Seven Devils

Chapter 25 / Evermore

"And the rest is rust and stardust."

— Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita

Back in her college days, Marlene was an emotional eater. Nothing could help her deal with exam stress quite like a box of cheesy pizza or a good ol' sandwich in the middle of the night. They filled her with inexplicable joy and presented a much needed, dopamine-infused respite from godless days, however, Marley had a newfound way to deal with her feelings — shooting things proved to be just as effective as inhaling carbs.

Her stance had become better, more solid, arms no longer trembling when she took aim — so far, Marlene hadn't missed a single target, firing at each with calculated precision. The cans fell down one by one, landing on the ground with a dull clank. When the last of them was done with, she lowered the gun and admired her handiwork through a thin cloud of dust and smoke.

Dean had walked out to the porch right in time to witness the final reckoning, the bottle of bear frozen half-way to his mouth. His brows twitched together. The hell was that?

Sam followed him outside and frowned, noticing the nonplussed expression on his brother's face, "You okay, Dean?"

"Did you see that?"

"See what?"

Dean pointed the beer bottle at Marlene, "That." She reloaded the gun with a deft motion and went to put the cans back on for another round.

"Yeah. Bobby's been teaching her," Sam said casually.

Dean's head whipped to him, "What?"

"What did you think she's been doing this entire time?" Sam raised a brow, "Knitting and baking apple pies?"

"That would've been nice."

"Come on, man," he shook his head and looked at Marlene again, "She's got to learn to protect herself."

Dean waved him off, watching the petite brunette discard the handgun in favour of a shotgun. He tensed up at the change, but instead of firing it, Marley sat down by the table in Bobby's shed and started taking it apart to clean it. He remembered the girl from 2014 with guns strapped to her legs, a frown forever etched into her cheery face.

"Where'd you learn to shoot like that?"

"Bobby taught me. He was the only one who had the patience."

The memory sent a shiver down his spine. Perhaps, Lucifer had been right, after all, however Dean loathed to admit it. Whatever he did, whatever choices he made or whatever he tried to change, the finish line would always stay the same. Unless he did something about it.

The quiet of the junkyard was disturbed by a grunting noise which could only be made by an old car that'd seen its better days. Sam and Dean watched as a shabby Wagoneer drove through the dingy sign and stopped by the porch.

The sound snatched Marlene's attention as well. Tearing her eyes away from the well-oiled shotgun she was yet to put back together, she squinted them at the car that had just pulled up by Bobby's house. Two women hopped out: one a tall, statuesque brunette, the other a young, lithely built blonde. So that must've been the backup.

After Sam and Dean brought the news about not so mysterious demon in possession of the Colt, the operation "find the bastard" had been set into motion. And no, Marlene hadn't said a word about her unfortunate relation to said bastard, nor thought it prudent to share his deets. That is to say, Marley was lying again and she wasn't sure how Sam, Dean and Bobby would take it, especially since she'd only recently told them that they were now in a lie-free zone.

To make matters even worse — how about that — Marlene's lie remaining a secret depended solely on the discretion of the very bastard they were hunting down — Crowley. Castiel'd been in his full-on Inspector Gadget mode, and it hadn't taken him long to pinpoint the demonic piece of opportunistic shit. A week, to be exact, during which Marley had developed a nervous tick in her right eye and an unhealthy obsession with shooting things to de-stress. Funnily enough, she ended up even more stressed afterwards.

Snapping the last detail into the shotgun, Marlene recharged it and put it away. She wiped her greasy hands on a dirty cloth and made her way to the porch where Dean and Sam were talking to the two women. Sam's eyes instantly flashed to her, "Hey," he said with a small smile.

"Hey," Marley repeated tentatively, trying to read the room before saying anything else. She wasn't usually shy around new people, but something about these Amazons was awfully intimidating.

"This is Ellen and Jo, the hunters we were talking about," Sam introduced.

Dean added, perfectly blasé, "They offered to help us ice Satan."

Both women nodded at her, offering friendly smiles. "That's...really nice of you," Marley said awkwardly, "I'm Marlene."

The older woman, Ellen, quirked a brow, "A hunter?" she had the decency not to look too shocked at the possibility.

"A friend," Marley reassured her.

Jo took out a duffle bag out of the trunk, "Well," she said, shutting it, "anyone crazy enough to be friends with them is alright in my book."

𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐

Somehow it made perfect sense that Crowley'd huddled his scheming ass in a lavish villa and'd had it warded to boot. Sam and Dean might've known nothing about him, but he sure had kept tabs on them, of that Marlene was certain. Crowley was the kind of cockroach that could find his way into every little hole, pull the right strings, blackmail the right people, buy the right souls — he was everywhere. And he just so happened to have an entire network of nasty vermin just like him. Crowley was the Gossip Girl.

"So, what's the plan? Knock on his door and preach the glory of god?"

"No, that wouldn't work," Castiel replied solemnly.

Marlene gave him a blank stare. "Right."

"There's bound to be more demons," Bobby noted from the table, "Notice any?"

Cas nodded, "Two of them by the gates. But there could be more."

"Doubt it," said Dean, "The place is already warded, no point in overdoing it with the grunts."

"But what if he knows you're coming?" Marlene piped up, hoping no one would notice how fidgety she'd been through the entire brainstorming session, "He'd be prepared. You can't just waltz in there the Punisher style."

Sam glanced over at her, contemplative, "Marlene's right. We have to be more careful."

"Is there another way in?" Ellen asked Castiel.

"I don't know. I couldn't get a better look without compromising myself."

"Alright, so we get through the gates and then wing it," Dean said with a highly misplaced confidence.

"You're walking into a demon's lair," Marlene deadpanned.

"Yes," Dean patronised, "And I've got this," he showed off the glimmering steal of the demon blade.

Marlene sighed — it was a suicide mission. For them and for her if Crowley decided to wag his silver tongue a little too much. It was obvious that Sam didn't like that idea much either, but he understood that they had no other way, "Okay, but...how exactly do we get through the gates? I doubt they'll hold them wide open for us."

"Now that — " Dean smiled at Jo. She narrowed her eyes in suspicion, "— is a great question."

𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐

Jo'd done a great job at luring the two demons in. From the pits of hell or walking the earth — men were always the same. She'd knocked them down cold and allowed Sam and Dean to finish the job. Then it was time for the grand entrance.

Armed with a pair of wire-cutters, Jo went to deal with the electricity while the Winchesters were looking for a way to sneak inside the villa. It seemed Dean had been right — there were no demons aside for the pair by the gates, which was both extremely fortunate and highly suspicious. Nothing easy came without a price, and Sam felt like they'd have to pay it pretty damn soon.

The lights shut off right as they stepped into a spacious parlour. "Good job, Jo," Dean noted, tightening his grip on the shotgun. He, too, had an inkling that they were about to step into some steaming shit.

"He's gotta be somewhere in here," Sam muttered, looking around the long corridor. It probably led to the master room — exactly where they expected to find Crowley.

Dean jerked his head towards a rug, "Here." Sam needed no further explanation. Quietly, he lifted the rug and spray-painted the devil's trap beneath it — he was barely finished when languid footsteps echoed through the corridor. Dean hushed for Sam to get back into the postion and he scampered back up, hurriedly pulling the rug in place with his foot.

The steps grew closer, and Sam gripped the hilt of the demon blade, preparing to launch himself at the infamous King of Crossroads. Only the man who emerged from the shadows didn't look half as intimidating as they'd expected, especially to Sam who towered a good eight inches above him.

"It's Crowley, right?"

The demon had a swagger to his step, hands in the pockets of his perfectly-tailored trousers, "So," he stopped, staring at the two brothers. Marlene'd been right — he had been expecting them, "The Hardy Boys finally found me. Took you long enough."

Dean raised the shotgun and aimed it at his smug face. It didn't faze Crowley in the least. In fact, he made to approach them, but halted right before the hidden trap. Sam's eyes slowly lowered to the rug — it was rumpled, the fact which didn't escape the demon's notice. With a suspicious glance at Sam and Dean, Crowley took a look underneath.

He wasn't surprised to see the trap. However, he did look rather displeased, "Do you have any idea how much this rug cost?"

Suddenly, two demons grabbed Sam and Dean from behind. They pinned their arms, effectively disarming them. Crowley ravelled in the murderous looks the brothers were giving him and sought to enrage them even further by holding up the Colt.

"This is it, right?" he said, studying the weapon, "This is what it's all about." A contemplative look on his face, Crowley pointed the Colt at Dean, rendering him still. But at the very last moment, he adjusted his aim and shot the demons instead.

Shocked, Dean gaped at his brother, then at the two very dead men slumped on the floor behind them and, finally, at Crowley.

"We need to talk," he told them calmly, "Privately."

Exchanging similarly wary looks, Sam and Dean followed Crowley into what must've been his study. "What the hell is this?" Dean asked.

"Do you know how deep I could have buried this thing?" Crowley wondered, the Colt still in hand. As soon as the brothers were inside, he slammed the door shut behind them with a wave of a hand, "There's no reason you or anyone should know this even exists, except that I told you."

"You told us?" Sam deadpanned.

Crowley gave a shrug, playing coyly with the weapon, "Rumours, innuendo, sent out on the grapevine."

"Why?" asked Sam, "Why tell us anything?"

The demon aimed the Colt at Dean again, "I want you to take this thing to Lucifer and empty it into his face," he gritted out.

"Uh-huh," Dean breathed, sceptical. Before venturing further, he wet his lips anxiously— he was still at gunpoint, he had to trail carefully, "Okay, and...why exactly would you want the devil dead?"

Crowley lowered the gun, "It's called — " he put it down on the table, "— survival. Well, I forgot you two at best are functioning morons — "

"You're functioning..." Dean frowned, trying to come up with a comeback, "morons..." he tapered off awkwardly. He hadn't really thought that one through.

"Lucifer isn't a demon, remember? He's an angel," Crowley reminded them, "An angel famous for his hatred of humankind. To him, you're just...filthy bags of pus," he reached over for the glass of whiskey. Dean glanced at the Colt laying on the table like a sweet offering, "If that's the way he feels about you, what can he think about us?"

Sam frowned, "But he created you."

"To him, we're just servants. Cannon fodder. If Lucifer manages to exterminate humankind...we're next. So..." Crowley leaned against the table, giving them a hopeful look, "Help me, huh? Let's all go back to simpler, better times, back to...when we could all follow our natures — I'm in sales, dammit!" Sam and Dean watched him, equally suspicious and confused, "So what do you say if..." Crowley grabbed the Colt and held it over to them, "...I give you this thing, and you go kill the devil?"

Dean and Sam glanced at each other, still very much wary. Crowley wiggled the gun as if it were a dog toy. Finally, Sam reached out a hesitant hand to take it, "Okay."

Crowley grinned, "Great."

Well, that was easy, Sam thought and decided to push their luck a bit further, "You wouldn't happen to know where the devil is, by chance, would you?"

The demon squinted his shrewd eyes in thought, "Thursday..." he said slowly, taking a sip of the whiskey, "Birdies tell me, there's an appointment in Carthage, Missouri."

Sam and Dean exchanged confused looks, not quite sure if they were supposed to be grateful for the information or pissed off. Sam nodded, "Great. Thanks," he mumbled, turning the Colt over in his hand in thought. Then he brought the barrel straight to Crowley's forehead and pulled the trigger. Only it gave an empty click.

Sam stared at the demon, shocked. Crowley stared back, a tight, unimpressed smile on his face. Dean watched the entire scene with raised brows. Slowly and awkwardly, Sam lowered the gun.

Then Crowley seemed to have a sudden revelation, "Oh, yeah, right, you'll probably need some more ammunition," he held up a finger and went into his desk.

"Oh, uh, excuse me for asking," Dean cleared his throat. Crowley looked up at him, "but aren't you kind of signing your own death warrant? I mean, what happens to you...if we go up against the devil and lose?"

"Number one, he's going to wipe us all out anyway. Two, after you leave here, I go on an extended vacation to all points nowhere," Crowley was growing increasingly more irritated," And three, how about you don't miss, okay? Morons!" he yelled, red in the face and threw a small case at Dean. It was filled with ammo for the Colt, "Oh, and please," Crowley spoke again, back to his suave voice. Sam and Dean looked up, "Do say hello to the little angelette for me. Tell her I'll be in touch very soon."

And then he was gone, leaving Sam and Dean in a confused stupor.

"Little angelette..." Sam repeated slowly.

As the realisation kicked in, Dean's face drew into a scowl, "Dammit, Marlene."

𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐

Marlene could feel that something was off when the guys came back. Jo, of course, was still buzzed from the mission and having kicked some demon ass, but Sam and Dean appeared too gloomy for someone who'd got their hands on the long-coveted Colt.

But Marley had spent all day worrying and the better half of the year trying to stay alive, and had already had two bottle of beer, so she decided to just...not care tonight. Have a bit of fun before the world went to shit. Or before she kicked the bucket — whichever happened sooner.

Jo proved to be a great drinking buddy, sharing stories of her solo hunts, the crazy chauvinistic pigs she'd met in her travels — which there were, quite unsurprisingly, a lot — and all the times she'd almost died. "Just don't tell my mother," she begged dramatically, "She doesn't know the half of it." Marlene laughed and swore to keep it a secret. She was actually quite proud of herself — after such a long break, Marley thought she'd have the tolerance of a foetus, but she seemed to be holding her liquor pretty well.

"So what's the deal with you and Sam?" Jo asked, taking a swig from the bottle.

"Pff," Marlene huffed, cheeks burning up, "What deal?"

"Oh, come on. He's been staring at you all evening."

She glanced at the corner where Dean and Sam were gossiping, all grim and no fun, "That's because he's pissed at me."

Jo quirked a brow, sensing a story there, "Oh, yeah? Why's that?"

"I have no idea," Marley washed the lie down with a long sip of beer. She could feel Sam's eyes on her again and willed herself not to look, "It's probably just his M.O. All mysterious and...and brooding."

Jo laughed at the apt summary, "I bet you love it," she said slyly. Marlene's blush deepened, because yes, she did love it.

"Okay, okay," she grinned mischievously, ready turn the tables, "What about you and Dean, ha? Now there's a whole lotta unresolved sexual tension."

Jo gawked at her, speechless, then broke into a grin, "Weeell, you know," she shrugged and took a sip from the bottle, "It's just one of those things that are better left unresolved. The foreplay is way too fun."

Marley snorted, "I bet it is." Jo rolled her eyes, a red tinge to her cheeks. Perhaps, it was the alcohol. Down in the kitchen, Marlene spotted Ellen lining up five shot glasses in front of Castiel. "Oh my God," her lips stretched into a broad smile, "It's going to be a disaster."

She and Jo hurried to take the front-raw seats, but before Marley could plump into hers and enjoy the spectacle, she felt two pairs of extremely judging eyes stare in her direction. This time, though, she met them head-on — fuck it. Marlene was pumped with Dutch courage, and she was going to use every drop of it, "I'll be right back," she told Jo and beelined for the little hen party. The Mario bros were going to have their shindig.

"What the hell is your problem?" Marley asked blankly. She could drop dead in an hour, there was no time for niceties.

They both stared at her dumbly. And if Sam was hesitant about confronting her, Dean had no such qualms — just the not-taking-any-crap attitude, which he and Marlene, for once, had in common, "Crowley said hello," he told her with a sweet smile.

How predictable. Marley sighed, "Okay, why don't we just get it over with? Yes, I know Crowley — and before you say anything, I had no idea he had the Colt until you told me. He came to me about three months ago asking to lend him my soul — " Sam's eyes went wide, "— which of course I told him was not gonna happen. Then he framed me for murder — men just can't take a rejection — and disappeared. But when I found out about the whole emerald thing, I summoned him," Dean shot her both an incredulous and a pissed off look, "Offered to lend him my soul for a year in exchange for the rock. Apparently, it will give him enough power to throw a coup and win over Lucifer's groupies. And that's..." Marlene thought about it, "...yes, that's about it."

There was a long pause.

"I..." Dean blinked at her, at a loss, "I just don't know where to start."

"You made a deal with Crowley?" Sam asked, horrified.

"I guess so, yes."

"When?"

She hesitated then, "Like...a few weeks ago?"

"And you lied about it," Dean stared her down with that unbearable look of pure disappointment.

"Only because I knew you wouldn't approve."

"Of course we wouldn't, because it's freaking stupid!"

"I was desperate, okay?" Marley bristled, feeling like a child being chastised, "There was — there is — no other way."

"So, you what, just go and squander your soul away to a demon?"

"I didn't — " Marlene broke off with a sigh, "It's not like that."

"Did you kiss him?" Sam asked, more curious than angry. He'd probably had more to drink than she'd thought.

Marley stared at him, bewildered, "What? Why — what the hell, Sam?"

Dean raised his brows, "You didn't?"

"Of course not!" she nearly shrieked, disgusted, "Why would I even do that?"

"So there was no deal?" Sam made sure, growing visibly more relaxed.

"I mean...we didn't actually make it official. I'm not dumb, okay?" she looked at Dean, "I told him to shove it until he had the emerald."

Dean considered it, his face going from surprised, to mildly contemplative, to accepting, "Well, good," he said awkwardly.

"Good?"

"No harm done," he shrugged, "No deal, no kiss, still got your soul. Hey, consider it a rite of passage. Your first demon-summoning." Sam stared at him like he was insane, "Oh, come on, Sammy. Like we haven't done anything stupid for our family."

"Yes, but — "

"Uh-uh," Dean tutted at him, "No buts. Today we're drinking," he raised his bottle of beer. Sam gave a sigh of defeat. "Tomorrow we're facing the devil."

"Together, right?" there was a challenge in Sam's voice.

He and Dean stared at each other for long moment, until Dean gave up and took a swig, "Whatever. But it's still a stupid frigging idea."

Marlene was about to ask what the hell they were talking about, but her attention was snatched by the commotion in the kitchen. It appeared Castiel was winning, but at a price — she had never seen him so out of it.

"Boy, talk about stupid ideas," Sam chuckled, shaking his head.

Dean's attention, though, was elsewhere. Or rather, on someone else. Marlene followed his entranced eyes right to the petite blonde, "Good God," he breathed and got up, "True, that." He headed straight to the kitchen where Jo was rummaging though the fridge.

"He's doing it," Marlene said, watching the disaster happen, "He's actually doing it."

"I can't watch this," Sam mumbled into the bottle, cringing.

"Wanna get some air?"

He was hesitant at first. But Marlene's eyes were dark and mischievous, and she had a guileless, cheerful smile on her face that reminded him of better, simpler times, and he was pleasantly buzzed from the beer. And so Sam found himself nodding and following her outside, where a crisp night air enveloped their hot bodies.

They traveled further into the yard. Marlene leaned against a rusty Ford and took a lungful of fresh air, fluttering her eyes close for a moment, "Ah, breathing is incredible," she murmured in delight. Sam watched her in bewildered amusement, "I think I've had four bottles too many."

"Are you alright?"

"Oh, yes. In fact, I'm too alright," she paused, "Can you even say that?"

He cracked a smile, "You tell me. You're the linguist."

"My," Marley breathed in mock surprise, "Was that a joke?"

"I'll have you know — " Sam said matter-of-factly, going around the car to join her, "— I'm quite funny."

"Probably in a very Standford, very obscure way," Marlene teased, stealing a quick look at him, "Did you party much in college?"

"Uhh...some," that devious, dimpled smile gave him away.

"Sam Winchester — the party animal. Who would've thought!" Marley exclaimed incredulously, "I guess you're a happy drunk, then?"

"And which one are you?" Sam countered.

She smiled, remembering the good old days, "Extremely talkative. Zero inhibitions. A lot of regrets in the morning. God," she shook her head, "The last time I got drunk was my twenty second birthday."

"That's when?..."

Marlene nodded, "Thought I dreamed it at first. And now here we are," she spread her arms, "On the brink of the Apocalypse. Blood curses, demons, angels — I should be going crazy, but..."

"...it makes sense," Sam said quietly.

She looked over at him, surprised, "Yes. Exactly."

"Remember what you said that night...about life and death?" he spoke hesitantly after a bout of contemplative silence. Marley nodded, "I think you were wrong."

"I was?"

"Life and death aren't really that different. They're the same."

"Wow, my philosophy professor would've loved you," Marlene chuckled.

The dimples made another appearance, "It's just...if I've learned anything over the last couple of years, it's that death doesn't have to be the end, Marley," he told her, voice low and soft, like a caress of a summer breeze. Just as warm, too. She realised then that it was the first time he'd called her anything but a reserved 'Marlene'.

"You would know," Marley sent him a playful smile. And then something hit her, "Oh, I meant to show you something!" she rummaged through her pockets like she was dancing tarantella and finally fished out what looked like a polaroid, "Look what I've found."

Sam took the picture from her hands: it was of him and Marlene, he couldn't have been older than nine, and she must've been around five years old. God, how could he have forgotten about that? How could both of them? Not a single memory from that time but a bunch of faded photographs...

"Wow, that's..."

"Crazy, right?" Marley asked, staring at his profile, "Makes you think..."

Sam turned to her then, his eyes darker than usual, almost grey, "About what?" She felt suddenly trapped by his attention.

"About...everything? Us. Our...our lives. How different they could've been. How different I could've been if..." Marlene trailed off, but Sam knew exactly what she meant.

He shook his head bitterly, "You don't mean that."

"But I do, Sam. I wish I'd been more prepared, like you and Dean. Instead, I lived in freaking Dawson's Creek, sheltered and pampered like a little princess."

"Marlene, you had a life."

"What good was it if none of it'd been real?" Marlene implored him to understand, "You told me yourself, Sam — once you're in, you can never go back. I've been in since the moment I was born, dumped right in the middle of this freak show, and my entire life was just an extremely poor coverup."

"Your father gave you a normal childhood," Sam tried to reason. How could she be so willing to regret everything he wished he'd had his entire life?

"But I wasn't normal, Sam," Marley told him weakly, "And instead of learning to accept that, instead of learning to control that, I lived a lie. That's why Tessa died," she could see that something clicked inside him, a shift in his mercurial eyes, "When we try to run away from what we are, people get hurt."

Marlene hadn't realised how close they were until she felt his lashes tickle the skin on her forehead. She found herself unable to move, overwhelmed by the feeling, then slowly tipped her head up to meet his eyes. They were the color of charcoal, glimmering steel in the silver light of the moon. Marley was struck by the intensity she found in them — not that of burning passion, but of something much rawer, more profound. It was almost vulnerable, sacred and frail, and she was afraid to move lest she scared it away.

Turns out, she didn't have to.

Sam's hand brushed her face, thumb gently caressing the gentle skin of her cheek. Like a lovesick puppy, Marlene leaned into the touch, wanting to be closer to his warmth. The hand slipped lower and cupped the back of her head, granting her wish. Sam drew her closer, seconds turning into hours, their breathing uneven and perfectly in sync. And then he lowered his head and covered her lips with his.

Marley went still for a moment, revelling in the feeling of his soft mouth on hers. Do something, you idiot. Emboldened by the embrace and four bottled of beer, she brought a hand to Sam's face and finally returned the kiss as if awoken from a dumbass slumber.

At first, they were both hesitant and gentle, testing the waters. But as their breathing grew laboured and touches more daring, so did the kiss. Sam pulled her closer, drawing a sharp breath through his nose, and deepened the kiss. Marlene snaked her arms around his neck for better balance.

Stardust, it was all stardust and beer, she was telling herself, but any reasonable thought jumped out the window when Sam brushed his tongue against her lips, seeking entrance, and she granted it gladly. Too gladly, where her sober mind was concerned, but Marlene was no bridge troll. And oh, did it feel amazing — overwhelmed by the feeling, she had forgotten how to stand on her own two feet and stumbled back into the hood of the sorry Ford, pulling Sam with her. I didn't take him long to solve the logistical problem.

Marlene shrieked in delightful surprise when he hoisted her by the hips and sat her on the hood, a little growl escaping his lips as he captured hers again, with renewed hunger. The sound sent a shiver down Marley's spine and she moaned into the kiss, locking her legs behind him, hands pulling on his silky hair. Closer, closer, closer...

"Oh," that one sound was all it took for them to break apart. Sam jumped away from Marlene and the car altogether, "Dean has been looking for you," Castiel notified them. He looked at Marley and her flustered face, then at Sam who looked like he'd plead the fifth at any moment. The angel was trying to read the situation and judging by the frown on his face, was failing to connect some dots.

"Uh, okay," Sam breathed, his hair a ridiculous mess. Marlene could barely hold back a snort at the obviousness of the situation.

"Bobby has been looking for you as well," Cas said dutifully, still suspicious, "He wants to take a photograph."

Marlene jumped off the hood of the car and smoothed her shirt, "Right then," she said cheerfully, "Let's go make some memories."

And forever commemorate this perfectly confusing evening.