Chapter 5:
"Does anyone know what is written on the wall?" Mary asked.
"Doesn't matter. All we have to do is gank that bloody ghost. Not figure out its life story." John answered gruffly, reaching towards the only door's handle. Mary crossed the room and swatted his hand away before he could touch the handle.
"I was under the impression that you have been hunting for almost two decades and yet here you are, making a rookie mistake."
"What-"
Mary raised a hand cutting of whatever self-righteous spiel that John was about to spout. "Have you already forgotten that the ghost challenged us to find and stop her? Or the fact that the only way to end a ghost is to salt and burn whatever it is that ties them here? Stop being a moron and open your eyes! The only way to gank that bloody ghost is to figure out its story. How did you survive so long in the field if you went around making stupid mistakes like this because of a bruised pride?!" Mary pinned her husband, or soon to be ex-husband if the moron kept up with that stupid attitude, with a withering look. She turned on her heels to face Dean and said "You are friends with an angel are you not?" When Dean nodded she continued "Good. Think you can call him and ask him for his help if he is free?"
"Uh, okay. But why?"
"My father made sure I knew, at the very least, all known languages at sight. I haven't come across a specimen of this kind before, meaning that either this is a lost language, lost even to hunters or it is not of human origin. Scripts don't really change all that much. They retain a few letters or at least the strokes. Hell Script is cruder than this so it can't be demonic in origin. Which leaves behind angelic origin, and who better to ask than an actual angel? Even if I'm wrong your friend could give us an idea as to which language it is and so we can decipher it. Are you with me, Dean?"
Dean nodded rather surprised. "Good. Send your friend a message. We can take pictures and show them to your friend when he's free and if he is willing to help."
"I don't think that's necessary-"
"Quiet, John. I didn't interfere with the way you ran the show till now because I was under the illusion that you were a competent hunter. Since you just proved me wrong, I'm taking the reins. I don't know about you, John, but I would like to use this second chance properly. That won't happen if I'm dead because someone couldn't follow basic precaution. Dean, when are you going to send a message to Castiel?"
"Uh, I just shot him a prayer. He's not here yet, so that means he won't be showing up in a few weeks."
"I'm not some pet dog that comes running whenever you call, Winchester. I was actually tempted to ignore your call because of how crude that prayer was. If I hadn't wanted to meet the Madonna, I wouldn't have bothered to show up at all. So whatever it is be quick. I've got a woman to return to." Castiel voice suddenly rang out. Everyone turned to find Castiel inspecting the victim's corpse with undisguised interest. He was dressed in a black button down shirt and a pair of white jeans. The look was completed by the black leather ankle boots and the coloured sunglasses placed on his head, pushing his messy hair back. His ever present coat was nowhere to be seen. "Interesting. The man's appendicular bones have been removed without any external incision. Oh, my. Did a ghost do this?" he asked turning to the Winchesters.
"Yeah. She left some kind of a message too." Sam answered.
Castiel ran an eye over the bloody message while humming a tune.
"Old Enochian-the first language in existence. So old that even angels don't use it anymore."
"Wait if angels don't use it anymore, how do you know it? How does the ghost know it?" John asked disgruntled, still smarting from the tongue-lashing he had received.
"My primary role in the Host is as a strategist. There were many books written in Old Enochian, dating back to before Creation, which were relevant to my field of study. Hence I had no other choice but to learn the script. And as for the ghost, I believe they may have the blessings of one of the Firstborn, Judgement by the look of it. A word of advice, Winchesters leave the ghost alone. Go against her and you question the authority of Judgement. That won't end up well. One wall for each of his former wives – every single injury they have sustained at his hands has been recorded here. I don't condone the murder of children nor assaulting women. His sins are exacerbated by the fact that he had taken an oath to protect each of these women and broke it knowingly. He received his punishment and his soul has been sent to Hell. Do not interfere with Judgement, you will regret it. Provided you live of course." the angel ended with a shrug. He walked up to Mary and extended a hand. "I'm Castiel, Angel of Thursday and Temperance. I've always wanted to meet you, Madonna."
Mary shook his hand and said "Mary Winchester, Sam and Dean's mother. Nice to meet you."
Castiel smiled at her and said "The pleasure is mine, I assure you. I'm afraid I'll have to leave now. I was on a date, you see. If I don't hurry back, I'll be in the dog house before I can say dog house."
Mary cracked a smile at that. "Don't keep her waiting then."
"Later, Samuel."
"Bye, Cas. Got to admit though, you've gotten better with expressions."
Castiel chuckled at that. "It's the company I keep, Samuel." He was gone with a flutter of wings, leaving behind a few pieces of paper on the floor.
Dean picked them and read the note.
This is a rough translation of what is written on the walls. Stay away from the ghost. There are some things that are better left as they are. Do not throw away your lives unnecessarily.
A/N:
Special thanks to easy1801.