Seven Devils

Chapter 24 / The One With Many Revelations

"I do not fear death. I had been dead for billions and billions of years before I was born, and had not suffered the slightest inconvenience from it."

— Mark Twain

For a moment, there was silence. A very Wild Wild West gunslinger moment, only Arthur was sprawled in a chair in a manner that was anything but confrontational. Something that couldn't be said about Dean.

"I wanna sock you in the mug right now," it was plain and honest, just a fact being duly stated. Sam threw him a wary look — if his brother was going to punch the man (which there was every chance he would), there was little Sam could do to stop it with his hands being, quite literally, full.

"Dean — "

"So you're the man, huh?" he said sarcastically, machismo oozing from every pore. Sam would've face palmed at the alpha galore if only he could, "Andrew, right?"

But Arthur had no time for juvenile pissing contests — as soon as he saw his daughter's unconscious body in Sam's arms, he shot up from the chair, "What happened to her?"

Sam's brow furrowed at the obvious alarm in the man's voice, "Uh, she — Gabriel zapped her in, and..." he stumbled over his words.

"We've no idea what the hell happened to her," Dean butted in with little preamble. Sam looked at him askance.

"We were hoping you could tell us," he said to Arthur.

"I...y-yes, of course," he swept the motel room with his shrewd brown eyes, "We'd better find a more comfortable place for her."

Sam nodded his agreement. He walked to the bed and placed Marley on the wrinkled covers, making sure her head rested comfortably on the pillow. As comfortable as one could get in a cheap roadside motel after having almost died. Arthur was by her side in an instant, pushing twisted ringlets away from her still pale face — a barely noticeable pink was slowly blooming on her cheeks.

Dean cleared his throat and spoke gruffly, "Now that the sleeping beauty is resting," Arthur looked up at him, "I think you owe us an explanation. So how about that?"

After a brief pause, Arthur nodded to himself as if the attitude made perfect sence, "So you're Dean."

Dean forced out a pissed off grin, "And you are the shithead who freed Lilith for a lolly?"

Sam sighed, "Dean..."

Arthur's eyes went to him, unfazed by the comment, "And you must be Sam."

"Real nice deductive skills there, doc," Dean taunted," You sure are putting those PhDs to good use."

Arthur gave him a long look, the kind he'd give to a hyperactive clown kid in his class, and then smiled, equal parts patronising and amused, "Still a witty little rascal, aren't you, Dean?"

Dean narrowed his eyes at him, "Don't act like you know me."

"Oh, but I do. Know both of you," he looked over at Sam, who regarded him with careful consideration, "Ever since you were kids."

"Oh yeah?" Dean challenged, "Then why don't either of us remember you?"

Arthur mulled over the question in him mind, "Because you don't have a PhD?" he suggested innocently.

Dean turned to Sam and asked in all seriousness, "Can I punch him?"

"Come on, Dean — "

Whatever he was going to say, though, was interrupted by a cranky whine, "Please, stop arguing." Three pairs of eyes flashed to Marlene, who was slowly regaining her consciousness.

Arthur leaned in closer to her, frantic, "Marley? Sweetheart, how are you feeling?"

She blinked her bleary eyes open and looked at her father. Then blinked again and turned to see Dean's confused stare and Sam's deep green eyes filled with concern. Brows twitching into a frown, Marlene did a double take, "Is this a crossover?" she said lamely, "'nother nightmare? Can't tell these days."

Dean shot Arthur a pointed look, "Depends on who you're asking."

"How are you feeling, Marlene?" Sam asked.

She tried to sit up with her father's help, hissing from the pain in her head, "Like I'm coming off the worst hangover ever but remember every single stupid thing I've done?" Dean raised his brows, recognising the feeling, then frowned at the vivid memory.

"So you remember?" Arthur said, "What happened."

Marlene's face crumpled with thought and a distant, nagging pain in her eyes sockets, "I...I remember the studio," she said slowly, digging further into her memory, "Everything around started crashing...and...and then the warehouse, Gabriel — he shazamed me to the warehouse, didn't he?" Marley looked at Dean, then Sam, "You were there."

Sam frowned quizzically, "The studio?"

"It was Gabriel's doing. Another one of his sick jokes," Arthur explained, "He brought me there too, for a...reconciliation, of sorts."

"What, like ?" Dean quirked a brow.

"Try Dr.Bill," Marlene groused, flinching from a thumping headache, "What even happened in there, dad? Did we do shots or something? I never could handle my tequila." The cautious hesitation in Arthur's eyes made her wary, "Dad?"

"Marlene — " he broke off instantly, failing to find the right words, "Gabriel...he didn't get us out of that studio."

"He didn't?" Marlene asked in befuddlement, "Then who was it? Was it you?" she turned to Sam and Dean, "Castiel?" But it seemed that they, too, were as clueless to the fact as she was. And just as eager to fill in the blanks. Her eyes then settled on Arthur, questioning.

He shrunk under the probing attention, something that had usually made him cocksure, "It was you."

Dean's brows jumped up to his hairline in a dumbfounded expression, "Huh?"

"What do you mean?" Sam opted to put his shock into actual words.

Marlene...well, Marlene just snorted, the notion too ridiculous to even entertain. She gave her dad a look that suggested he was insane or had a very poor sense of humour — both of which could very well be the case, and attempted a chuckle. Unfortunately, it resulted in a jolt of pain that made her scrunch her nose in irritation —

She needed to get out. She needed OUT —

Marlene stilled, the scream echoing through her mind. What was that? She'd felt hot, like her skin had been buzzing with electricity — Marley's eyes flashed to her hands and she worked her fingers slowly, as though the motion was as foreign to her as her own skin.

"Marlene?

It burns, dad...I can't —

Her hand shot up to the chest where the burn had started. It'd sprung from her heart and suffused every blood vessel in her body, setting them on fire. Why had it hurt so badly? All she'd wanted was to leave, to not be in the stuffy studio surrounded by a fake, lifeless audience that stared with their blank, soulless eyes. She'd wanted out.

"I did it," Marlene mumbled incredulously and turned to her father, "I got us out of there. It was me."

"You zapped yourself out of Gabriel's matrix?" Dean deadpanned.

"How is that possible?"

Marlene looked over at Sam, "I...I don't know. I have no idea how it happened. All I know is that I really, and I mean really wanted to get out of there, and then..." she trailed off and made an "explosion" gesture, "Next thing I remember is the warehouse, Gabriel...in a circle of fire? Serves him right, whatever that was, by the way," Marley muttered, "And then...I passed out."

There was a moment of pregnant silence until Dean said, glare directed right at Arthur, "Well? Care to elaborate, professor X?"

"Look, it's not that easy..."

"Why don't you make it easy, then? Isn't that your entire job — explaining existential crap to a bunch of pretentious stoners?"

Arthur narrowed his eyes at him and then glanced at Marlene in an attempt to appeal to her common sense. "They are pretentious stoners, dad," she agreed with a half-hearted shrug.

The man gave a tortured sigh, running a hand through his tousled greying hair — Marley had never seen him quite so disheveled before. He must've been worried sick when she'd disappeared, "Marlene — the moment Azazel fed you demon blood, it catalysed a long before dormant part of your unfortunate heritage."

Marley glanced at Sam and nodded, "Yes, we already know that. The two don't mix well together," Arthur stared at her, surprised, "Uh...trial and error," she added, really reluctant to go into gory details. Sam cleared his throat and gave Arthur a tight-lipped smile.

Suspicious, he continued, "What I didn't tell you is that...the constant seizures you had as a child? The headaches? It wasn't epilepsy, Marlene."

"Oh," her face hardened, "So you lied about that too?" Arthur lowered his eyes in shame. Marlene scoffed, "Of course."

"What was it?" asked Sam with a troubled frown.

Arthur sighed. He looked at Marlene, searching her wide hazel eyes, "Your powers began to manifest when you were four."

She blinked dumbly, "Powers?"

"What kind of powers?" Dean wondered.

"You started to hear strange voices when you were four," Arthur spoke tentatively, "Healed a bird when you were five — "

"I...I remember that. But I didn't heal it," Marlene told him with a frown, "It was still alive, it was fine."

"Marlene, at ten you threw a tantrum at school and disappeared — your principal called me and told me that you'd run away. You went to Hartford, Marlene," Arthur said emphatically, "To the house where you were born."

Marley felt like her brain had been wiped clean — she had no recollection of that, "Why don't I remember any of this?"

"Probably has something to do with the depowering sigil burned into your bones," Dean supplied helpfully, cutting Arthur a disapproving glare, "Or am I wrong?"

"How do you know about that?"

"A little archangel told us."

"I have an angelic sigil burned into my bones?" Marlene looked at Arthur, aghast.

"It was the only way to keep you safe, sweetheart."

"Don't 'sweetheart' me," she all but hissed at him, "I've had actual powers this entire time and you had them taken away? Why would you bench me like that?"

"Because this power came with a cost," Arthur's voice lacked the previous hesitance, "You're not an angel, Marlene, nor a Nephilim — you have no grace. Your power was the result of a mutation, an unexplainable metamorphoses, a glitch of nature — "

"Gee, thanks."

"— it is a parasite that feeds off your life force," he finished, eyes boring into hers vehemently. Finally, he saw the defiant stubbornness on Marlene's face give way to fear, "and using it almost killed you. Twice."

"In the warehouse..." Sam said after a bout of heavy silence, "Castiel said Marlene was dying. It was right after she used her power."

Arthur nodded, "She hasn't had an episode this powerful in almost thirteen years. It seems the sigil is getting weaker by the second."

"Can't you do it again?" Dean asked.

"It is impossible. The witch that cast it used an ingredient that's no longer available."

Sam frowned, "What ingredient?" He could see Arthur was hesitant about answering that question. He didn't trust them enough.

"It was the grace of Gabriel's natural son," he finally said. Dean's eyes went wide as saucers, "Artaxias."

"How did they even get their hands on it?"

"So you're saying that a coven of witches held to this much power for thousands of years?" Sam asked incredulously, "Without using a drop of it?"

"One of them said it was predestination," Arthur explained, "They wouldn't dare temper with the ordained order of things."

Marlene had been silent this entire time, paying little attention to their conversation. And then she finally spoke, voice strangely detached, "What happens when the sigil is gone completely?"

At that, Arthur stilled — every time he'd thought about having this conversation, that was the part he dreaded the most. This was the burden he'd been carrying for seventeen years and never wanted to share even a sliver of it with his daughter. But it appeared there was no need to say the cursed words out loud — Marlene understood everything by the woeful look in his eyes. It seemed Dean and Sam had come to the same realisation, for they suddenly grew grim and silent.

It all became painfully obvious then: why Arthur had struck a deal with Zachariah when the Apocalypse was just looming far on the horizon, why he'd fought so desperately to make sure that her soul ended up in Heaven, almost like he was running out of time.

Because he was. There was no time to look for the emeralds or scour every corner of the earth for a different solution — Marlene had no time.

Sam shook his head, refusing to accept it, "There has to be a way. She can't just..."

"Back in the warehouse, Gabriel gave her his grace," Dean spoke, all business, "Can't he do that again?"

Arthur nodded, "He can, in theory. But you have to understand, it's just a bandaid. Marlene, if you use your powers again..."

"But what if I don't?" Marlene speculated, "What if I stop using them altogether?"

"I'm afraid it's not something you can control, sweetheart," Arthur told her gently.

"Okay then," he could see the gears turning in her mind, "I...I could hold out long enough to find a way to break the blasted curse? J-just enough of Gabriel's grace to keep me going," she reasoned optimistically, though the sentiment wasn't shared by anyone else in the room, "There's a way, alright? I know there's a way. And once we kick Lucifer's ass, we're going to find it."

Arthur gave her a rueful smile, though it did little to drive away the sadness from his eyes, "I'm sure we can try, sweetheart — " the moment was instantly broken by a loud ringtone. It didn't belong to Sam or Dean and Marlene wasn't sure if her phone was even on, so it only left her father. And the guilty look on his face confirmed that.

"It's time for me to go," he said, composed, and rose from the bed, giving Marlene a kiss on the forehead, "I need to get home. Zachariah can't know I'm here."

She watched him, childishly upset and bewildered, "But how are you gonna — "

"I'll get on the first flight to Cambridge. It will be easier to explain if he gets suspicious," Arthur collected his things: a discarded blazer and a wallet, and turned to Dean and Sam on his way out, "I know I have no right to ask you that, boys, but...please, keep her safe," he implored quietly, glancing at his daughter, "I failed — and pulled the entire world down with me. But maybe you will do a better job."

Sam nodded, solemn, "Of course."

"Don't you worry, doc," Dean told him, just a little less hostile, "She's save with us."

"I know," Arthur said simply and opened the door, "Your father would be proud of you." With a final look at Marlene, he left.

Marley stared at the door for a moment, too shocked by what had happened to move. But as it finally hit her — that it could very well be the last time she saw him — she sprung from the bed and grabbed her dusty old bag to retreat a thick journal. Ignoring every muscle that begged not to be strained and Dean's surprised 'What the hell, kid?', Marlene ran after her father.

"Dad!" she yelled at his retreating figure. Arthur was already halfway to the reception office where he'd probably call a cab — all to leave a believable trail. He turned around and halted, startled.

"Marlene, you should be resting — "

"I..." she heaved out and took a moment to catch her breath, "You forgot...that."

Arthur glanced at the journal in her outstretched hand. His mouth twitched into a small smile, "Keep it, Marlene. You're going to need it."

"Are you sure? You seemed pretty pissed when you found out I took it."

"Yes, I am sure," he nodded, eyes warm, "There are many things you don't know yet, Marlene. Perhaps, I should've told you about them long ago, but..." Arthur trailed off, shrugging, "Maybe this old thing will do a better job at telling the truth than I ever did."

"Stop with the self-deprecating martyr bullshit, dad," Marlene told him, eyes welling up with stubborn tears.

"Language," Arthur admonished half-heartedly.

Her lower lip trembled, "I love you, dad," she whispered and hugged his stiff form. Arthur had never been one for sentimentality and displays of affection, but after a moment's hesitation, his arms wrapped around Marley.

"I love you too, sweetheart. And remember," he tore away to look at her, "You are the light, Marlene."

She gave him a sheepish smile, "Flattery will get you nowhere, old sport."

Arthur chuckled. Her father actually chuckled — it was as mystifying as hearing a whale singing, "You might've noticed there're empty pages in there," he pointed at the journal. Marlene quirked a questioning brow, "Maybe take another look at them. Who knows what you might find."

"Ah, mysteries again," Marlene drawled sarcastically, "Houdini could've learned a thing or two from you."

Arthur gave her one of the charming smiles he usually reserved for faculty members, "Who said he didn't?" And with that, he spun on his hill and continued his stroll down to the reception office. Marlene watched him leave, heart a little lighter, a bemused smiled on her face. After all these years, Arthur Ter-Gabrielyan had finally broken character.

𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐

There were five stages of grief, each bringing a person to the ultimate destination — acceptance. It was a long process that took time and reflection, often lasting weeks, months, or even years. You couldn't tell grief to hurry the hell up, it didn't care for your needs, your problems or your circumstances. It just waltzed into your life and hopped on your back with a weight of a ton of bricks and weighed on you every single goddamn day.

But for Marlene, apparently, it was a rollercoaster. She started at the highest point, bursting with optimism and brimming with wild ideas. The hopefulness grew seamlessly into staunch denial: there was no way it could actually be real, right? Who's to say she didn't have another sixty years in her. People always beat the odds — and Marlene would beat the hell out of them.

Anger came pretty quickly and was surprisingly tame, but for an occasional venomous hiss coming from the backseat and a colourful array of profanities directed at God and angels that earned an impressed look from Dean.

Finally, there was depression — a state in which Marley found quiet solace. They were half-way to Bobby's, the road ahead growing darker with each passing hour. They'd have to make a stop some time soon: all of them could use some rest, especially Marlene who hadn't spoken a word for almost three hours, huddled in the backseat.

Sam glanced at the rare-view mirror: she was looking out the window as rain pelted against the glass, undisturbed by the sound. He frowned — it was strange to see her like that. Sam knew — perhaps, better than anyone — that the optimistic attitude was nothing but a faulty coping mechanism, but seeing Marlene so...extinguished all of a sudden, made him inexplicably angry.

But Marlene wasn't depressed or in denial, or even pissed at the fates for dealing her such crappy cards — no, Marlene wasn't any of that. She was thoughtful. And the thing on her mind was death. She remembered a quote by Turgenev, one of the few writers in her Russian Literature class she could actually stomach: "Death's an old joke, but each individual encounters it anew." She wondered how it would come to her. Where it would take her. When it would take her.

These thoughts kept her up at night in the room of a roadside motel on highway 94 in Illinois (Dean's snoring didn't help the matter). The same questions were plaguing her mind: how, where, when, like the worst catchy tune from a cereal commercial. Yet the answer always remained unchanged — Marlene didn't know. Couldn't know. And that ticked her off even more, because if she was going to die, she'd at least like to be prepared for it. Hell, she hadn't even created a bucket list. What would she put on it?

1. Survive the Apocalypse

2. Stay alive until the next winter Olympics

3. Have a cronut

Ah, she'd really love a cronut right about now. Bucket lists were decidedly not to be made while hungry in the middle of the night. And if death was unavoidable, hunger...well, hunger was something Marlene could easily deal with. Which is why she got out of bed, threw on her coat and went on a little stroll down to the vending machine. Her choice instantly fell on a pack of M&Ms — something that'd become a strange tradition.

With the sweet treasure retrieved from the metal cove, Marlene plumped down on the curbstone with little to no grace and spilt a handful of candies into her palm. She almost threw the colourful ones out, but then stilled. She studied the sugary spheres and popped a red one into her mouth, feeling nothing short of a rebel. Then a blue one. They tasted like freedom.

Marlene wasn't surprised when she heard footsteps. Somehow meeting Sam by the vending machine in the middle of the night had become more likely than being abducted and sold into slavery somewhere in Albania.

Sam sat down next to her silently, folding in two in the most awkward position. He looked at the candies in her palm, "What about poisoning yourself?"

"Well, I'm gonna die anyway," Marley shrugged and ate a green one, "Might as well do it with style. Want some?" she handed him the pack.

"You're not dying, Marlene," Sam told her sternly and accepted the offering, taking out a couple of candies.

"But I am. Tomorrow, a week from now, in two years — it's gonna happen," she sounded too nonchalant about it to be scared, but somehow, it only served to show how terrified she was. Sam recognised that trick — hell, he'd created it. And so he just listened, glancing over at her delicate profile.

"You know, it's funny, but...I've never actually thought about death," Marlene mused, "I mean, I've read about it, written about it, studied the concept and yet...nothing can prepare you for the real thing, can it? All that philosophy crap is just...speculation. Thoughts of dead men who feared uncertainty so much, they built an entire science around it," the sugary crunch in her mouth made the topic less dreadful, "But when it's not just some distant, abstract notion, when you've walked the line so many times...it becomes so shamefully simple," her eyes fixed on a small splattering of stars in the deep blue sky, "Death needs no science. You just die and stop existing. Where it matters, anyway."

Sam sent a candy into his mouth, "That's pretty bleak."

"Death's pretty bleak," Marlene said matter-of-factly and glanced over at him, "You died what, like twice? Have any pointers?"

Sam huffed out a laugh at the blankness of her question, "Yeah. Not dying."

"You guys make death sound so trivial. Like dying in a video game and trying again until you get it right."

"Only we never seem to get it right," Sam smiled awkwardly, a pair of dimples showing on his cheeks. Marley felt a strange urge to poke them, "I mean, death is...different. I used to see it as a finish line, but you could say my views have...broadened in the past couple of years."

"Figures," Marlene mumbled with a full mouth. Sam sent her an amused look, "You're all so intense. So...Life vs Death, when it isn't even a thing."

He quirked a surprised brow, "It isn't?"

"No, it isn't," she shook her head, chewing over the last bits of food-coloured sugar, "See, they always say 'life or death', but...life is not the opposite of death — birth is. Think about it: your birth marks the beginning of your journey and death — the precise point of its end. Life, though...there's no antonym to it, is there? Life is being, it's existing — what's the opposite of that?" Marlene glanced at Sam as though expecting him to give her an answer, "Not being. Non-existence. Void. Oblivion. That's what I'll probably become Non-existent. Stuck in a land of eternal suffering for mutants like me."

Sam shook his head, frowning, "Don't say that, Marlene."

"Why? It's true. We don't know where it is freaks like me go. Clearly, no one's ever escaped that dump, so that should say something."

They lapsed into a bizarrely peaceful silence that didn't feel awkward or smothering in its quiet. It gave both of them time to reflect and come to terms with what'd been said.

"I guess it's good that I know now. I can prepare," Marlene said after a while, finally done with the entire pack of candy, "You know, watch all the movies I've never seen, read all the books, maybe even get a tattoo or a belly button piercing."

Sam snorted, "A belly button piercing?"

"I mean...it's Britney, bitch."

He barked out an incredulous laugh and Marley couldn't help but join him. Happiness suited him, she noted, studying his flustered face. Sam'd been through so much, that boy, that man. Lost more than Marlene could've ever imagined, done his fair share of damage and spent a lifetime atoning for what he was. For what he had no choice in becoming. And yet there he was, laughing. Moving forward.

"Have you ever been in love?" she asked him suddenly.

If Sam was startled by the question, he didn't show it, "Uh...yeah."

"Jess," Marlene guessed. He gave a small, silent nod.

She fumbled with the sleeve of her coat where the leather was half-peeled off, "And...was it worth it?"

Sam looked at her with a frown, "What do you mean?"

"The pain of losing her," her voice was quiet, barely over a whisper, "Was it worth the love itself?"

"Huh," Sam breathed and titled his head back to glance at the stars as though they could give him an answer. When they hadn't replied, he finally spoke again, "All I felt after her death was anger. At the demon who killed her, at myself for believing I could have it all and putting her in danger, I — I was too blinded by it to grief. Too self-absorbed," Sam's voice was tense, strangled with pent up emotion, "So I'll say...no. Love wasn't worth her death. If I could've taken it away and stayed out of her life, I would've."

Marlene had always believed in magic, even though her father did everything to disillusion her. She thought that autumn leaves were made of gold, that clouds tasted like cotton candy, that water was a looking glass and that stars could talk. She would often stare out the window before going to bed and look to them, tiny little diamonds, wondering what they were doing up there all night. Whispering, giggling and dancing, sprinkling the earth with glimmering star dust. That's why nights were so magical — they were when the actual magic happened, and if you dared stay awake, you could witness it.

Stardust made people see things in a new light. Not necessarily different — clearer. Unbound by the restraints of reason, shrouded in an enchanting allure of the impossible. Marlene could swear she saw something sparkle in the air when she caught Sam's eyes. Kind, soulful and so, so lost. Which was ironic, because she could swear that in that very moment, she found herself in them. It was stardust that drew her eyes to his lips. It was stardust that made him glance at hers.

However, it was decidedly not stardust that opened the door of one of the nearby rooms and pushed a burly topless guy outside. Just like that, the magic was broken, and both Marlene and Sam blinked away the cunning charms and pretended like nothing'd happened.

They gawked at the intruder who made his way to the vending machine, scratching his impressive beer belly. Grumbling at the poor assortment, he finally got himself a pack of beef jerky and turned, noticing someone staring. He gave Marlene and Sam an annoyed look, then trudged back into his room, muttering something under his breath.

When he was gone, they burst into a feat of laughter, like a pair of middle-schoolers. At last, Sam rose from the curbstone and gave Marlene a hand, "Come on, lets get back. It's getting cold." She accepted the chivalrous gesture and felt her cheeks grow pink at how warm and inviting his hand felt. She thanked the stars once again for providing her with a perfect cover.

It was the little smile he gave her before they went inside.

But really, it was all stardust.

Except for Dean's loud snoring.

𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐

They arrived at Bobby's the next day, worn out and exhausted. Dean headed in first, threw a quick 'Hey, Bobby" to the old man and beelined straight for the kitchen to grab some beer. They all needed a drink after what'd happened.

Sam gave Bobby a brief smile, "Hey. Found anything?"

The man shook his head, "Nothin'. It's been awful quiet, which means..."

"They're planning something," Sam nodded grimly.

Bobby's eyes then flashed to the small figure behind him. Marley could tell by the look in them that Dean had filled him in on everything. God knows when he'd managed that between snoring and singing along to every heavy metal song they were unfortunate enough to catch on the radio.

"You alright, kid?"

Marley paused to consider it, "Uh, define 'alright'."

"Not dead?"

"Well, not yet," she offered cheerfully and strolled inside. Bobby sent Sam a questioning look, as if to say "What the hell was that?", but he just shrugged in reply, pursing his lips.

"Don't even ask," Sam told him and went inside, leaving Bobby alone and bewildered in the hallway. Muttering something under his breath, the old man shut the door with a single, loaded sigh, "Idjits" and rolled himself into the living room.

𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐

The reprieve was short-lived, though: soon enough, Sam and Dean received a troubling message from Chuck the writer and, apparently, the prophet, and had to leave as quickly as possible. Marlene had decided to stay behind (she liked to think it was her decision, thank you very much) and crack the mystery of the empty pages in Arthur's journal. It was going brilliantly, as in she had made no progress in two days. Why couldn't he just tell her how to read them like a normal person? It's like she didn't have enough on her plate as it was with all the Walk to Remember crap.

"Whatcha doing with that thing?" Bobby asked, noticing how ferociously Marlene was rubbing something into the paper. It was lemon water, which was supposed to reveal the ink, only it was doing a rather piss-poor job at it.

"My dad told me there's a hidden note," she replied, too concentrated on her task to look up, "About ten freaking pages of them."

Bobby rolled himself closer, "Invisible ink, huh?"

"Dammit," Marley hissed and threw the wet cloth aside, "Maybe they really are empty?"

He studied the blank, tattered pages, rubbing them between his thumb and index finger to test the texture, "Did you try white vinegar?

"I tried everything, Bobby: white vinegar, heating the paper, soap water — it just doesn't show up. Mission impossible."

"And did you use aspirin?"

"Well, I might have to soon. My head's been killing me — "

"I'm not talking about that," Bobby told her brusquely, "Go get it. Top shelf in the kitchen." Confused but just desperate enough, Marlene went to fetch the pills, "And a glass of water!" he yelled after her.

When she got back, she placed the water and the aspirin in front of Bobby, "What're you thinking?" Marley asked, intrigue.

"There's an old military technique. The Germans used it during World War I," Bobby took two pills and dropped them into the water. They sunk to the bottom with a hiss, filling the cup with white, chalky substance. Then he grabbed the cloth Marlene'd been using and dipped it into the murky water, "Top-secret, classified information," she watched as he swiped it over the page, hardly even rubbing the mixture in — more like dabbing the paper with it, "But really it was just some damned aspirin."

In a matter of seconds, faded ink began to appear on the paper, word by word, sentence by sentence, filling the page with paragraphs of her father's writings. Marley's lips stretched into an amazed smile, "Holy shit," she breathed.

"Nothing holy 'bout it," Bobby grumbled. They repeated the same with the other pages, and soon Marlene was able to devour every mystery of the empty notes in her father's journal. Truly, she'd had no idea what to expect: was it something about the curse? A secret family recipe? Another love letter to Sophia?

It was none of these things, however. Instead...

"Oh my god," Marlene whispered, running her eyes over the page.

"What's that?"

"The empty pages, they're..." she looked over at Bobby, stunned, "They're about the witch coven that gave me the mark."

He frowned and left the book he was reading, "What about it?"

"They're like a pop up taco truck — you never really know where they're gonna show up next. Centuries old, really like their space, some even say they don't exist at all," Marley relayed what she'd managed to read, "Turns out they're not even witches."

"Then what the hell are they?"

"It says here that they don't draw their power from Hell, or make any deals with he Devil. 'The Astłik clan of sorcerers is nothing short of a wonder — their power comes from the nature itself, from the goddess that they worship', " Marlene read out, "So really they're...druids?"

"Druids?" Bobby repeated sceptically, "What's next, we gotta get Excalibur to gank the Devil?"

Marley stared at him, "Really? You know, Bobby, after the shit you've seen, you'd think you'd be more open-minded."

"Not that open," he said and scanned the page. Arthur'd illustrated one of the witches: a tall woman with long, flowing hair, "So what, it's Woodstock all year 'round for them?"

"Well, they're certainly peaceful. My father wrote they travel the world and search for new recruits. Kinda like hippies when you think about it. Minus the drugs," a pause, "Plus blood rituals and magic."

"And they had a Nephilim's grace for two thousand years?"

Marley nodded, "Didn't use a drop. Doesn't scream evil, does it?"

"They're still witches."

"That don't worship the Devil — " Marlene stilled, "Of course."

Bobby glanced at her in mild concern, "Are you having a seizure or somethin'?"

"Bobby, they don't worship the Devil!"

"Wanna give them a gold star for that?"

Marlene rolled her eyes, "They're pacifists, they need people to keep their little cult going. Nature is their jam, and Lucifer wants to burn all that's living. Don't you think they'd have something to say about it?"

He frowned, "You think they're gonna help us?"

"I don't know," Marlene shrugged, "But it's worth trying. Not like we've got that many options." She nearly jumped when her phone started vibrating on the table. When she glanced at the number, Marlene wasn't just startled — she was scared shitless. It's not everyday that you get a call from Hell. Flustered with panic, she mumbled a quick apology and told Bobby she needed to take that.

"Hello?" Marley answered from another room, keeping her voice as low as possible.

"Ah, whispers in dark corners. How very intimate."

Her fear quickly turned into annoyance at the familiar voice, "What do you want?"

"I said I'd get in touch if there's any news. And I am nothing if not a man of my word."

Marlene's heart raced a little faster, "You have it?"

"Darling," Crowley drawled, "I am powerful, but I'm not the bloody King of Hell. No, I don't have it," he huffed in annoyance.

"Then why are you calling?" Marlene hissed, glancing back to make sure she was still out of earshot.

"I don't have it now. But...that might change. Very soon."

She narrowed her eyes, "What are you plotting?"

"Ah, fret not, crumpet, you'll find out soon enough. It will make all of us really happy," he said smugly. She didn't like that one bit.

"I doubt we have the same idea of happiness."

"I wouldn't be so quick to make that judgement. Who knows? I might just surprise you, little angelette," the call ended abruptly.

Before Marlene could calm her nerves enough to get back to Bobby, she heard the front door open and loud voices spilling inside.

"Shit," Marley muttered. She drew a deep, calming breath. Get your act together, you idiot. They were now in the living room talking to Bobby.

"Where's Marlene?" she heard Sam ask.

"She — "

"Hey, guys!" Marlene chirped, walking into the room before Bobby could answer, "How's Chuck? What'd he want?"

"It wasn't him. It was that nutjob," Dean said. Marley raised a brow.

"Becky," Sam explained.

"Oh."

Dean grinned, "She broke up with Sam."

"Yeah, apparently, she and Chuck are now a thing."

Marlene's brows shot up, "Wow...I mean — that kinda makes sense, actually," and then her face changed, "Aw, I'm sorry, though, Sam. Breakups suck," he cut her a glare of betrayal, "Wanna watch "Dirty Dancing" and eat a salad? Extra dressing?" Dean snorted.

"She did tell me something, though," Sam said, ignoring both of them.

"What? 'It's not you, it's me?'" Marlene asked.

Sam rolled his eyes, "She said Bella hadn't given the Colt to Lilith," Marley frowned at that, vaguely remembering the notorious woman, "She gave it to someone else," a pause, "A demon named Crowley."

Fucking demons.