I'm a maaaan of means by no means/King of the road.

The marine couldn't hear the radio in Dean's car. He couldn't even hear his own labored breathing as the Camaro sped up another notch, his eyes watering as his face sat inches from the asphalt hurtling past at eighty miles an hour.

"How long we gonna keep him tied to the hood of the car?" asked Sam, plucking a french fry from a paper bag.

"Til he tells us why his savings account jumped up a few decimal places after only working one day in Dick Roman's Chicago headquarters."

"We better ask," said Sam pulling out one of the green folders Bobby had snatched before getting shot, "Says here there's a Chicago drop-off scheduled for tonight."

"Anything that might tell us where it'll happen?" said Dean, slowing down and pulling off to the shoulder.

"Roman cut a deal with a local politician, a new piece of legislation that pays for drug addicts to be bused into downtown for rehabilitation."

"Man those farmers in southern Illinois are gonna lose a lot sleep when they hear all the crackheads were sacrificed to an ancient transdimensional lamprey-fish." said Dean, as he opened the car door.

He and Sam stood before the marine, burgers still wrapped in wax paper. "Hungry?"

"Go to hell."

"Can't, they kicked us out." said Dean.

"We're not going to kill you," Sam began, as the marine's eyes widened in horror, wondering if the rumors were true, "We just need to know what sort of work you did for Dick Roman."

"I got kids to feed."

"And you'll see them again soon," said Dean, mustard dripping down his hand, "If you tell us what you know."

The marine licked his lips nervously. "They put out a call for interrogators."

"They needed information from someone?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, this woman they keep in a warehouse on the south side of town," he said, "I don't know how she's even alive. They had a bunch of us switch out on different shifts, we tried everything short of putting a bullet in her brain, and she just laughed at us."

The brothers considered this. "You mind telling us where this warehouse is?"

A few minutes later and they were pulling up in front a four-story structure that could not boast a single unbroken window. A single security car had been placed at the entrance, but a well-placed punch to the neck took care of that.

Guns out in case back-up should arrive, they made their way down the stairs, into an unheated basement where a single naked lightbulb illuminated the woman strapped to the T-shaped table.

Dean grabbed a hank of black hair, until her eyes were level with his. "Hey Meg."

It took her a few seconds to smile, and when she did it was missing some teeth. "You working for Big Fish now?"

"If you mean Dick Roman, no," said Dean, "Why haven't you smoked out?"

"I got this cool tat, wanna see?" she said, nodding towards her left shoulder. Dean pulled back her shirt and, sure enough, an eldritch symbol was branded on her skin, the same one she'd burned into Sam a few years ago, locking her in her body.

"Why are they keeping you locked up?" Sam asked.

"Crowley sent me a few days ago," she said, "He dusted off some old spellbook that was supposed to, I dunno, turn their blood into wood or some crap."

"Did it work?" asked Sam hopefully.

She rolled her eyes. "What do you think?"

"So they're pumping you for information on Crowley now?" asked Dean.

"They're not afraid of him," she said, "They didn't want to risk me getting out and giving you two any useful information, not until the drop-off is complete."

The boys looked at each, confirming their suspicions. "Anything you wanna tell us?" asked Dean.

A little flame danced in her eyes. "Whatcha gonna put on the table?"

"We're not trading our souls, if that's what you mean-" Sam began, stopping when Dean held up a hand.

"What is it you want Meg?"

She looked at him, and then up at Sam. He understood her meaning, and turned to steer his brother toward the door.

"Dean, what are you doing?"

"You don't need to see this."

"What does she want, does she want you to, you know..." Sam said, suddenly remembering her days with Ruby.

Dean pulled up short. "I did a lot of things in Hell, but, and let me make this clear, I never. EVER."

Sam bit back an ugly word, wondering at his brother's hierarchy of unforgiveable sins. "So what, she wants a favor?"

Dean looked around the room, cheap metal shelving climbing the walls and stacked with all kinds of implements. "She has this...thing she likes. Don't worry, give me half an hour and I should be able to get the information out of her."

Sam gave Meg a last dirty look before spinning on his heel and shutting the door behind him.

"I'm amazed he still trusts you," Meg said, "I can only imagine what Lucifer's been pouring in his ear.

Dean ignored her, running a finger along the shelves until he found what he was looking for.

"Ya know, they have some really talented guys here, giving me the once-over," she said conversationally, licking her teeth until they grew back in place, "Hunters, like you. Don't get me wrong, they didn't have your training, but enthusiasm goes a long way."

Dean plucked the necessaries off the shelf and stowed them on the little table by the interrogation rack.

"But really, when you're pouring hot grease down a girl's tits, nothing beats righteous anger." she said, her eyes tracking Dean lazily.

"Just shut up and give me a minute," he said, removing his socks and shoes and stowing them in a corner. Alastair had always insisted on going into a torture room barefoot. You had to respect the craft.

"I'm sorry about Jo, by the way." she said, ignoring his last comment as she watched him shrug off his jacket.

He straightened his tools on the table: a hammer, a knife, and three railroad spikes. The spikes would need to be heated, and he searched around for supplies.

"It's funny, you can tell when a girl's never had a full body orgasm," she said, as he began to light coals in a brazier, "Not sure how I know, must be they smell different afterwards. But I could tell with her."

Flames danced in Dean's face, and Meg could tell she'd hit the sweet spot. She pressed on.

"But don't feel bad, I mean, it was dark and she was concussed, and I can do a pretty fair imitation of your voice once I'm inside of Sam."

He looked up, and it was all Meg could do not to laugh at the look on his face. "What are you talking about?" he asked.

"I wasn't her first, if that's what you're worried about," she continued, a smile playing at her lips, "She'd obviously had a few hunters before. But everything's a head game with girls, and she hadn't learned the trick of it with a man yet. She probably just used them as a slampiece for an hour or two, then got herself off once they were in the shower."

The railroad spikes began to glow red in the fire, little plumes of smoke rising off like penstrokes.

"But it's not the same if you feel like the man's not your equal," she said, "I didn't even have to say much, mostly 'Don't worry, we got away, we're safe now', and she couldn't tear her pants off fast enough."

Dean lifted the first spike with a pair of tongs, a muscle in his jaw working as he tried to ignore her.

"She really wished you could have been there when I got up inside of her."

He shut his eyes for a second, fighting with the image of a large hand tangled in Jo's hair, and then pulled the hammer back for the first strike.

Meg gave out a cry as it dug into her wrist, the bones cracking under the impact. Panting, she leered up at him and said, "Been a while, eh?"

He pulled back for another strike, the hot steel seering the skin until it bubbled and peeled back like cheap plastic, and kept hammering until he could feel it connect with the rack itself, the metal singing higher and higher as it plunged into wood and flesh.

"She really wanted it," she said, blowing her hair out of her eyes as she admired his handiwork, "Sam's so much taller, so she let me do her up against the wall, which, I have to say, is the best position cuz then you can REALLY get inside the girl."

Dean placed the second spike on the opposite wrist, his eyes averted as he gave the head an experimental tap.

"I mean, really in there, another inch and I'd have been hitting entrails. Have you looked in Sam's pants lately? It's Godzilla's tail down there, you're lucky you didn't try a night with her, compared to your brother you're probably hung like a tube of lipstick."

She had begun to sweat, her shirt clinging to her chest as she shivered with pain.

"I stretched her out and shaped her just for me."

The last spike went through her feet, pinning her like an insect.

"I don't think she meant to come, it just happened. Like a sneeze. But when it did, I think she realized who she was really with, and she said your name. Not in the 'Oh baby you're amazing' sort of way, but like she was apologizing."

"You're lying." he said, as he laid down the hammer and began to heat the knife in the coals. He had heard all manner of taunts in Hell, and he'd learned to take them calmly, or so he told himself.

"Fine, don't believe me, ask your brother. If he remembers anything about that night."

He lifted her shirt, and pressed the tip of the blade under her ribcage, his left hand held fast behind her neck, their eyes locked.

"You ready?" he asked.

She wasn't. She had one bullet left. "You know the worst part? She knew you'd see it as rape, and she was afraid that you wouldn't touch her out of respect, or else any sex would be a pity fuck on your part. So I think a part of her really wanted to enjoy Sam, because she knew he was the next best thing."

He slid the knife in a little bit, just to test the muscles underneath. She gasped, her eyes closed as a noise threatened to escape her.

"I swear, when this is over..." he said, leaning in next to her ear.

"Yeah baby, what are you gonna do to me?"

"I'm gonna break every bone in your face."

The knife went in a little more, and she leaned into him. "Then what are you gonna do?"

"Then I'll burn out your eyes and take out your tongue and cut you open from neck to navel."

She bit into his shoulder, but he kept her steady.

"I will fill your heart with spiders." he said, as the knife plunged into her heart.

Her eyes popped open, so black that he could see his reflection in them. "That's right, twist it." she hissed, as blood poured out over his hand.

He leaned in, corkscrewing the knife through bone and sinew, until her body arched against the table and she let out a bloodcurdling scream, his bare feet scraping against the cold concrete as he struggled to balance himself against her demon strength.

He gave her a minute, holding the knife in, as she caught her breath. When her eyes had gone back to normal, she huffed out a little sigh of contentment, and he asked, "Are we done?"

She nodded, and he dropped the blade on the floor, almost flinging it.

"You'd have made a great Roman Centurion." she said, as he wiped his hands off with a rag.

"Speaking of Roman..."

She gave a little snort. "Right. Back to business. The Leviathans made a deal with one of the Illinois senators, to refurbish a subway line that was discontinued a while back, the Black Line."

"Never heard of it."

"You wouldn't, it never ran in the first place. It's all underground, and it's perfect for shuttling men back and forth without anyone seeing. They'll be using it tonight to transport the human sacrifices."

"How do Sam and I get to it without anyone seeing us?"

"There's a back entrance in Rose Hill Cemetery. Ask any homeless guy, they'll tell you how to get in."

He almost thanked her, and instead reached to put his shoes back on.

"You know, out of all the guys in Hell, you were the only one that scared me." she admitted.

"I'll keep that in mind the next time I've got a knife in you." he said, as he let the door swing shut behind him.

Sam looked up, concern writ large on his face as he stood up from a corner of the room. "What happened? Did she say anything?"

"She gave us an in, if we hurry we can get there while there's still daylight."

Sam nodded, and looked down at the dried blood on Dean's hands. "What did you do to her?" he asked.

"Doesn't matter."

Sam evaluated his brother, the flush in his cheeks, the wild look in his eyes.

"Don't give me that look," Dean said, "I'm not the one with the monster fetish."

"Oh come on," said Sam disbelievingly, "Of all the things I've done, all the people I killed-"

"-you killed because you had to, out of self-defense, or because we couldn't afford to let them live."

"Why are you so hung up on the women I've been with?"

Jo's face flashed thru Dean's mind. "Because it points to something worse."

Sam threw his hands up in frustration. "Whatever, can we talk about this while you're driving."

Dean let him walk ahead a few paces, looking down at his hands as the stains went from red to brown. Was Meg lying? he asked himself. Of course, she was born to drive good men to bad decisions.

Did he enjoy it?

Not this time, he told himself. But should a second or third opportunity arise...

"Dean, my clothes are going out of style over here, move it."

"Let me wash my hands dude," said Dean, as he walked out of the warehouse, his head back in the game, "They'll think I killed somebody."