

"And then get over here."

She didn't think she needed to elaborate on that request, but she still gave him her own softer, distressed, almost pleading face.

Edited 2013-11-07 01:48 (UTC)

Castiel was incredibly relieved that she decided not to be stubborn for the moment, helping her to sit back on the bed, giving a firm nod at her words. He'd be back as soon as possible, he just had to get Dean.

And off he went, soon knocking hard on Dean's door.

As soon as Dean had come to his senses, he'd snagged some more food and brought it back up to his room. The Caped Crusader was cool, but he felt uneasy in his own skin after the Castle had convinced him that he really was the Caped Crusader. The Castle didn't need to wait for other people's emotions for power - it could literally instill them in residents. To say that he didn't like that would be a severe understatement.

He was exhausted to say the least after running around every night with even less sleep than usual, but it was these thoughts that kept him awake and staring at his own ceiling. It wasn't much better than watching the alarm clock on the nightstand tick by the minutes.

When he heard the knock on the door, he waited a few seconds before getting up and pulling a bathrobe over his shirt and boxers. It had to be Cas - who else here would really even knock on his door to begin with, let alone in the middle of the night? He ran a hand through his hair before opening the door.

What he wasn't expecting, though, was an expression that was worried for the generally stony-faced former angel.

"Cas? Everythin' okay?"

Castiel was relieved when Dean opened the door, though he was in a rush and therefore even more to the point than usual. He shook his head immediately at the question, gesturing for Dean to follow him; he wasn't going to write out an explanation both because it would take too long, and because he wasn't entirely sure Dean would help if he had the chance to consider it.

So instead, Castiel would just lead him right back to Castiel's room, and hope Meg was still in it.

When Cas took off without catching her pathetic nonverbal plea for a little... ugh, she didn't know, something, she wasn't exactly surprised, but it didn't stop her from pouting slightly. Then again, she had a better understanding of his single-mindedness to find help in that moment, since the castle had just finished mind-fucking her into thinking she was an angel.

By the time they came back, she had wished up a blanket to lie on so she could curl on her side and bury her face in one of his pillows without smearing blood everywhere. She could already feel her meatsuit trying to heal around the bullets and it felt like her chest was on fire, but even with no one else in the room, she wasn't gonna cry about it. Much.

Of course it would be exactly the moment that Cas and Dean burst through the door that she had finally cracked and let out a low groan that turned into a choked sob when she tried to hold it back. Still, she managed to pick up her head and force a smile.

"Aren't you a little short for a storm trooper?"

If Cas didn't even have time to explain, voiceless or not - just shook his head no and beckoned him to follow - something had to be bad. He tried to get an explanation out of his friend on their way up to the former angel's room, but Cas, stubborn as always, refused. He didn't know what to think when he got to the door - and he certainly wasn't expecting Meg inside. Regardless of whatever was going on between them. And definitely not laid out on Cas's bed, what was clearly blood on her and making pained noises. But Meg never failed to deliver on snark, and Dean wasn't disappointed. He glared at Meg first.

"Name's not Luke and m'not here to rescue you," he said, pushing past his surprise that something had managed to hurt her enough to put her out of business for a little while. Then he looked to Cas, clearly annoyed - but not only at his friend. Was he kidding him? He knew what Cas wanted him to do - he'd stitched up enough people in his lifetime - and he wasn't really sure that he wanted to do it. But he knew that if Cas asked, he would. And while he and Meg weren't exactly friends, they weren't quite enemies anymore, either, especially not while they were both trapped here and after the same objective: getting home.

"What the hell happened to you?"

Castiel moved closer to Meg as she looked to be in distress--more so than earlier--but he was hesitant to do much else, as he didn't want to hurt her worse. Again, it was frustrating that he couldn't even try to reassure her verbally, but this was not the time to let that get to him.

So instead, he brushed his fingers gently against her hand for a moment, before looking back at Dean. That was not a happy Dean face, and Castiel felt briefly guilty, but how often did he ask Dean for help? This was warranted, and it didn't seem like Dean was truly angry about it anyway.

Rather than try to explain through writing or signing, he let Meg answer the question while he gave Dean a remarkably good puppy face. He had been learning to emote much better since losing his voice, and how to use it for evil as well as good.

Meg pushed herself up with one hand and glared sideways at Cas for a moment for having left so hastily. She knew it wasn't really fair to fault him for running to get help, but she was just a little on edge. Still, she melted a little when he brushed his fingers against her hand, grabbing it and holding on tightly. She'd have to explain later that she had meant get over here and kiss me because I kinda need it right now but that conversation was so not happening in front of Dean.

She turned to him and quipped back. "What's it look like? A couple of bullets to the chest happened to me."

She rolled her eyes, "I told both of you about this earlier. A friend of mine got literally blown up and the guy who did it practically confessed over the journals. Kate wanted to question him and I figured it wouldn't be too much trouble to go grab him. The bastard shot me. If I hadn't been walking around thinking I was a goddamn angel, I might have been a little more mindful of him fucking up my meatsuit."

Great. Now Cas was Sam's star pupil in the puppy eyes department. To keep up appearances he just rolled his eyes heavenward at his friend, and pretended not to notice Meg and Cas's PDA, because ugh, Meg?

Dean crossed his arms as Meg started to explain herself, still frowning but more in concentration now than in frustration or annoyance. The demon's vitriol was taken in stride. "I thought a couple a' bullets didn't do anything but make you guys laugh, maybe shut you up for a few minutes," Dean grumbled.

"Whatever. I'll patch you up, fine. You owe me." The Hunter shook his head. Despite the fact that he very well didn't, and knew it, he'd still claim whatever he could to hold it over Meg's head. "I'm gonna need a penknife, some dental floss, a needle, and two fifths of whiskey, Castle. Get on it."

Luckily - perhaps the Castle had gotten enough amusement for the time being after the costume mindfuck, thank God - said items appeared on the nightstand next to Cas's bed. At least he could still wish for alcohol, even if the sight of it made him thirst for just a sip. Instead he busied himself with pulling his arms out of the sleeves of his robe so it hung on him like a mechanic's coveralls. There was no way he'd be able to roll up the sleeves so they wouldn't get in the way, but he also wasn't gonna stand in front of Meg in just his boxers because gross, demon.

"Now you," he pointed to Cas, "are gonna make her drink one a' those." He gestured to the alcohol. "And you," he frowned at Meg, "are gonna tell me more about this guy. He's still on the loose, that makes him a problem for everyone if he's gonna be a fuckin' terrorist."

Castiel didn't protest Meg grabbing his hand, though his attention was soon on what Dean was doing and asking for as it was how Castiel could help, though he was listening to Meg's explanation as well.

When the alcohol appeared, Castiel reached for the bottle with his free hand and then held it out to Meg without fanfare, but his look was a clear expectation for her to drink it as asked. He didn't interject into the conversation--he couldn't in any way that was easy anyway--so he just listened, as Dean was covering the subjects Castiel would've mentioned anyway.

She glared at Dean. "I can still bleed, dumbass. You try getting shot twice in the chest and hauling yourself all the way back up from town. And believe it or not, hot brass ripping through your sternum isn't exactly like being licked by kittens."

She snorted at his ridiculous bathrobe adjustment. Like she gave a fuck about his boxers. She'd seen a lot more than that of him in hell. She won't say that out loud, since he's helping her, but she's damn tempted to when he says she owes him one.

"Let's get one thing straight. You don't know this yet, but I spent the last year plus getting personally tortured by Crowley, and trust me when I say it was worse than anything I've ever been through before. It was personal. And it wouldn't have happened if I didn't stick my neck out to help you jackasses break in to Roman Enterprises. I appreciate this, I really do, but let's not forget who exactly owes who something here."

She's seething. She might have been able to let that one slip by under different circumstances, but between the fact that she'd just taken one for the team for everyone in Paradisa and the small detail of her capture, she's feeling pretty fucking entitled at the moment when it comes to Dean patching her up.

"Don't hafta tell me twice," she muttered, grabbing the whiskey and chugging about a third of the bottle before pulling back and wiping a stray drop from her lips. The pain ebbed just a little, and she sighed with relief.

She looked over at Cas, smiling, reassuring him silently that she'd play nice. He wasn't going to have to make her do anything. It sharply contrasted with her tone and expression when she turned back to Dean.

"Yeah, about that - the reason I was in town is that that's where the jail is, and that's where the son of a bitch is already rotting. Well, when Kate's through questioning him, anyway. If he can even still talk. Anyway, trust me, it's taken care of."

She paused, looking over at Cas and then back to Dean.

"What? Someone had to."

"I got a helluva more shots to the chest than this and I still got up from it," Dean grumbles, more for retaliation's sake than anything. "Just ask Cas." He nods at his friend. Though he had gotten some heavenly assistance, after all. The day he died in that hotel room - the day Sam was shot dead before his very eyes, the day he lost the amulet his brother had given him - hadn't been a walk in the park.

She does have a talent for shutting him up, though. He doesn't have anything to defend himself with when she talks about how she'd spent the last year before she arrived at the Castle, but it had been worth a try. His attempt to save face by just brushing her argument off isn't very strong, but he can pretend it works.

While Meg drinks he readies the penknife by rubbing it down with alcohol, wishing up a rag he can use in the process. He snorts when she mentions that they'd stuck him in a jail - he's never been to the town jail, has hardly been to town, actually - but if he's making bombs when the Castle won't let you wish up a weapon, it sounds like putting this terrorist in jail is underestimating what he can do.

He says as much, naturally. "You really think a jail can hold him?" He shakes his head. "Not hard to get out of, easy for him to take advantage of whoever's watchin'. Kate's gotta sleep sometime, and, you, well." All Dean has to do to get his point across is raise his eyebrows.

"Anyway, when did you start caring about people other than yourself?" he asks as he steps up to Cas's bed, ready to dig out the bullets.

Now that Castiel was worrying a little less about Meg after her assurances, he was just sort of giving them both flat looks as they bantered back at forth. Come on, you two. Professionalism.

As the topic changed to Silva Castiel was more interested, frowning a little on concentration as he listened, watching what Dean was doing carefully. If he was human now and has no healing ability to rely on, then he should learn the hunter way of doing things.

He was also just going to ignore that last comment made by Dean, not about to get into the middle of that conversation, though he did roll his eyes.

"Yeah, I bet you have," she purred, but held her tongue instead of finishing the thought with the sentiment that she'd love to shoot him in the chest sometime, too. Cas probably wouldn't let her, anyway.

"Wow, really? Nothing to say? No 'thanks for putting your ass on the line for us, Meg,' no 'Sorry you got tortured because of us, Meg,' huh? Typical." She glared at him and downed the rest of the whiskey in a few gulps, a warm numbing sensation overtaking her. It would only last a little while, but it sure would take the edge off, and she could wish up more as soon as he was done and try to knock herself out, anyway. It wasn't unusual for her or Cas to spend the night together in one of their rooms, but the reason had yet to be traumatic wounds. First time for everything, she figured. Especially between the two of them.

Meg did have to admit Dean was probably right about Silva, but she wasn't worried for the time being. She nodded and replied in a more civil tone, "Well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. I sincerely doubt Kate is going to leave him unattended, even if she can't be there 24/7, but you're not wrong about him."

Of course, with that last little dig, she was fuming again, but she didn't even want to dignify it with a response. He was a little too good at getting under her skin, and she was going to have to learn to ignore his little jabs if they were going to be stuck here together. Joy of joys.

"You gonna make jokes all night or you gonna get these bullets out?" She turned to Cas and looked at him expectantly, because seriously, he could step in and defend her any time now, voice or not.

Edited (i accidentally a word or two. yay cold meds o/) 2013-12-14 16:31 (UTC)

Dean matched Meg's glare, but he looked a little miffed when he saw just how much she drank - it was definitely necessary for what he was about to do, but he was a little jealous that he couldn't have even a sip without getting sick. He respected that she could hold her own, though - demon or not, trapped in a little body like that, the stuff hit hard.

"Yeah, yeah, don't get your panties in a twist," Dean muttered with a roll of his eyes when he was prompted to get the show on the road.

He changed the angle he was standing at so Cas could get a closer look when his friend's interest was obvious. Sometimes Dean forgot that his friend wasn't just a guy in a trenchcoat who had no knowledge of the finer things in life, but Cas's reactions in times like these threw that out the window. Anyone could tell that he wanted to learn how to help as best he could in situations like these so he'd be prepared in the future. Angel or not, Cas was a soldier.

Dean pressed Meg's shoulder down onto the bed so that she was laying on her back so he could more easily remove the bullets. The hunter clinically cut away at her shirt without further taunting, focusing on the task at hand. Removing bullets wasn't the hardest thing he'd ever done, but it required a good amount of concentration.

"That much at once'd prolly give a normal person alcohol poisoning," he explained easily as he worked, unsure of just how much the former angel already knew. "She can handle it, but be careful if it's anyone else. The second one's for disinfectant as we go. Wounds like this get infected easy." The only warning Meg had was a look as Dean opened the bottle and promptly drizzled whiskey on the bullet wounds. The rag he'd used to clean the penknife earlier was then used to mop up some of the blood that was already starting to dry sticky on her. Once he'd done what was immediately necessary, he raised both eyebrows at Cas in an unspoken question, holding up the bloody rag and alcohol.

Then came the task of extracting the bullets with the penknife. "Bleeding's just gonna get worse before it gets better, and it's gonna hurt," he warned. "Get ready to hold her down."

He was nice enough to give Meg more warning this time - even if it was just a nod and a "here we go" - before he began to dig into the first bullet hole to retrieve the bullet. At first he continued to explain what he could as normal, but soon he was just gritting his teeth as he attempted to dig the bullet out.

Sorry Meg; Castiel was not about to get in the middle of things, especially when Dean couldn't understand his signing. There was little to no point in it, and he was pretty sure the demon's feelings weren't going to be that hurt by Dean being Dean.

That said, she certainly looked unhappy, but she was also getting impromptu surgery.

He did offer Meg a sheepish look at her expression, but returned his focus to what Dean was doing. He listened, taking note of everything he said and did, eyes sharp and intent even though this whole thing looked incredibly unpleasant both to do and to have done. He was unsure of what Dean was wanting when he held up the bottle and the rag, but he reached to take them and set the to the side; he figured they would be needed again during the process, and that that was his responsibility.

He then set his hands gently on Meg's collarbones, so as to be able to hold her without obscuring Dean's view or ability to work on the injury, though he was pretty sure he wasn't going to be able to stop Meg from moving if she wanted to. She was the supernatural being in the room, after all; he was just as mortal as Dean, but he would do his best.

Castiel did know, from experience, that digging out bullets hurt.

Meg let Dean press her down against the bed since getting the bullets out was the whole point of this nonsense and she really didn't know if she was going to be able to restrain herself much longer so the sooner they were done, the better. That didn't stop her from muttering something akin to self-centered douchebag under her breath, but it came out a bit slurred and she didn't really have a better comeback at this point, between the pain and the booze.

She gave Cas a half-hearted smile, but when he leaned down to hold her against the bed, her mouth set in a hard line, concentrating on holding him in place so she wouldn't inadvertently toss him or Dean back against the wall like she would probably feel like doing in a few moments.

Meg looked to Dean to give a nod that she was ready, but before she could, she could feel the knife digging in. Her fists tightened around the blanket she was lying on and she only managed to grit her teeth for so long before he dug deeper and a scream ripped out of her, but she managed to stay still aside from a few involuntary twitches that only really exerted the strength her small host body would have.

Dean was used to grunts, not screams, so despite the fact that he expected cussing and resistance from Meg, her scream so close to his ears made him flinch. Thankfully, his hand didn't jerk far enough for his knife to make Meg's wound much worse - it simply widened the hole, which he would have had to do anyway. He grit his teeth again and got back to work, now prepared for more screams. Before long - though to him it felt like awhile, and he was sure it felt even longer to Meg - he'd gotten the tip of the blade under the bullet and was able to slowly wriggle it out. "There's one."

Normally he'd stitch up any impromptu patients at the end, but Meg had lost a lot of blood, even for her. And, let's face it - Dean didn't usually have to dig out more than one bullet, let alone ones to the chest. He trusted Cas to try and stem the bleeding - it's started up again a little stronger now that he's agitated the wound by removing the bullet - while he got ready to sew her back together.

The hunter had given up on wishing for rags, instead wiping his bloody hands clean on the robe around his waist. His closet would make a new one, and he didn't have time to worry about frivolities like whether or not he'd get his clothes dirty. Not that he was concerned about Meg's death. He was just doing Cas a favor.

When the wound was clean enough to sew and he'd threaded his needle with the floss, he patched the hole as quickly as he can. It was slippery work, but Dean was no stranger to it. He muttered a few things aloud about the best way to do it, but he was still pressed for time because of the second bullet, and the explanation is cursory at best.

The second one was trickier to get out - though it was also a clean shot, which he was thankful for, it took a little more doing to get his blade under the bullet to push it back up and out. To top it all off, when it was halfway out on the first attempt, it got stuck and he had to cut a bit more; that just sent Dean into a string of curses.

After what felt like forever, all they had left to do was resterilize and add bandages. Dean pushed a hand through his hair - spreading a little blood through it mindlessly and sighed.

"There. Done."

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Forget the hearse 'cause I'll never die [Closed]

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