Seven Devils

Chapter 6 / And So He Spoke

"The dragon stood on the shore of the sea. And I saw a beast coming out of the sea. It had ten horns and seven heads, with ten crowns on its horns, and on each head a blasphemous name."

— Book of Revelation 13:1

"Who the hell are you?" Dean finally asked. His green eyes were bloodshot, tired. Sad. Marley wondered if something had happened.

"Marlene."

He quirked a brow, arms crossed. The perfect "growing suspicion" stance. "Marlene who?"

"The same Marlene you hung up on. Sorry about you dad, by the way," she added less confrontationally, genuinely sympathetic.

He frowned, green eyes narrowed as he stared at her, half sceptical, half mystified. Marlene gave an exhausted sigh with a bored eye-roll, impatiently waiting for Dean to finally recollect their majorly disappointing exchange over his late father's phone.

His face lit up with a thought, "Have we?..."

"No."

"Who's that, Dean?" a gruff male voice asked from inside the house. An older man walked up to the door, alarm evident on his grim bearded face. It was gone, though, as soon as he spotted Marlene who stood mere 5'4 before them. "What're ya doing here, girl?"

"You're Robert Singer, aren't you?" she surmised. Yes, that was about right; the baseball cap and the whole lumberjack in the wild aesthetic.

"Only when I'm in trouble," the man grumbled, "Now what's your business?"

"It's about Lilith."

Dean's frown deepened, his whole stance becoming rigid. There was something guarded yet somehow vulnerable in the look on his face.

"There's something you need to know."

𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐

The room was enveloped in complete silence. It was some kind of a library or a study that reminded Marlene of her father. It smelled of old paper and whiskey, a bit stuffy but endearingly cozy, the lighting dim and intimate. Bobby Singer was definitely a hoarder, judging by the mountains of books on every corner and all sorts of weird-looking trinkets scattered around.

Marlene sat on the couch, hands folded demurely like she was a Victorian lady at high tea. Her eyes danced between Dean and Bobby, waiting for some kind of a reaction after she'd told them her life's story. Omitting some facts, of course.

Bobby looked mildly curious, if not a little sceptical. The Winchester stood leaning against the desk, a perpetual frown etched into his chiseled features, "Heaven on Earth? What kind of crap is that?"

"Take it up with God's marketing department," Marlene quipped.

"So yer saying Lilith is the last seal?"

She gave a single nod, "Yes."

"And that the angels want those two idjits to kill her and set Lucifer free because God told them to?"

"Pretty much, yes."

"And you just expect us to believe that?" Dean finally spoke, "You show up here with all the answers in the middle of this shitstorm like freakin' Mary Poppins. Excuse me, but I find it a little too good to be true."

Marlene cut him a glare, "Maybe if you hadn't hung up on me, there would be no shitstorm to begin with," she snapped, "I left my home, my family to find you before you did something stupid. Like, I dunno, rub shoulders and god knows what else with a demon?"

Bobby frowned at her, "What do ya mean?"

"I'm talking about your brother's demonic wet dream," Marley turned to Dead, "Ruby."

His brows flew up, "Ru — ?" he broke off, overflown with anger and then said to Bobby, "God, I knew it."

"I thought you didn't believe me?" Marley raised a single challenging brow.

"Doesn't matter," Dean crossed his arms, regaining his haughtiness, "She's still a scheming little bitch."

Marlene considered it for a moment and nodded. "Scheming bitch is about right. She tracked me down and started talking some nonsense about killing Lilith and how she'd been teaching Sam how to do it. Thought I'd eat that shit ruse right up."

"And you didn't because you heard Zachariah gossip with your father while they braided each other's hair?" Dean asked skeptically, meeting Marley's glare with a tight smile, "Sorry, just wanted to clear up some detailes."

What an asshole.

Marlene heaved out a sigh, "I'm telling the truth — "

"You gotta understand, girl, it ain't lookin' too good from where we sittin'," said Bobby, "You telling us not to kill Lilith could very well be a gambit."

"Your dad is working working with the bastards, you said so yourself. And if they want the world to go kaboom —"

"It's not a partnership," Marley cut him off defensively, "My father would never agree to something like this if he had a choice." At least I hope so.

"Yeah, we don't know that."

"Lilith killed my friend. I had to run away and leave behind everything I knew, my entire life, " Marley looked at Dean and then at Bobby, exhausted, "The only person I've left has been brainwashed into submission by angels. For whatever reason that might be," she muttered to herself, "Until two weeks ago, I didn't even know any of this crap existed. And now they want to wipe out half of humanity to have themselves a clear canvas to shit upon. Why would I want that to happen? Why would anyone?"

She could see the slight change in Dean's demeanour. He tightened his jaw, muscles playing as he considered her words with a healthy amount of scepticism. "Alright. Let's suppose you're telling the truth. How did you manage to get away from Lilith?"

"I, uh, I hurled a toaster at her and...ran away."

Dean exchanged a look with Bobby. The older man shrugged. Dean sighed, pursed his lips and tuned back to Marlene, "And Ruby?"

"Oh," Marley reached for her bag. The two men tensed with apprehension, "Jesus, relax," she rolled her eyes and took out the remaining pouches of the green dust, "I used this."

Bobby took the plastic bag from her hands and inspected it, "What the living hell is this?" He passed it to Dean.

"I don't...I don't really know," Marley shrugged, "I found the recipe in my father's journal. Pretty sure it's supposed to kill a demon, but I must've done something wrong. Only ruffled her feathers a bit," she sounded very disgruntled about it.

"Was your father a witch or somethin'?" Bobby asked.

"No — "

"Sure looks witchy to me," Dean muttered.

"He wasn't a witch," Marlene levelled a frustrated look at him, "Look, I wouldn't even be here if a certain friendly neighbourhood angel had done his job."

"What angel?" the Winchester asked as if he was humouring her.

"He called himself Castiel," she replied, "He's the one who was supposed to give you the memo, not me. But I guess he had better things to do."

Dean didn't look quite so smug anymore, "Castiel?"

"Yes," Marley confirmed like it was perfectly obvious, "Trench coat? Abercrombie hair?"

A million thoughts seemed to be passing through Dean's mind. And then his face went slack with realisation, "That son of a bitch," he greeted out and looked at Bobby. The two of them had obviously come to the same conclusion.

"What is it?" Marley asked.

She watched as Dean paced the room, a murderous expression on his face, "I'm gonna kill the bastard...Castiel!"

"Dean, — "

"No, Bobby, you know what he did," Dean snapped, "It all adds up. Guess Dora there's telling the truth after all. Castiel, you cowardly piece of shit!" he yelled at the ceiling, "Get your holy ass — "

And just like that, Dean vanished.

Marlene blinked and he...he wasn't there anymore.

"Bolls." Bobby muttered.

𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐

Dean found himself in a spacious, light room that was decidedly not Bobby's house. It looked like a freaking museum, with gold trims everywhere and weird-ass pastoral paintings hanging around the walls.

"Hello, Dean."

He whipped around at the familiar voice, confusion quickly morphing into anger. "The hell is this, Cas?"

"It's almost time," the angel told him ominously.

"Time for — " Castiel disappeared. Dean sighed in resigned annoyance — wasn't the first time that happened.

Bored and on edge, he decided to poke around the room a little. He looked at the paintings, but those didn't hold his attention for long. Especially not when he noticed a platter of white castle burgers and bowl filled with iced bear on the marble table. Those hadn't been there before.

Intrigued and a little tempted, Dean made sure he was alone before grabbing a bottle. It was one of his favourites, how —

"Hello, Dean," Zachariah greeted. God, how he wanted to beat that shit-eating grin off that smug angelic face, "You're looking fit."

Dean scoffed and put the bottle of bear back in the bowl. He didn't appear particularly surprised — he had seen it coming. If anything, he was disappointed. And Castiel could certainly tell. He was looking straight ahead, unable to meet Dean's eyes, face blank. "Well, how about this," Dean drawled, "The Suit Life of Zack and Cass."

Zachariah didn't seem to get the reference. Castiel was wearing the same frown of confusion. "It's a — " Dean began to explain but quickly decided it wasn't worth the effort. "Never mind," he sighed, "So, what is this? Where the hell am I?

"Call it a Green room," Zachariah walked up to the table and spread his arms, "We're closing in on the grand finale here. We want to keep you safe before showtime," he grabbed a white castle from the whole pile of them, "Try a burger. They're your favorite. From that seaside shack in Delaware," Dean stared at him, brows furrowed, "You were 11, I think?'

He eyed the offering with indifference — never had he wanted a burger less, "I'm not hungry."

"No? How about.. Ginger from season 2 of "Gilligan's Island"? Zachariah seemed awfully eager to please Dean. That narcissistic kiss-ass, "You do have a thing for her, don't you?"

Dean considered it for a moment. Yeah, that'd certainly be nice. She did have that sexy mole that..."Tempting," he allowed but then checked himself, remembering the whole reason he was stuck in that creepy ass room. He frowned, "Weird."

"We'll throw in Mary Ann for free — "

"Cut the crap, Chuckles," Dean said gruffly, fed up with the theatrics. Zachariah broke off, the freakishly genial smile frozen on his face, "I know what your endgame is."

Castiel's impassive face betrayed a flicker of apprehension.

"Oh, really? And what might that be?"

"Heaven on Earth?" Dean all but growled at him, the look in his eyes ferocious, "Wiping the slate clean, pushing the restart button?"

Zachariah stayed silent, humouring his little speech with an amused expression. Standing behind his superior, Castiel lowered his eyes.

"You don't want to stop the Apocalypse. You never did, did you?" Dean said in a dangerously low voice, eyes turning into slits, "No, you want it to happen."

Zachariah's smile stretched even wider, something manic glimmering in his eyes. He sat down into a gold-trimmed couch and folded his hands, "Yup," he popped casually, "Guess the cat is out of the bag now, huh? The end is nigh. The apocalypse is coming, kiddo, to a theater near you," the angel's expression turned thoughtful for a moment, "But I have to ask... how did you figure it out? I thought Sam was the brains of the family."

Dean cut him a glare, nostrils flaring from a silent, simmering anger. Zachariah's face lit up as he was struck by an epiphany, "Ah, so you've met her? The eavesdropping midget."

"Is that supposed to mean something?" Dean asked, feigning confusion. It turned out the girl had been right about everything, damn it. He wasn't used to people telling the truth. Not when his own brother had been lying straight to his face and gallivanting around with that demonic bitch behind his back.

"Castiel?" Zachariah suddenly ordered. Castiel looked at Dean, his expression full of guilt, and disappeared. What the hell —

"Dean, Dean, Dean," Zachariah sighed and rose from the couch, "I've had my eye on the little miss Bennington from the moment she stepped out of her house in Cambridge. Did you really think I didn't know about her little road trip?" he smiled, "Isn't she a delight? Bright, stubborn, idealistic. I suppose that runs in the family, doesn't it?"

Wary, Dean watched as the angel walked up to one of the paintings. It was an impressive canvas depicting a golden-haired angel pinning Lucifer to the ground with a spear raised in the air.

"Lucifer, God's favourite son and his greatest disappointment," Zachariah said almost wistfully, gazing up at the painting, "You know, a lot of us actually liked the guy. But he was too reckless, went the wrong way about the whole thing. His plan lacked a certain...finesse if you catch my drift."

"Let me guess," Dean said gruffly, looking at him askance, "You were one of the groupies?"

"Oh, I watched. And I learned."

Dean cleared his throat and muttered, "Whatever tickles your wings."

"Lucifer was the first to screw up, naturally," Zachariah continued, "Dad got angry, gave him a spanking — you know how the story goes. Gabriel, though...little Gabriel had always looked up to the Morning Star."

Dean's brows twitched together in bafflement, "What do you mean?"

"Oh, there's something you don't know? Now that's a surprise."

"You know, I am so sick of your crap riddles and your smug, fat face," Dean rumbled, his patience rapidly slipping, "Start talking or I'm leaving."

"Sure you are," the angel patronised with a saccharine smile. Dean huffed out an annoyed breath, "See, Gabriel was impatient too. Heaven didn't feel right to him without his older brother, and so he left. Everyone was pissed, especially Michael," Zachariah said, "No one knew where he'd gone, he was impossible to find. Until one day he went and knocked up a human whore."

Now that Dean didn't expect to hear. He blinked slowly, then cleared his throat. His brows shot up, "He did...what now?"

"I'm sure you know how it works, Dean," Zachariah sneered.

"Gabriel had a kid?"

"If that's what you want to call it. We've been cleaning up his mess ever since."

Dean's frown deepened as he was trying to process this information, "What's that Rosmary's baby crap have to do with this?"

"Oh, you'll see. I don't want to put all the cards on the table just yet," Zachariah gave him a meaningful look, "Everyone has a part to play in this," he said, "Even you. Why do you think I'm confiding in you? You're still vital, Dean. We weren't lying about your destiny. Just... omitted a few pertinent details. But nothing's changed. You are chosen. You will stop it. Just... not Lilith, or the apocalypse. That's all.

"Which means?" Dean asked curtly.

Zachariah gestured to the painting as if the clue had been there all along, "Lucifer. You're going to stop Lucifer. You're our own little Russell Crowe, complete with surly attitude. And when it's over... and when you've won... your rewards will be... unimaginable. Peace, happiness...two virgins and seventy sluts," he let out a slightly deranged chuckle, "Trust me — one day, we'll look back on this and laugh."

"What was all that crap about saving seals, then?"

"Simple staff management," Zachariah shrugged, "Our grunts on the ground — we couldn't just tell them the whole truth. We'd have a full-scale rebellion on our hands," he said, "I mean, come on, think about it. Would we really let 65 seals get broken unless senior management wanted it that way?"

"But why?"

"Why not? The apocalypse? Poor name, bad marketing — puts people off. When all it is is Ali/Foreman. On a... slightly larger scale," Zachariah smirked, "And we like our chances. When our side wins — and we will — it's paradise on earth. Now, what's not to like about that?"

"How about the people that will die during your little pissing contest, huh?"

"Well... you can't make an omelet without cracking a few eggs," Zachariah shrugged off, "In this case... truckloads of eggs, but you get the picture. Look...it happens. This isn't the first planetary enema we've delivered," Zachariah said and noticed Dean eyeing a statue on a mantelpiece, "Uh, no, Dean. Probably shouldn't try to bash my skull in with that thing. Wouldn't end up too pleasant for you."

Dean's hands curled into fists from the growing, pent up fury, "What about Sam?" he asked, "He won't go quietly. He'll stop Lilith."

"Sam..." Zachariah sighed, contemplative, "...has a part to play. A very important part. He may need... a little nudging in the right direction, but I'll make sure he plays it," he said, well-pleased.

Dean tensed. His brother was alone out there, confused and angry, with only a self-serving demon to keep him company. He took a dangerous step forward, "What does that mean?" he demanded, "What are you gonna do to him?"

Zachariah rolled his eyes, "Sam, Sam, Sam. Marcia, Marcia, Marcia. Forget about him, will you?" he told Dean, placing a hand on his shoulder, "You have larger concerns. We need you concentrated. Strong."

Dean thought back to all those times he'd caught Sam praying when their father was away. He'd never believed in some almighty power himself — Dean hated the thought of someone being in control of his fate, not when his entire life had been practically decided by his father. At least that way, he had a sense of freedom. Maybe it was nothing, but that nothing had kept him going all these years.

Though he was starting to believe that none of them had ever been free at all. And probably never would be.

"Tell me something," he said quietly, "Where's God in all this?"

A foreboding silence settled over the chilling room. "God?" Zachariah finally spoke, his face unreadable. "God has left the building."

𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐

"W...where did he go?" Marlene spluttered, stumped, staring at the spot where Dean Winchester had been threatening to kill an angel a moment ago.

"Damned if I know," Bobby grumbled. And shuffled out of the room. Marley gaped at him in frustrated confusion.

"Aren't we gonna do something?" she asked, trudging into the adjacent kitchen after the old man.

Bobby looked back at her rather reluctantly, taking a bottle of whiskey out of the cupboard, "Somethin' like what?"

"G-go look for Dean, find his brother, try to locate Lilith — "

"It ain't gonna do jack, girl," Bobby poured himself a glass, "So we find the demonic bitch, what then? You gonna sprinkle some of that fairy dust on her?"

Marley opened her mouth to reply but then closed it, brows twitching together. Her father's stupid concoction hadn't even taken out a basic demon. It would probably give Lilith, the mother hen, a sneeze or two.

Her drive for retribution and supernatural warfare quickly deflated.

"Now do you want some whiskey?" Bobby asked.

Marley eyed the bottle, frown deepening. There was really very little to be done at that point. She just hoped that Dean would be able to use the information she'd given him to their advantage. She sighed. "Do you have wine?"

Bobby looked at her sideways, "Want some caviar with that too?"

Marlene flushed at the obvious sarcasm and accepted the glass. She took a sip and flinched — yup, that was strong.

"This is a nice house," she managed to say, or rather croak out, her throat still tingling from the moonshine.

"Would you like a tour?"

Marlene looked at the old man, not sure whether it was another sarcastic jab or a real question. She stayed silent for awhile, then narrowed her eyes, still unable to decide. Bobby looked at her askance and sat down at the table with a sigh.

Yes, it had certainly been a sarcastic jab.

Marley lowered herself into a chair. "So do you have any idea where...the other one is?"

"Who, Sam? Hell no," Bobby downed the rest of the drink. He didn't even blink, "When that boy wants to get lost, he makes damn sure he stays that way. Dean's the only one who could find him, but he ain't gonna do it. Especially now."

"Why...why won't he do it?"

"'Cause he's a stubborn idjit, that's why. The both of them. Just like their daddy," Bobby grumbled.

Oh, the elusive John Winchester from her father's journal. Marlene remembered Arthur describing him as ruthless, cold and manipulative, the man who got the job done, who would do anything for his family — the man Arthur so longed to become. Careful what you wish for.

"What happened to him?" Marley asked.

Bobby gave her a hard, loaded look, "A hunting accident."

"Must've been one hell of a hunt. If you listen to my father, John Winchester was a tough man to put down. I..." Marley broke off, a bit unsettled by Bobby's undivided attention. She couldn't quite decide if he was mad at her or if he was just perpetually grumpy, "I read about him in the journal. M-my father's journal. Apparently, they knew each other. Here."

Marlene made her way to the bag she'd left in the library and returned with Arthur's little diary. Had he noticed it was gone? Was he looking for it? Was he worried that all his secrets were now out in the open? For the greater good my ass.

"Honestly, sometimes I wish my dad had a secret family or something," Marley mumbled, opening the journal on the page with the photo of her, Dean and his little brother, "Because the stuff in here...is disturbing."

Bobby took a look at the picture, "When was it taken?"

"'91, think it was Halloween."

"Huh."

"What?" Marley asked.

"Nothin'" Bobby shook his head, a wistful expression creeping over his face as he flipped through the journal, "The world is just too damn small sometimes."

"Too small to fit angels and demons, that's for sure," she took a big gulp of the whiskey. Without coughing this time. Though she did squeeze her eyes shut for a moment to fight the burn.

"You got any other family?"

"No," Marley replied, voice sombr. She stared at the amber liquid in the glass and worried her lip before adding absently, "It's just me and my dad."

A beat of silence passed between them before Bobby spoke again in a strangely grave voice, "Did your mother happen to die in a fire?"

Marlene looked at him with a frown, "What? N-no...she — she died when I was born. Why?"

Bobby put the journal on the desk, "Look familiar?"

Bright yellow eyes stared at her from the aged pages. Sketches of them filled an entire spread, all in different shapes and sizes but equally malicious and unsettling. Her father had been obsessed with the long faded image of the demon — Marlene had read most of his notes and stories. And the pain they were filled with brought tears to her eyes.

Tears of anger, tears of regret, tears of mourning. That journal was a testament of her father's rapidly growing insanity to which Marley had been blind all those years. Perhaps, she had never even known the real Arthur Ter-Gabrielyan. Perhaps, that man had died 22 years ago —

"He is like you, Marlene."

"They were targeted by the demon. Like you."

22 years...

"That's how Azazel killed their mother?" Marlene concluded quietly.

Bobby nodded, "Their father'd been hellbent on hunting that bastard down ever since."

"And died killing him?"

"No, John died saving his sons," he said, "There ain't no better way to go if you ask me."

Marley pursed her lips into a tight smile, "Yes. He does sound like a great man."

"Yeah," Bobby drawled somewhat sarcastically, "A great man."

Something told her there was one hell of a story between the two, but she didn't want to ask too many questions. The man seemed suspicious enough as it was, so Marlene had to tread carefully, even though she was dying for information.

She took another sip of the whiskey.

"You've got demon blood in you too, don't ya?"

Marley almost choked, "S-sorry?"

"You ever drink it?"

She swallowed the whiskey, disgust morphing into a wince melting into confusion, "Why on Earth would I do that?"

Bobby was about to reply to that very reasonable question but his attention was snatched by something behind Marlene. Judging by the suddenly murderous look on the man's face, it wasn't a welcome sight.

"What the hell did you do? " Bobby growled, rising from his seat. Marley whipped around, which was a bad idea. Whiskey had never been her drink of choice. She became even more dizzy when she spotted the walking and talking trench coat.

Castiel pointedly ignored Bobby, his intense blue eyes fixed on Marlene, "You must come with me."

"Well, hi there, Friar John," she drawled, "I reckon you didn't deliver the message. What was it, unhappy fortune?"

The angel looked away, his face growing tense.

"Where'd you take Dean?" Bobby asked gruffly.

"Dean is safe," Castiel replied, his voice almost pleading. As though he was trying to atone for what he'd done, "And you must be as well," he told Marlene.

She heard him alright, but had no intention of listening, "And how do you intend to save me? Sorry, but I've become rather disillusioned with the idea of heavenly salvation as of the past couple of weeks."

Castiel breathed an frustrated sigh, "There is no time to waste — "

"Damn right there isn't," Bobby cut in, "So how about we do somethin' about it?"

The angel seemed perplexed, "I don't know what you mean."

"Were you lying to me?" Marlene asked suddenly, "When you said you'd warn them, was that some twisted angelic manipulation trick?"

Castiel appeared wounded by such an assumption, "No. I do not tell lies."

"Only when it suits you, it seems."

"Marlene, you must come with me."

"How about you flap your wings and get the hell out of here?" Bobby stepped forward. Castiel shuffled on his feet, his face contorted with indecision. He clearly didn't want to hurt anyone, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to. Marley remembered the angel from the diner in Des Moines. And the burning holes she'd left in those men's heads. All it took was a single touch.

"Why are you doing this?" she wondered, genuinely curious. Castiel's eyes flashed to her, "You can't honestly justify it."

"We are heeding God's will, there needn't be any reason but His word," the angel replied sombrely. It sounded monotonous, rehearsed.

"That ain't God's will," said Bobby, eyes narrowed, "That's genocide."

Marley looked at the angel pleadingly, "Castiel, there's still time to make it right, to stop them. If you would just — "

"This is making it right," Castiel insisted, a slight waver of hesitation in his voice, "It is long foretold."

Bobby huffed, "That's horseshit and you know it."

"This world, people — you are past saving. God has given you every chance to prosper but all you do is destroy and hate," the angel spoke with a fever that made him stop for a moment to check himself, "Still, he offers you a chance for a new beginning. A life free of pain and worry in his kingdom..."

"How very generous of him," Marley scoffed.

"...Even for you, Marlene," Castiel told her solemnly, "And your father."

That's when it all came together. Arthur would have never been part of this unless...Huh, Marlene thought to herself. So that was his plan? Sacrificing thousands of lives for a one-way ticket to heaven? There was nothing that could've justified his involvement in the Armageddon, but this...

"How much was it?"

Castiel tilted his head, looking at her in confusion, "There have been no transactions, Marlene."

She heaved a measured, calming breath, "What did my father have to offer? It's gotta be something good, right? Stairway to Heaven and all that, can't be cheap."

"What the living hell are you talkin' about, girl?"

"I think that's a story for another glass of whiskey, Mr Singer," Marley flashed him a momentous smile that dissipated as quickly as it had appeared. "So?"

Castiel looked down, "I don't know."

"Of course you don't," Marlene murmured, "Where are you going to take me?"

"Back home," the angel replied dutifully.

She sighed and muttered, "Where is home, anyway."

"It is in Cambridge, Massachusetts where your — " Castiel broke off under her levelled stare. It wasn't a question.

"My father's bidding, I presume?"

"What the hell is your father?" Bobby wondered, disgruntled.

Marley shrugged and picked up her bag from the dusty floor, "I suppose I'm about to find out."

"Oh no, you ain't going nowhere, girl. I still don't know jack about that daddy of yours and what he's doin' knocking about with those assholes. It's gonna take more than a little soap story to get me to trust you, and I sure as hell don't trust him," Bobby looked at Castiel askance, "So you gotta stay where I can see ya."

"I'm sorry, Mr Singer," Marley gave him a solemn look full of determination, "I promise I'll try — "

" — what the hell?" she glared at the angel. They were now standing in the driveway of the very familiar two-storey house.

"I apologise. He was indending to use a firearm..."

"He wouldn't have shot me. He could've shot you, though, but you deserve it."

Castiel said nothing, just standing there awkwardly. What was he going to do now that the package'd been delivered?

"Not even going to come in?" Marley asked, quirking a sceptical brow.

The angel looked up at the house that was covered in glowing sigils, "I cannot."

She followed his eyes, remembering Arthur's words. No angel could penetrate its walls unless summoned.

So this was it — the great leap into the unknown. Or rather into the pool of lies and treachery, the quicksand that would swallow her whole in a matter of seconds. The house that had once been her safe haven could very well be her doom.

"There was this professor," Marley spoke after a moment of silence, drawing Castiel's attention, "Mr Henryk, he taught Philosophy. He once said that...there is a difference between being afraid and being a coward. Fear...well, according to him, fear is just a path you tread until you find yourself at a crossroads. The path splits in two, and you're faced with a decision that, essentially, determines what you are — afraid or a coward."

"And how is it...determined?"

"Pretty easy, really," Marlene replied and turned to face the angel. He seemed deeply engrossed, "See, you can show that fear who's the boss and make it your own. Doesn't matter if you succeed or not — there's still courage in that. Or...you can take the easy way and choose to succumb to and call it foretelling."

Castiel looked away.

"There will always be a reason to choose the latter, grasping at straws, trying to excuse yourself," Marlene took a deep breath, looking up at the lit up window of her father's study, "Those who lack the courage will always find a philosophy to justify it."