Crowley is a cruel bastard, though Meg didn't expect any less of him. She could see his outline from where she lay on the pavement, shaking and cursing him through the blood in her mouth. The King of Hell coldly wiped the blood -her blood- off his blade and disappeared.
Of course he wouldn't make a clean kill. Of course he'd leave her on the ground, her twisted soul slowly unravelling from the magic of the angel blade. There was nothing left to do but grit her teeth and wait for sweet oblivion, or Hell or purgatory or whatever happens to a demon killed with an angel's blade.
Her eyes snapped open at a familiar sound, a light muffled fwump of wings- angelic wings. She couldn't help but chuckle, a broken, uneven sound as arms tried to pick her up gently.
They were still too rough for her host's broken body and her chuckles broke into gasps of pain, but the amusement never left her eyes. A strong arm propped her up so that she was staring into familiar blue eyes. Castiel.