Meg slid out of his grip with an internal sigh of relief. She didn't want to admit how frightened she'd been, just for that moment. These boys always tried to talk before they plunged that final blow, but this time? Part of her had been preparing for Sam to end it, and that was shocking in and of itself. She'd always assumed that if she bought it at the hands of one of these two, it would be Dean wielding the knife. She ran her hand over her throat, smearing the thin line of blood that had formed on the small cut there. The effect was a bit grotesque which was, of course, what she was going for.
"Help you with what?" she asked in obvious annoyance. "Help you get out of here? Help you on whatever crusade you're on these days? Help you find a piece of ass that doesn't have syphilis in this fucking ass backwards part of history?" She held her hand up, streaked with her own blood. "You're not exactly helping me, so why the hell should I do anything for you? There's no other demons here, no Crowley. I'm safe. Lucifer did this for me," she insisted, stubbornly refusing to let go of the idea. "He sent me here to protect me and now you two bozos are here to ruin everything, so give me one good reason I should help you do anything."
She turned her attention to Sam, really looking at him. Looking at his expression, the way he held his body, everything. There was something wrong with him and it was more than the cage, she just couldn't figure what the hell it could be.
"Besides, not exactly being honest share time friends, are we?" she tossed at Dean, pointedly. She didn't expect him to tell her whatever it was he was hiding, but she didn't want him thinking for a second that he could bullshit her.