Seven Devils
Chapter 16 / The Good, the Bad and the Ugly
"And I will tread down the people in mine anger, and make them drunk in my fury, and I will bring down their strength to the earth"
— Isaiah 63:6
Dean couldn't believe he'd just seen himself shoot a guy point-blank. Mercilessly, without a second thought. And no one'd done anything to stop him — hell, they hadn't even batted an eye. What kind of messed up world was that?
Dean's future self shoved him inside a shed an shut the door. His glare was murderous. That was kind of badass, actually, if he could say so himself.
"What the hell was that?" future Dean grumbled.
"What the hell was that? You just shot a guy in cold blood."
"We were in an open quarantine zone. Got ambushed by some Croats on the way out." Dean quirked a brow, asking to elaborate, "Croats. Croatoans. One of them infected Yeager."
"How do you know?"
"'Cause after a few years of this, I know. I started seeing symptoms about a half an hour ago. Wasn't gonna be long before he flipped. I didn't see the point in troubling a good man with bad news."
Dean scoffed, "'Troubling a good man'? You just blew him away in front of your own people. Don't you think that freaked them out a little bit?"
"It's 2014," future Dean told him, his face unsettlingly impassive, "Plugging some Croat, it's called commonplace. Trading words with my friggin' clone — that might have freaked them out a little."
Dean sighed and walked to the window, "All right, look—"
"No, you look." He turned back, throwing a glare at this future self, "This isn't your time. It's mine. You don't make the decisions. I do. So, when I say stay in, you stay in."
In any other situation Dean might've thrown fists with any bastard who told him what to do, even if it was him. But he was right — it wasn't Dean's world, he didn't call the shots. He'd probably do the same if some prick from the past came pissing in his sandbox.
Dean watched his future self walk to the kitchen counter and open a bottle of whiskey.
"All right, man. I'm sorry," he admitted, "Look, I — I'm not trying to mess you — me...us up here," God, that was freaking weird.
"I know," future Dean poured two glasses of whiskey.
"It's just been a really wacky weekend."
He put the drinks on the table, "Tell me about it."
Dean took a sip of the whiskey. Well, at least they had't fucked up alcohol in this time. "Hey, so, uh...Marlene's kid, Robby?"
"What about him?" future Dean asked gruffly.
"Well, nothing. Except he called me 'uncle Dean'."
"Did he?"
Dean frowned, thinking about the kid's dimpled smile and his chestnut curls...wait a minute — "How old is he?"
"He's five."
Me and Sam, we haven't talked in — hell, five years. Dean went very still, realisation hitting him like a truck. His brother had a kid. Sam had a kid. With Marlene. And he'd died before he could even see him grow up.
"Did he know?" Dean asked gravely.
"No. He didn't." There was a prolonged moment of silence before future Dean spoke again, "Alright, enough of that melodramatic bullshit. We've got a mission."
God, he was an asshole. "And what is it?"
He set the glass on the table and pulled out a gun. The gun.
Dean's eyes winded, "The Colt?"
"The Colt," his future self replied with the shadow of a smirk.
"Wh — Where was it?"
"Everywhere. They've been moving it around. Took me five years, but...I finally got it," he put the gun back and picked up his glass, raising a toast, "And tonight — tonight, I'm gonna kill the devil."
𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐
Pastor Wilkinson's house was perched atop a small hill just outside Tyro. It looked like one of those colonial farms that had grown rather abandoned over the years and failed to maintain the same splendour. The white paint on the wood had chipped, the soil unploughed and covered with dirty, burnt grass.
Sheriff Dickson turned off the engine, "Here it is."
The noise must've alerted the Wilkinson's to the arrival of unexpected guests. A man in his late fifties walked out to the porch, a clerical collar peaking out from his black shirt — so, that had to be the pastor.
Dickson got out of the car. Marley and Sam followed after him. "Father Wilkinson," the sheriff greeted, taking off his hat.
"Good evening, Sheriff Dickson," the old man greeted, "Who are your friends?"
"That'd be agent Broderick and his partner Miss Livingston." Sam and Marlene smiled in unison when the pastor looked at them, "Their car broke down on the way to Ohio, brought it over to Rory's. They've decided to stay and help with the investigation."
Father Wilkinson's face grew despondent, "Ah, yes. Poor Charlie...it's a tragedy, what happened," he nodded gravely, "That's very kind of you to stay, agent Broderick, Miss Livingston. Is there any way I can help?"
"You got a spare room, Father?" Dickson asked.
"We'd be very grateful," Sam added.
The pastor gave them a warm smile, "Why yes. Yes, of course. I'd be happy to welcome you in my home."
"Thank you," said Marley, "We really appreciate it."
"No need. It's the least I can do."
"Alright, so that's settled" Sheriff Dickson walked back to his car and turned to Sam and Marley, "I will see you tomorrow, agent Broderick, Miss Livingston," he nodded at the pastor, "Father."
"Won't you join us for dinner, sheriff?" Father Wilkinson asked.
"'Fraid I'll have to decline, Father. Thanks for the invitation," the sheriff donned his shiny hat and got into the cat. The old man saw him off with a wave until the police car disappeared behind the hill.
Pastor Wilkinson led Sam and Marlene into the house and closed the door. It was actually pretty nice inside: dark wooden tiles lining the floor and walls filled with icons, the smell of frankincense and something that Marlene unmistakably identified as cookies — she'd recognise the scent anywhere. There was a grand wooden crucifix in the hallway that made her jump a little — Marley'd never seen Jesus so close.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Father Wilkinson asked, mistaking her shock for admiration.
She blushed a little, "Oh, yes. It's...magnificent."
"Father?" a gentle voice came from the living room. A girl followed after it, her big green eyes landing on Sam and Marlene, "Oh, hello." A few seconds later she was joined by two other green-eyed blondes — they all looked practically the same.
"Allow me to introduce my daughters," Father Wilkinson said, "This is Alexandra, Tiffany and Meghan. Girls, say hello to agent Broderick and his companion Miss Livingston. They are going to stay with us for a few days." The three sisters graced the guests with modest, welcoming smiles. "Alex, dear, why don't you show our guests to their rooms?"
"Of course, father," the girl nodded and flashed Sam and Marlene a gracious smile, "Follow me."
Alex, the oldest one from the bunch, Marley suspected, led them to the second floor. The air was a bit stuffy there and had a strange smell to it. It wasn't surprising though, with the entire house being so old. It seemed Father Wilkinson wasn't much of a handyman.
Alex opened a door to one of the bedrooms, "Here's your room, Miss Livingston," she said, "And yours, agent Broderick, is just down the hall."
"Thanks," Marley told her.
Sam nodded, "Yes, thank you for allowing us to stay in your house."
"You're very welcome," Alex beamed, "Dinner will be ready soon. I hope you'll join us."
"Of course," he assured her with a dimpled smile. Marley caught herself staring and instantly looked away.
"I'll let you settle in now." Alex went down to join her sisters, leaving Sam and Marlene to their own devices.
Marley walked inside the room and dropped her bag to the floor, "Well, I feel protected already," she noted sarcastically, looking at the myriad of icons, and plumped down on the bed, "So. What do we now? Was it a vampire?"
Sam closed the door, "Probably, but...it's strange."
"Why? Bites on the neck, body drained of blood? Sounds sucky to me."
"Yes, but it's a small town," Sam said and walked over to the window. He turned to Marley, "If a vampire lived here, deaths like that would be a regular occurrence. The sheriff said that nothing like that'd happened before."
"Could be someone new in town. Or...or just passing through? Did the deed, fled the scene."
Sam's brow furrowed in thought, "Yeah, possibly. We'll have to see the body to be certain." Marley blanched a little when he mentioned that. Sam frowned, "Assuming you're okay with that?..."
Marlene bobbed her head with much more enthusiasm than she was feeling, "Absolutely. Can't wait."
"Alright," Sam said slowly. He didn't seemed much convinced, "I'll see you at dinner."
"Yeah. I'll be there," Marley smiled. As soon as Sam left the room, the smile turned into a grimace of humiliation, "'I'll be there'? Jesus..." The icon of Christ the Saviour was looking down at her from the wall. Marlene narrowed her eyes at him, "I thought you weren't supposed to judge."
God didn't reply.
𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐
Dean watched little Robby and Castiel from afar. The angel — ahem, former angel — sat on a stack of storage boxes while some military guys loaded the others in the trucks. They were already preparing for the mission that Dean still knew very little about.
The kid hadn't lied when he'd said he didn't have any friends. Why else would he hang out with a junky fallen angel? Dean should really discuss that with Marlene. God, he couldn't believe he'd just thought that. Robby wasn't his nephew. Even if he was, technically. Whatever, he sure as hell wasn't his responsibility.
The kid was talking about something very animatedly, showing Castiel his rubber dinosaurs. The angel nodded, smiling, giving Robby his undivided attention. Dean squinted his eyes at the scene and walked up to them, against his better judgement.
"Uncle Dean!" Robby exclaimed excitedly, unbothered by Dean's grim, slightly stumped face. He turned to the angel, "Castiel, it's uncle Dean!"
Cass smiled at him, "Yes, it is, Robby. You came to play with us, Dean?"
Dean narrowed his eyes at the angel, "No. A word, Cass?" Castiel sighed and stood up from the pile of boxes, following Dean to the side while Robby kept playing with his dinosaurs. He made a strange roaring noise. Dean pursed his lips. "So...Robby's Sam's kid."
"Yes," Cass replied even though it wasn't really a question.
Dean shuffled restlessly, arms crossed over his chest, "And he and Marlene..."
"Should I really tell you how it works?"
Dean glared at the angel. He was really starting to miss the old, less smartass version of him, "What's my deal in all of this?"
"Your deal?" Castiel asked, perplexed.
"Not mine. His. The other me, the Private Ryan," Dean was getting tired from this crap, "Why does Marlene hate him? What did he do?"
"I think you need to ask her that."
"Well, I'm asking you," Dean said gruffly.
"Look, Dean," Cass stepped closer to him, "You and Marlene are not exactly best friends here. You did some crappy stuff, man, and it's not for me to tell. Just go and talk to her."
"Uncle Dean!" Robby called, beaming, "Come see my dinsars!" Dean could tell that the kid had a hard time spelling the word.
"He loves dinosaurs," Castiel told him.
"Of course he does," Dean muttered.
With a pointed look at Cass, he came over to Robby and crouched down to look at his toys. The boy began pointing to each of them and telling Dean their names and how all of them had died millions of years ago. Dean thought it made perfect sense that Sam's kid had memorised all those useless facts. He remembered how his did the same thing when they were little, stuck in motel rooms with their father gone for weeks. Sam would read whatever magazines they had at the front desk and then relay all of it to Dean, even though he couldn't be bothered to listen.
"So, Robby," Dean said, interrupting his fascinating lecture about velociraptors, "Do you know what happened to your dad?" Castiel gave Dean a pointed look.
Robby nodded, pitching two dinosaurs against each other, "Yes. Mommy told me."
"What'd she tell you?"
"That daddy died saving the world," he replied with a sweet lisp, "Mommy said he's in a better place now, like dinsars. Risa said that he's in Heaven because that's the bestest place ever but I know he's not in Heaven, that's just silly."
Dean frowned, "Why's that silly, kiddo?"
"Because angels are bad. Mommy says so," Robby replied airily, "My daddy became a dinsar and he's going to eat the devil."
Dean laughed. That's about right, "Your mommy told you that, too?"
"No," Robby shook his head innocently, "Daddy did."
Castiel and Dean both tensed, exchanging wary looks, "You talk to your dad?"
"Yes," the boy said, "He always comes to wish me good night."
𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐
Marlene wasn't used to family dinners. To dinners in general, really. It was always just her and her dad, who couldn't commit to sitting at a table for more than fifteen minutes. He had essays to grade, books to write, researches to do. People like that didn't waste time on food. Not on eating it and definitely not on cooking it.
So Marley's idea of dinner was a microwaved version of whatever their housekeeper Sona left in the fridge before going home. Where she'd share a meal with her big, happy family. Marlene didn't quite know how to act with big, happy families. Which was probably why she was feeling so uncomfortable right now, looking at the plateful of food in front of her.
The Wilkinsons sure didn't do things lightly. The table was packed with so much food, it was like Thanksgiving met Christmass, they hooked up and had a baby on Easter. Glancing at Sam, Marley was pretty sure he shared her bewilderment. But since none of them hadn't had much to eat all day, they decided not to count their blessings.
"This looks...amazing, Father Wilkinson," Marlene told him.
"My daughters are incredible cooks," the man said proudly, "I hear Meghan even made an apple pie for dessert." The girl smiled and lowered her eyes, the picture of modesty.
Marley and Sam took their forks to dig in, but stilled half-way through, noticing that no one was touching the food. Father Wilkinson stretched out his arms, "Let us say a prayer to thank the Lord for the gift he bestowed upon us."
It took everything in Marlene not to snort, and the effort hadn't gone unnoticed by Sam. His mouth twitched a little, and he cleared his throat to suppress the urge to smile. Marlene took his hand — it was warm and soothing, coming in stark contrast with the hand of Alex. It was so cold, Marley felt the urge to pull it back. Her eyes caught something shiny on the girl's wrist — there was a beautiful bracelet wrapped around it, like a vine made of gleaming brass — the same one Tiffany and Meghan were wearing. It looked fascinating.
Everyone at the table closed their eyes, and the pastor began his prayer, "Our Father in Heaven, we give thanks for the pleasure of gathering together for this occasion. We give thanks for the pilgrims you have brought to our doorstep. For this food prepared by loving hands. For life, the freedom to enjoy it all, and all other blessings. As we partake of this food, we pray for health and strength to carry on and try to live as You would have us. This we ask in the name of Christ, Our Heavenly Father. Amen."
"Amen," Meghan, Alex and Tiffany said in unison.
"A-Amen," Sam and Marlene added hurriedly and opened their eyes.
"So, Agent Broderick, Miss Livingston, would you tell us your names? I think it would save much time," Father Wilkinson joked heartily. His daughters laughed.
Sam smiled sheepishly, "It's, uh, Matthew. Matthew Broderick."
"Ah," the pastor nodded, "A good biblical name. And you, miss?"
"I'm Emily."
"Well, it is a blessing to have you in our home, Matthew and Emily," the pastor took the cutlery and dug into his plate, "Please, do enjoy the food."
Marlene didn't need to be told twice. God, she had to give it to the Wilkinson sisters — the food was absolutely devine. She wished she could cook like that at their age, because the only thing Marlene could put together back then was a pack of Mac and Cheese. It turned out the girls were two years apart each, with Alex being the oldest at 20 — the woman of the family. Father Wilkinson'd told them that his wife Anna had passed away ten years ago, and his daughters and God had been the only light in his life ever since.
"Our father tells us you work for the FBI?" the youngest sister, Meghan, asked.
Sam nodded, "Yes."
"It must be so dangerous, your job," Tiffany spoke, her doe-like green eyes wide with concern.
"Uh...yeah, it can be, sometimes."
"And it brought you to our town?" asked Alex.
"We were just passing through, heading to Ohio," Marley answered, even though the question was very clearly directed at Sam. As all the attention at the table, it seemed, "Our car broke down in the middle of the road."
"I believe it was God's will," Father Wilkinson said, "He heard our prayers."
"God and his mysterious ways," Marley mumbled into her glass of lemonade. Damn, it was good.
Alex nodded, agreeing with her father, "Yes, it was awful kind of you to offer your assistance, agent Broderick."
"What a terrible accident," Tiffany mumbled, "Poor Charlie."
Sam frowned, "You believe it was an accident?"
"We hope with all our hearts that it was," the pastor replied, "I can't bear to think about the evil that might dwell in our town otherwise."
"Did you know Charlie well, Father?" Marley asked.
Father Wilkinson's face assumed a wistful expression, "I baptised the boy. Nice, God-fearing family. They visited church every Sunday," he sighed, "Little Charlie grew a bit troublesome in his teenage years. His mother, dear Liza, often asked me to pray for his soul since he had no regard for it. Sad," the pastor shook his head, "Very sad."
"What do you mean by 'troublesome?'" Sam wondered.
"Charlie and his friends were bad news," Meghan replied tentatively, blushing under Sam's attention. Marley suppressed the urge to roll her eyes, "They...they would steal liquor from old Lenny's shed, then go into the forest and get drunk."
Marlene frowned — Charlie's body was found in the field behind his farm..."Did Lenny know about it?"
Alex scoffed, "Oh, he gave it to them."
"Alexandra," the pastor intoned reproachfully.
Marley thought she noticed a scowl on her face when she lowered her eyes, "Sorry, father."
Father Wilkinson put down his cutlery and padded his mouth with a cloth, "Whatever happened, we should all pray for Charlie and his family. May God rest his soul."
If only God gave a shit, Marlene thought. When she looked up from her plate, she saw Alex glaring at her father.
𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐
The Colt was lying on the table like a freaking centrepiece, Cass, Marlene, Dean, his asshole future version and its pissed-off booty call Risa gathered around it.
"So, that's it?" she said, highly unimpressed, "That's the Colt?"
The future Dean nodded, "If anything can kill Lucifer, this is it."
"Great. Have we got anything that can find Lucifer?"
He levelled her with a bored, slightly annoyed look, "Are you okay?"
"Oh, we were in, uh, Jane's cabin last night," Dean hurried to his own help, unbothered by Risa's murderous glare, "And, apparently, we and...Risa have a connection," he gave himself a meaningful look.
Marlene rolled her eyes and sighed — it didn't want to be in that room in the first place. Castiel giggled into his whiskey, and Dean 2.0 looked about done with his idiotic counterpart from the past.
"You want to shut up?" he growled.
Dean raised his hands in surrender. He looked over at Marley and frowned — she was just sitting there, doodling something in a journal, seemingly oblivious to the conversation.
"We don't have to find Lucifer. We know where he is." That made her look up. "The demon that we caught last week, he was one of the big guy's entourage. He knew."
Risa quirked a sceptical brow, arms crossed, "So, a demon tells you where Satan's gonna be, and you just...believe it?"
"Oh, trust me," Dean 2.0 smiled, extremely self-assured, "He wasn't lying."
"And you know this how?"
Everyone turned to Marlene who hadn't made a single sound the entire time. Future Dean stared at her, his face unreadable: was he angry? Annoyed? Dean couldn't tell. But it was obvious that Marley would take no bullshit from him, waiting for the answer with a raised brow.
"Our fearless leader, I'm afraid, is all too well schooled in the art of getting to the truth," Castiel droned.
"Torture?" Dean's brows shot up. He rose from his place and walked loser to the table, "Oh, so, we're — we're torturing again." The other Dean shot him a murderous look. "No, that's — that's good. Classy."
Castiel laughed and caught Dean 2.0 glaring at him, "What? I like past you." Marlene scoffed, earning yet another scowl.
Fed up with their antics, future Dean smacked a map on the table and cut to the chase, "Lucifer is here," he pointed to the circled district. Marley put away her journal and walked closer to get a better view. "Now. I know the block and I know the building."
She shot him a disbelieving look, "Have you completely lost your mind, Dean?"
"Oh, good," Castiel noted sarcastically, "It's right in the middle of a hot zone."
"Crawling with Croats, yeah," Dean 2.0 said casually, looking at Marlene, "You saying my plan is reckless?"
"It's a suicide mission."
"Are you saying we, uh, walk in straight up the driveway, past all the demons and the Croats, and we shoot the devil?" Cass asked, his voice drenched in sarcasm.
All of which had gone right past Dean's ears, "Yes."
Marley let our a derisive little laugh, stepping away from him, "Unbelievable."
"Okay," Castiel said thoughtfully "If you don't like, uh, 'reckless', I could use..." he shrugged, "'Insouciant', maybe?"
"Are you coming?" was all Dean had to ask.
Cass sighed, "Of course. But why is he?" he looked back at past Dean, "I mean, he's you five years ago. If something happens to him, you're gone, right?"
Dean 2.0 folded the map, "He's coming," he said, leaving no room for arguments.
"O-kay," Castiel said slowly and rose from his seat, "Well, uh. I'll get the grunts moving." Marley followed him and Risa out of the shed.
"Marlene?" future Dean called.
She stopped and looked back at him, extremely reluctant, "What?"
"Take him somewhere safe. In case this whole thing blows up — "
Marley's impassive face grew ferocious "Are we done here?" she asked cooly.
Dean sighed, "Marlene..."
"We're done here," she muttered and left the shad, shutting the door behind her.
𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐
While the entire house was peacefully dream-hopping, Marlene stayed vigilant. She hoped to chase away the sleep with the sheer force of her stubbornness, and it worked. For the first couple of hours. Marley thought about her conversation with Sam and his annoying refusal to have an argument. God, she wanted to grab Sam by his enormously wide shoulders and shake some sense into his head. What an absolute idiot. Speaking of his head and his face — he seemed to have charmed the pastor's daughters. Although Sam was too oblivious to his own good looks sometimes. Marley suspected that if Dean'd been here, he wouldn't lose any time. Time...time...
Marlene blinked away the drowsiness. How late was it? She really couldn't tell. There's no clock in the room, only icons upon icons upon a crucifix. It's like Marley was floating in time and beyond it, or so thought her sleep-deprived brain. She felt betrayed by her own body — what about all the sleepless nights they'd shared, stuck in the library? She really thought they'd meant something.
Damnit.
Marlene let out a frustrated growl and rolled to the other side where the pillow was much colder. At least that was nice. Very nice, actually. No, she couldn't get comfortable. Because once she got comfortable, she'd inevitably close her eyes and...
...what was that? Nuh-uh, she couldn't sleep. He'd be there —
— but maybe just a moment? A few minutes, tops...
Marley could feel her consciousness slipping into oblivion, her exhausted body finally relaxing into the soft mattress and crispy linen that smelled of lavender. She hugged the pillow and let out a blissful sigh, all troubles of the past week forgotten.
Marlene thought she heard a sound, but it was too far away. Oh, whatever. A rustling, a hiss...her skin tingled, hairs standing on end. Only Marlene couldn't understand whether she was dreaming or not. Was there someone in the room? —
"Awe!" she was jolted awake by the sudden pain in the neck. What the hell?
Marlene lifted a hand to the burning skin and felt something sticky on her fingers — it was blood. With a deep frown and her heart thumping with worry, she sprung from the bed and hurried to a little mirror on the wall. Marley collected her tangled hair and threw it over the shoulder. And when her eyes fell on her neck, she stilled.
Through the blood, Marlene could see two punctures.
Red, angry bite marks in her skin.
Hey guys!
Soooo any theories? Still think it's a vampire?
And yes, Robby is Sam's son. And his full name is Robert...ring any bells?
Thank you for commenting! It sure keeps me young and inspired! Chapter 17 is almost finished, so I guess I'll see you soon ;)
xxx, marie