[Detroit!AU: the first to come was a fair maid]

[stilljustandrew]

Jonathan's vision was pretty well unmistakable. Gabriel's in danger, and doesn't know it -- or at least doesn't know the specifics.

That would be enough on its own, even if Andrew didn't more or less owe him his life.



Gabriel's nowhere to be seen at Milliways, and no one seems to have run into him in the past couple of days. Well, and that's normal enough; there's no reason he'd be here all the time, and plenty of reason to make himself scarce, all things considered. Maybe he's just back home.

Please just let this not be too late.

Andrew writes out a note at the bar giving Jonathan's vision in as much detail as he can, folds it carefully in quarters, and writes "The Trickster (G.)" on the outside.

Comments

[mynamesnotmeg]

The first thing she lays out is a set of wrist cuffs.

Then a collar, and a metal chain.

Finally, Meg picks up a smaller box that's labeled as being from a medical supply shop, and turns to pin him with a look.

"I remember your little trick last time. With that Dvasha bitch."

The gloves she lifts from the box are specially designed, with metal-braced foam splints to separate and immobilize each finger.

"Don't think you'll be pulling that one again."

She adds a roll of duct tape, and smiles.

[stilljustandrew]

The cuffs and collar are disturbing, but (he tells himself) not that bad. No worse than things already are.

But the sight of the immobilizing gloves strikes a deep chill into him, splintering what's left of his composure; involuntarily, he tries to draw back, tries to pull his hands protectively to his chest.

[mynamesnotmeg]

"Don't like that, do you?"

She flicks a glance at the guards. One moves up behind him, grabbing him with one arm under each of his, then up and around his shoulders in an immobilizing armlock, the demon's hands clasped behind Andrew's neck. The other two move to his sides, one reaching for each of Andrew's arms.

"Too bad," Meg says, walking toward him. "You're going to wear them. But because I'm feeling nice right now, I'll give you the chance to let me slide them on your hands without fighting. Because if you do fight me, you'll still be wearing them, but I'll break each one of your fingers first."

[stilljustandrew]

His indrawn breath shakes, audibly.

(there's no profit in trying my patience, Andrew)


It's not about agreeing to work for Lucifer. It's not something he has to resist. It's not a battle he needs to fight.

Fight them anyway, one inner voice urges. Don't make anything easier for them. Don't get in the habit of saying yes.

Save the resistance for when it matters, urges another.


He feels cold, and vanishingly small.


"Okay," he whispers finally, closing his eyes. "Okay, I won't."

[mynamesnotmeg]

"Good boy," she coos.

Meg closes the distance between them, tucks one of the gloves under her arm, and holds the other in one hand as she reaches for his right wrist.

[stilljustandrew]

He lets her take his wrist, and holds obediently still.

After a moment he swallows again, and opens his eyes to watch the process.

[mynamesnotmeg]

She's fairly deft at it; either she's practiced in preparation, or she's done this before.

Meg finds a pressure point at the juncture of his wrist and palm and bears down on it hard as she flattens his hand into the glove, laying each finger into its individual channel and squeezing the splint closed around.

A doctor would add a velcro strip and stop there, but Meg wraps duct tape firmly around wrist and fingers until his hand is completely immobilized, then smiles into his eyes.

"There." Beat. "That's one."

[stilljustandrew]

That smile crawls over his skin, and he shuts his eyes against it.




And then forces them open again as she takes hold of his other hand.

He's got to watch what she's doing. He's got to know how this goes together, in case -- in case there's any chance, later --

There won't be and he knows it.

He watches anyway.

[mynamesnotmeg]

She repeats the process on his left hand, then tosses the duct tape back into the cardboard box and steps back to admire her work.

"Very good."

Her glance meets his.

"You're awfully quiet, Andy. What's the matter, cat got your tongue?"

[stilljustandrew]

Andrew swallows.

Barely audible: "I don't have anything to say to you."

[mynamesnotmeg]

"Not yet, maybe," she says, sweetly, then nods to the guards.

"Boys, I think you can handle the rest of this. Entertain him while I go see to our other guest."

[stilljustandrew]

"Other --?"

He bites down on it, too late.

[mynamesnotmeg]

The smile she turns on him is bright and blade-sharp.

"Told you."

She glances back at the guards, then turns and walks out of the room.

[stilljustandrew]

The thoughts that chase through his head are she's got somebody else here, somebody I know followed by she wants me to think she's got somebody I know followed by should have kept my mouth shut followed by ow.

It's not really a beating, just a few desultory blows to keep him from struggling while they wrench his arms behind his back and buckle the cuffs on. The collar's next; one of them takes his face in a bruising grip from behind and jerks his head back, while another fastens it, not tightly enough to give him trouble breathing.

Not that he's not already having trouble breathing, between the pain and the anticipation of worse.

[mynamesnotmeg]

It's several minutes before Meg walks back into the room, and when she does, she's not alone. Two more guards are with her, dragging a boy who looks to be about sixteen or seventeen at most.

Another young woman of similar age walks in after them. The kid keeps trying to twist his head to see her, and the look on is face is one of horror mingled with stark fear.

"Please," he begs; "please, I'll do whatever you want, don't, please--"

One of the guards casually hits him in the stomach, and he loses his breath and his words at once.

Meg isn't giving any attention to this little byplay. She's watching Andrew, searching his face for any reaction.

[stilljustandrew]

There's plenty reaction to look at. Andrew's eyes have widened, and his face has gone pale; the relief that they don't have any of his friends is quickly subsumed under the horror of he's just a kid, what are you doing to him.

He glances at Meg, and then tries to catch the kid's eye.

[mynamesnotmeg]

It even works. As soon as he can raise his head again, still gasping for air, the kid's glance falls on Andrew. His eyes widen, and he turns ash-gray.

"No."

"Shh, don't worry, Joey," the girl croons, stepping around them to the front of the little group -- and at the sound of her voice, Joey closes his eyes, refusing to look at her. A tear leaks out of the corner of his eye and slides down his face.

Meg smiles. "Andrew, I want you to meet Joey and Jenny. They're just the most adorable little high school couple ever, don't you think?"

Her words are dripping with saccharine-sweet sarcasm. Jenny turns her head and smiles at Andrew, giving a little wiggle of her fingers in greeting. Her eyes are jet black.

[stilljustandrew]

And by now he knows what that means.

Anger stirs, fueled by horror and pity and the knowledge that there's nothing he can do -- and a deep, horrible suspicion of what's coming next.

He swallows, and whispers "Hey, Joey."

[mynamesnotmeg]

Joey opens his eyes and darts a fear-filled glance at Andrew. He licks his lips, but doesn't speak.

Meg walks closer, so that only Andrew and the guards holding him can hear her.

"I thought I'd give you a demonstration of what you have to look forward to if you don't agree to serve His wishes on your own. A little preview of coming attractions, let's say." Anticipation fills her words, her glance, the smile she turns on him.

"Unless you'd like to spare Joey here the experience he's got coming and not-so-incidentally spoil my fun by consenting to help now, that is. What do you say, Andrew?"

[stilljustandrew]

Andrew shuts his eyes.

"What are you gonna do to him."

[mynamesnotmeg]

"Nothing I haven't done before," Meg murmurs, leaning closer to Andrew. "You've even seen the effects."

[stilljustandrew]

He can feel the tip of Sam's hunting knife prick his chest, snag in his shirt, rip downward.




"Go to hell," he whispers, without opening his eyes.

[mynamesnotmeg]

Meg smiles.

"Been there."

She turns away and looks back at Joey and Jenny and their guards.

"Sorry, Joey -- looks like Andrew here won't be saving you today."

[stilljustandrew]

At that his eyes snap open, and seek out the kid's face.

"Joey," hoarse and shaking, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry --"

[mynamesnotmeg]

He doesn't even have a chance to respond.

Joey's mouth drops open in shock, and his stunned, uncomprehending gaze fixes on Andrew -- and as it does, Meg nods to Jenny.

The girl throws her head back, and an oily black column of smoke rips upward into the air, coiling into a cloud over Joey's helpless form. The smoke twists around itself, then pours downward and into the boy's mouth, distending his cheeks and throat as it shoves its way into his body.