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

[putuporshutup]

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."

Comments

[putuporshutup]

"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.

[lovemesomepie]

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.

[ofthursday]

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.

[putuporshutup]

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.

[lovemesomepie]

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."