Marguerite's chest had been aching since late last night. She'd awoken from her sleep sometime around midnight by a violent, searing pain radiating from her chest and the mark on her hip. The pain was consuming; it stole the air from her lungs, and left her gasping like a fish on a dock. The part of her brain still capable of rational thought feared that she was in the middle of a heart attack, and without Gabriel there to help her she was in a world of trouble. Her fingers clawed the delicate skin of her chest without her consent, as if they were trying to pull the pain out of her body.

As suddenly as the pain attacked, it faded. The searing pain radiating from the center of her chest faded to a dull ache, and the violent burning from Gabriel's mark faded to an annoying twinge. Almost like a sunburn that wasn't sure it wanted to blister. In the absence of pain a startling emptiness formed. The emptiness was nearly as excruciating as the pain; it formed a hollow void inside her, left her feeling cold and terrified.

She crumpled to the floor fighting tears as the emptiness continued to consume her. She was so empty; she feared she'd never fill the void. She'd stayed like that through the dark of night, even past the speckling of light that shone above the never-ending horizon.

Convincing herself to go to work had taken ages. She'd spent the entire day rubbing her chest in a desperate attempt to disperse the stinging ache that had settled there. She'd plastered on a fake smile, and taught all her classes with an award winning disposition. It took all her willpower to actually stay throughout the day, no matter how much she loved her students.

Now she just wanted to go home. She wanted to lie down and call Gabriel to her. Wanted him to hold her, and tease her, and be his usual annoying self. She wanted him to quell the lingering emptiness that had taken root in her soul. And hey, he might even bring some gummy bears this time.

She was barely able to get herself home without wrecking her car, and the fact that she actually made it to her little driveway in one piece astounded her. She turned off her little car, aptly named Loki, and stared at the wheel. She was completely unable to convince herself that moving into her house was necessary. She felt so brittle, like the smallest gust of wind could shatter her to little bits. She couldn't shake the nagging voice in the back of her mind that something was wrong. Like the earth wasn't spinning in the right direction.

Marguerite finally dragged her body out of the car and into her cozy little house, but only after a ten minuet prep talk and some pretty exaggerated self threats. She walked in shakily and collapsed onto her ugly, purple couch in a boneless heap. She didn't even bother to check the devil's trap hidden under her rug, her lover was an archangel; if she really needed help it was a thought away.

She let her head fall back onto the couch arm with a dull thump and pushed unruly auburn curls out of tired brown eyes. She felt so disassociated, like she wasn't even in her own body. The apathetic numbness creeping along her skin scared her far more than she cared to admit, and she decided it was high time she called her favorite archangel to her for some long overdue snuggle time. She closed her eyes and called out to him silently, praying as loudly as she could. She felt so off, and she knew without a doubt that Gabriel could fix her easily.

Endless minutes passed and nothing happened. Dread curled inside her heavily, twisting her insides painfully and leaving a burning trail from her chest to her stomach. She sat up slowly, looking around the room warily. Marguerite half expected Gabriel to pop out of nowhere, signature shit eating grin plastered all over his smug ass face.

"Gabriel?" The silence pressed in on all sides and with it the emptiness that she had tried to ignore. It grew rapidly, crushing her until her chest roared with pain, and she saw her vision swim as the room swirled around her.

Dull rapping broke through her haze, hazy brown eyes shifted to zero in on her front door blankly. She couldn't find the necessary drive to get up and answer it, couldn't even remember why answering a door was so important in the first place.

Muted voices carried through the solid wood, and she half listened apathetically. She couldn't make out any words, but the voices were distinctly male, and just as distinctly unfamiliar. The door handle began to turn slowly, and she was suddenly alert, the threat of danger snapping her out of her apathetic haze completely. She kept her posture relaxed, but instantly tensed to run; no way in hell was she getting overtaken by some stupid burglars today.

The door swung inward slowly, revealing two men who looked inside her house cautiously. She saw the glint of a knife protruding from the waistband of the taller one's pants, and her mind screamed in panic. Demons. They had to be demons, because why the hell else would they have a runed knife? The tall one had shaggy brown hair, and strangely empathetic eyes, his shorter partner seemed to resemble him, but his face was harder like he was prepared to do a job no matter what it took to finish it.

"You know," she adopted the arrogant tone that Gabriel had perfected and smirked viciously when both men jumped at the sound of her voice, "most people wait for someone to answer the door before coming in."

The tall one let loose a sheepish grin, and his partner rubbed the back of his head with an air of nonchalance. They closed the door silently, effectively trapping her in the room with them. Not that she minded, she knew if push came to shove she could easily escape...maybe. They crossed the trap easily and she relaxed just a fraction, not demons then.

"Are you Rita?" The shorter one spoke first, and she felt an irrational stab of annoyance at hearing that name cross a stranger's lips so casually.

"Marguerite," Because hey, she still had her pride, and that name was only for Gabriel.

The taller stranger seemed to understand her dilemma, a knowing look crossed his face, "I'm Sam and this caveman," he motioned to the man beside him who let out a lazy wave, "is my brother Dean. Gabriel sent us to get you."

"Oh did he now," she didn't even bother to hide the disbelief that ran rampant in her voice. They wanted her to believe them and they were going to have to give her more than 'Gabriel said so'.

"Gabriel archangel of judgment, messenger of God, and all around annoying pain in everyone's ass. That ringing any bells?" The shorter...Dean gave her a pointed look, as if he was begging her to argue with him. His look said it would just make his day.

Well damn, not like Gabriel would have told just anyone…"Alright," she was suitably convinced, "Gabriel sent you…" she let the unspoken for hang in the air around them.

The brothers looked at each other uncomfortably, having some type of wordless conversation with their eyes. The look set her on edge, because that wasn't a look off good news, that was the look of world ending news, and she didn't want any of it attached to Gabriel.

Sam pulled a tightly wrapped bundle out of the small duffle bag he carried at his side. He crossed the room slowly with a look akin to someone heading to the gallows. She held her breath as he knelt in front of her and held the tiny bundle out to her respectfully, "Gabriel wanted you to have this," he placed it in her lap softly and leaned back on his heels watching her reaction carefully.

Her head swam and her fingers shook as a small part of her realized what he was telling her. She fingered the bundle in her lap, letting the coarse material drag across her skin, "…wanted?" She knew what that meant, if she looked deep inside herself she'd known since last night, but she absolutely refused to believe it.

"Marguerite…" Sam looked at Dean for support, either unwilling or unable to give her the news himself.

"He's dead," Dean put it into the air bluntly, "Lucifer killed him."

Sam shot Dean a reproachful look, then turned to face her, hazel eyes alight with worry, "I know this is hard," Marguerite laughed hollowly stopping Sam short.

"You have no idea what I'm feeling," tears streamed down her face, hot and painful. They ripped her apart from the inside and God did it hurt. Nothing had ever hurt as bad as this. She clutched the fabric to her chest, letting the coarse material scratch her skin. Underneath the overwhelming, sickly sweet, metallic odor of blood was something much more familiar. The scent of candy, rain, lightning and some musky smell that only ever belonged to one person clung stubbornly to the fabric; resolutely refusing to be swallowed up by death and decay.

The scent was so familiar that she could almost believe he was there. That same scent had clung to her skin and hair after long nights of passion, permeated her kitchen when Gabriel had wanted to make pancakes, curled around her when she just needed to cuddle. The scent had been there almost her entire life, and now all that was left was a stained green jacket.

Something hard was underneath the fabric, poking her skin insistently, begging to be revealed. She unwound the fabric carefully, loath to let the scent dissipate into the air around her. There, surrounded by green fabric, was Gabriel's blade. The dull metal was tarnished with blood, crusting and flaking from the immaculate blade onto the dingy fabric surrounding it. An object that had once hummed with power now lay silent in her lap, reminding her that it's wielder was now gone.

"Oh God…" sobs ran through her against her will, shaking her body, pouring out of her until her throat ached. She was powerless to stop it, just let the grief run through her. She was never going to see him again, never hear him joke around, never feel him curled up around her. He was gone, and all that was left was a dirty jacket and tarnished blade.

Strong arms curled around her and she burrowed into them senselessly, she hardly cared that until a few minutes ago she hadn't even known this man's name. He'd known Gabriel, knew what he was, had talked with him. That made all the difference.

"He wanted you to have it," Sam's voice was soft in her ear, and somehow she got the feeling that he understood what this felt like, "The last thing he did was make sure you were safe. He told us about you, made it clear how important you were to him."

She shook even after the sobs died down, completely unable to keep the shudders from racking her body against Sam's chest. She hurt so badly, an ache that wouldn't fade couldn't fade.

"What uh…," Dean gave her a bit of an uncomfortable look, obviously unused to the female waterworks, "What exactly where you two?"

She took a few shaky breaths, trying to gain enough composure to speak, "B-bonded. We were bonded."

"Bonded?"

"Like," Dean looked at her for confirmation, "Angel hitched?"

Marguerite looked at him wiping tears from her face shakily, "That's an apt description yes. He," she thought about it for a moment, let the question distract her from the pain, "bound my soul to his grace I guess you could say. So angel hitched definitely works, but there's no out to it unless…" she trailed off quietly; unless Gabriel died, and that's exactly what happened.

"How did you know about him? He just…told you?"

Marguerite gave Sam a blank look, completely unwilling and unable to process emotions, "I could see his true form."

Confused silence followed her proclamation and the brothers looked at each other, seeming to hold a conversation with their eyes that went something along the lines of "What the hell?"

Sam shook his head adamantly. "That's impossible, we knew a psychic who looked at a lesser angel's true from and her eyes melted…literally."

"I just," she had stopped shaking now focused on the questions, "can. Ever since I was little, I could see things true forms. Angels, demons, it was all the same. I could see the vessel they inhabited," she looked at the boys and shrugged, "but if I focused hard enough I could see their true form behind that."

"That," Dean gave her an admiring look, "is one bad ass skill."

She tried to smile at the childish tone, but couldn't quite bring herself to do so. She wasn't freaking out anymore, but she still hurt, could feel Gabriel's death as keenly as a knife in her ribs. She had a feeling that aching sadness would never really go away; knew, somehow, that she'd always feel lost without him. She looked at the boys resolutely, there was no way in hell she was going to turn into a weeping damsel over this, if there's one thing she had learned in life it was to shove the sadness behind and push forward, there would be time enough for tears and anger. Someone had murdered her Gabriel, and now she wanted to even the score.

"He sent you for a reason," she glanced at the brothers, clutching the jacket tightly; part of her wondered if she'd ever put it down, "I doubt he would have sent you just to play babysitter."

"What do you know about Revelation?"

Fucking cryptic ass men, and their cryptic ass questions; she really hated it when people answered questions with questions, "What part of Revelation? The bowls of wrath, the seven seals, the prostitute? There are a lot of chapters in Revelation boys and I don't have time to recite every single one of them for you."

"What do you know about the witness?" Sam watched for any type of reaction, "there's mention of a witness in revelation."

She thought back to all the bible lessons her father had given her as a child, he'd always pull her in his lap and read to her from the family bible he'd brought with him from Austria. He'd mentioned Revelation in passing, and her fascination with angels had fueled her research of it later on in life. Most of her memory, however, was fuzzy.

What she did remember came automatically, carved into her head from hours of research and long nights spent with her father, "Und ich will meinen zwei Zeugen geben. Und wenn jemand ihnen schaden zufügen will geht feuer aus ihrem mund hervor und verzehrt ihre feinde; und wenn jemand ihnen schaden zufügen will muss er so getötet werden."

Empty scilence answered her, and it took her a moment to realize she had spoken in German, she was so upset, her first language had flowed off her tongue so easliy, and her mind was so scattered that it felt natural to fall back to it.

"Gabriel said you were a Chinese teacher," Sam gave her an amused grin, "he never mentioned anything about German."
The questions kept her focused, kept her mind off the gaping hole in her being, "My father is Austrian. I grew up speaking English and German. I took Chinese in high school and continued on with it in college," she'd spoken it with Gabriel often, she could still remember how ecstatic she had been to find out he knew every language that existed, "most of my bible knowledge comes from my dad, and he read out of the family bible to me. It was all in German so it's…"

Dean looked at her, "Automatic?" He supplied the word helpfully, smiling slightly when she nodded, "So you speak three languages huh?"

"Four," the boys gaped at her like fish, "German, English, Chinese, and Latin." She snorted at the amazed looks flowing her way, "Please, languages aren't that hard."

"Speak for yourself," Sam pointed to Dean, "he can barely speak English."

Dean shook his head, "Bitch."

"Jerk."

Marguerite felt a pained smile grow on her face, it felt stiff and broken, but it was a smile none the less. She could remember that type of banter; remembered playing around with people she had considered siblings. The idea that anyone could kill their own sibling…ice ran through her veins and tears stung her eyes, she hoped like hell the Devil regretted it. She hoped that even if he won and was able to destroy the earth that the victory would taste of ashes, she hoped that every time Lucifer thought of his victory it was tainted with the vision of his little brother dying by his hand.

A vicious look must have crossed her face, because the brothers both quieted and watched her warily, she smiled weakly, "Sorry, just…thinking."

"It's a bad habit," Dean sat down and stared at her, "So mind repeating those verses in English this time? We need all the information we can get, because to be honest Gabriel left us dick."

Her eyes welled up painfully, "That sounds like him alright," she took a few deep breaths, "'and I will give power to my two witnesses. And if anyone wants to harm them, fire proceeds from their mouth and devours their enemies. And if anyone wants to harm them he must be killed in this manner.'" She looked at them, "Basically Revelation says that the witnesses will proclaim the glory of God, for a few thousand days. During that time no one can harm the witnesses."

"So what, they've got a God barrier?"
She looked at Dean and shrugged, "I don't know. It's not all that clear, just no one can kill them during that time."

"Do you know the angel's version?" Sam stretched out a bit, long limbs barely fitting on the couch, "Gabriel told us a different version. He said it was the correct one, and basically," he gave her a pointed look, "you are the witness. You'll see the final battle between Michael and Lucifer."

Marguerite looked at them like they'd grown another set of heads, because really, her, the witness? The concept is laughable to her and she put forth her best bitch face to show it. There's only so much weirdness in her life she can take, seeing true forms, and bonding with an archangel of the friggin lord filled the quota enough for five lifetimes, "Look…there's gotta be some…"

"There's not," Dean's voice is rough, and for some reason she feels compelled to listen, "Gabriel was pretty damn clear, if we want to send Lucifer back to hell and end the damn apocalypse we have to have you," his green eyes took on a hard glint, commanding like a general, "otherwise we're all fucked," Sam winced at his brother, eyes full of reproach, he obviously wanted Dean to show more tact, "so I'm sorry, but it's time to put your big girl panties on and get used to the idea."

"Who are you two really?" A normal person couldn't pull of that type of tone, hell most soldiers couldn't pull of that tone, it sent chills through her because the only other person who'd used that tone on her had been Gabriel, a small part of her was thankful that she was too busy glaring at Dean to feel a stab of pain, "No one walks in and talks the end of the world like this, Gabriel wouldn't have sent you if you were just two saps on the street, and if you were normal hunters you wouldn't care half as much as you do."

Thick silence enveloped the room, and sparks flew from the glares Dean and Marguerite were sending each other, but she'd had enough practice with stand-offs her entire life, she'd won fights with an archangel, Dean didn't stand a chance.

"We're vessels," Sam's face was pale and he looked nauseous, "Dean is Michael's vessel and I'm," he looked away, his voice hoarse, catching on syllables, "I'm Lucifer's vessel. If we don't stop this, Dean and I," he took a deep breath, "we're going to have to kill each other," he looked at her tears shining in his hazel eyes, "So we really need your help, at least…at least to help Dean. I'm already too lost to be saved but Dean," his eyes turned pleading, "Dean could be okay."

"No one's too lost," Marguerite's voice was full of empathy, because she hated pity, pity was so empty and useless, "Being the Morningstar's vessel," she gave Sam he best school mistress look, "It doesn't say anything about you, there's going to be similarities sure," Sam was looking at her like he was just seeing her for the first time, and her stomach twisted because she'd seen that look so long ago, "but it's about bloodlines, not souls or people. If you were just like the Morningstar," she gestured to Dean with her head, "you would have killed him already, you would have said yes the second you knew. Trust me Sam," she laughed darkly, "I've seen evil. I've looked on the true forms of demons and every other nasty thing you can imagine, and you're just human, flawed and fallen, but gloriously human."

She looked at him quietly, letting the message sink in before turning her attention on Dean, "So what is it I'm suppose to do as the witness? Just watch Michael and Lucifer fight? That sounds pretty damn boring."

"No. You," he cleared his throat, still stunned and grateful for her outburst to Sammy, "you can send Lucifer back to hell, with the horsemen's rings. Gabriel said you're the only one who can open the cage," he held up his hand when she opened her mouth, "I have no idea how. He implied that'd you'd just," Dean shrugged, "mojo it open when the time was right."

"Mojo…right…" she closed her eyes and tried to breathe, she was really close to being overwhealmed, and she may have been a stubborn Austrian, but there was only so much crap she could take in one day. She didn't want to stop talking, the quiet was too empty, Gabriel was always loud, constantly moving or talking; hell if he'd been human she would place money on him being a snorer. The absence of all that life was jarring, the silence was so dead, so wrong in her ears that it made her ache. She was desperately trying to find something to say; anything to fill the God awful silence.

"How did you meet him?" Sam's voice was quiet, and he hadn't looked up at her yet, "How'd you get tangled up in all of this?"

Ask and ye shall receive. She didn't even want to think about Gabriel, didn't want to acknowledge that hole in her chest that burned like acid. Gabriel seemed like such a taboo topic, she'd honestly rather drink tea with Lucifer than talk about Gabriel right now.

"I went to Stanford," Sam seemed to understand her need for words, understand her reluctance to speak, "I was going to be a lawyer."

Dean's face was twisted in pain, like he didn't want to think about the years when Sam was gone. The few years where Sam was his own man, where he had been measured by how well he could score on a test, not how many monsters he could kill in a day. The separation had been hard on both the brothers, but Sam still looked back on most of the time fondly.

"I met this girl while I was there," Marguerite's eyes were burning into him, somehow too focused, "her name was Jessica and man," Sam laughed softly, "was she hot. She was in my English class, and it took me weeks to talk to her. She was so perfect, and smart and way, way out of my league." They had been wonderful years, even if the thought still brought an ache to the center of his chest it was bearable now, like a nostalgic twinge instead of a ripping pain, "I asked her out and she said yes, turns out she'd been trying to talk to me too. We hit it off right away, liked the same things, and had the same values. I was normal around her, you know? Like…" he struggled for words.

"Like you were finally you, and not everyone else's version of you?" Marguerite knew exactly what he meant, knew what he had felt, knew it just as surely as she knew the sun would rise and the earth would spin.

"Exactly," he avoided meeting Dean's gaze, sure his brother was going to hate him for having been so happy on his own, "We dated for a really long time, I moved in with her my junior year and it was…perfect. She had no idea what I had been, and there were only things we could be." His voice caught, it had been so perfect, so serene, and he always felt himself wanting to go back, wanting to have those feelings back, "I was gonna ask her to marry me my senior year." Then everything went wrong, everything fell apart in his fingers, "I went out with Dean to find our dad and," his voice shook, "I got back and I thought she was in the shower, so I laid down to wait for her, and something dripped on me," he could remember the metallic odor, the cool drop of liquid on his face, feel the confusion and slight panic when he took in the red stain on his fingertips, "I looked up and she was on the ceiling, she'd been…killed by a demon."

Everything had been wrong for months after, the only thing he could take comfort in was having Dean at his side, his brother had been there through it all, through all the dumb choices and idiotic decisions. Marguerite didn't have that, and that bothered him, because he had been her, but he'd always had Dean with him, and he wanted her to have something, even if it was just the knowledge that he knew, knew that she needed distractions, knew that she couldn't bear to think about it. He knew that it would all break out later, she could only hold it in for so long; only keep the grief at bay temporarily.

She didn't say anything, didn't open her eyes, the room fell into a pensive silence, and she rolled his words around in her mind softly.

The brother's were about to get up to give her space, "It's a long story."

They stopped, Dean turned toward her, "What is?"

"I met Gabriel when I was five," she cracked open one brown eye to stare at them, "sure you still want to hear it?"

"Yes," Sam sat down instantly, looking almost eager. He'd never met someone with firsthand knowledge of what he felt like, and as terrible as it was to make her go through this he was curious, he wanted to know why. Why Gabriel had chosen her, why she'd let him.

Dean didn't look so sure, "Look it might not be a good time…"

"It's now or never cowboy," she shrugged, "I'm only going to tell it once, but it's gonna be a long story."

Dean frowned before sitting gingerly, it couldn't hurt, and if he was completely honest he wanted to know how the short little bastard had snagged himself a woman like this, because that took some serious finesse.

Marguerite sighed lowly, letting her head rest back against the couch. Most stories began with once upon a time, or some ridiculous shit made to set the listener at ease. She wasn't at ease, had never really been at ease. She certainly didn't meet him in fairy tale circumstances; he didn't sweep her off her feet onto a white horse that would gallop into the sunset.

They'd fought constantly, drove each other crazy, he was an arrogant asshole at times, constantly reminding her that she was inferior, and she was a bitch, letting him know exactly what she thought about his feathery ass. He'd disappear for days, and sometimes they wouldn't talk. It was enough to drive a saint mad, but then there were the times when they would laugh together, he'd hold her close to him, and she'd buy him gummy bears even though he could just snap them into existence. He'd been fascinated by her work, loved watching her write in Chinese, they'd talk about nothing for hours and never get bored, they held each other in the highest regard, slept close at night.

So no, their relationship wasn't perfect; they hadn't been any type of fairy tale, sometimes they wondered why they even bothered. But that's what had made it so wonderful and precious, because they actually had to try, had to work to get into a peaceful groove. How was she supposed to put that into words? How could she really explain exactly what he had been to her?

Because the best stories weren't fairy tales, they were stories like the ones she knew the Winchesters had. You had to work, and fight, and bleed for your piece of happiness, and that's what made it so precious, because you worked for it.

So she started her story simply, cutting out all the Disney crap, and Grimm Brother bullshit.

"I met Gabriel when I was five years old..."