Seven Devils
Chapter 27 / A Week In the Life
"Anybody can become angry — that is easy, but to be angry with the right person and to the right degree and at the right time and for the right purpose, and in the right way — that is not within everybody's power and is not easy."
— Aristotle
Monday
She scraped her finger against the chipped edge of the glass, staring blankly at the ember liquid. Every single time she expected the glass to tear the soft skin of her pad, drawing blood. The crimson swallowed by the ember, wafting through the thick of the tart liquor like smoke through air, leaving frail ribbons in its wake.
But it never happened. However hard Marlene would press on the dull edge, the blood never came. Irritated, she brought the glass to her lips instead and let the whiskey glide down her throat like liquid fire, brining a slightly unpleasant warmth to her insides. Probably because she was cold all over, and it had nothing to do with temperature.
They'd lost Ellen and Jo, let dozens of people die — sacrificed everything for something that hadn't come to pass. Lucifer was still alive and kicking and now, apparently, so was Death. What a twisted freaking oxymoron that was.
Marlene looked over at Bobby who had barely uttered a word all day, quiet in his grieving solitude. They'd lost count of the glasses of whiskey he'd downed — it had likely surpassed a bottle, perhaps even two. But none of them dared speak a word against it. Dean was nursing his third glass that evening and even Sam, who very rarely went for a bottle of beer, didn't hold back, which was how you knew that things were truly and completely...shit.
"He can't go on like this," Marlene said quietly, watching Bobby from the kitchen where she, Dean and Sam were sitting at the table.
Dean followed her eyes — the old man had his head stuck in a book next to a half-empty bottle, obsessively scouring the faded pages. "That's the only way he can go on."
Marlene supposed he was right. She was slowly learning that there was no healthy coping mechanisms for the crap hunters had to deal with. Alcohol seemed to be the most harmless option to dull the pain and make you forget, even if just for a few hours.
"Hey, Marlene?"
She looked up at Sam, surprised to hear him speak, "Yeah?"
"I was...what — what happened when you..." he trailed off, brows raised. 'When you disappeared?'.
Sam'd been waiting to ask this question the entire ride back, but it hadn't seemed like the right time — the memory had been too fresh still, the shock too potent. Even now Sam felt guilty for making her experience that night all over again, but the curiosity had been eating at him for too long.
Marley glanced from him to Dean, who was now staring at her as well. Her mouth went completely dry. She poked her thumb at the dull, chipped edge again, hoping the pain would ease the thumping anxiety in her temples, but the pain never came. And so she forced herself to swallow the lump that'd stuck in her throat and cleared it, "Well...first, he, um, healed me? Sort of — then he...apologised."
Talking about it was so bizarre. The whole encounter hadn't felt quite real to her, akin to a peculiar state between a nightmare and lucidness. "And that...that strange premonition I had in the morning? It was all him. He wanted me to be there." Marlene didn't want to say his name out loud, fearing he might somehow overhear and come knocking. The He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, with a nose to boot.
Sam's brows furrowed, "But why? What did he want?"
"To...to talk," the plainness of it made it all the more unsettling.
"To talk?" Dean repeated, highly skeptical.
Marlene shrugged uncomfortably. She dreaded the part that would inevitably come, "Apparently, he felt like it was long overdue."
"So he told you about his plan?" Sam asked. There was a cautious gentleness in his voice masking the poorly suppressed urgency.
"You could certainly say that," she muttered and took a long sip of the whiskey, "He...he knew about my mojo. That the sigil burned out, about — " Marlene broke off, frowning. Death was a particularly unwelcome thought right at that moment, "The whole thing, he...he just knew. And he seemed pretty fascinated."
Sam's jaw jutted out in barely concealed anger, fingers tightening around the glass. It was just as they'd feared.
"Fascinated how?" Dean was composed enough to speak.
Marlene lowered her eyes, staring at the drink in her hand. How was she supposed to tell them the truth? It was dirty, shameful, vile. She'd felt tainted by it ever since the words spilled from the devil's lips, and no amount of showers or Hail Mary's would make her clean again.
"Marlene?" Sam called in a small voice, sensing her hesitation.
Well, there it goes, "It's a — uh, purely...biblical fascination. If you know what I mean," Marley hoped that the loaded look she was giving them would do the trick.
And for once, Dean's dirty mind turned out to be a blessing. "Wh — the — ? The thing?" he gawked at her blank face, scandalised, "No."
Marlene turned to Sam, "Is it bad that I understood everything he just said?"
But Sam wasn't in the mood for jokes. Probably because he hadn't had enough to drink, the sober fool. "He said that to you?"
"Well, not exactly. His proposition was more of a...recreational nature rather than carnal," Sam's mercurial eyes were growing darker by the second, "It's all very birds and bees, really. Basically, he thinks that with our gene pool," Marlene pointed a finger at him, then at herself, "We can create the perfect species to rule them all. Bang the One Ring into existence, if you will," she explained wryly, draining the last bits of whiskey in her glass. Come to think of it, Bobby wasn't the only one with a drinking problem — between the three of them, Marlene had single-handedly demolished more than half of the now empty bottle on the kitchen table. The buzz of the alcohol helped to dull the otherwise acute anxiety that came with remembering, and Marley had a pretty shitty track record when it came to dealing with stress. Whenever faced with a problem, she would usually laugh it off until it got so bad there was no running away anymore.
Had she been just a little more sober, though, she wouldn't have missed the shift in Dean's expression. A shadow that cast itself over his face, drawing his brows into a troubled frown as if he'd been struck by a morbid realisation.
"He said that?" Dean asked, somber. Marley gave a slow, distracted nod, and reached for her glass only to realise, with grave disappointment, that it was empty.
Sam sent Dean a questioning look, for he was certainly sober enough to catch the sudden apprehension in his brother's eyes. But Dean only shook his head, jaw clenched tightly as he mulled over Marlene's words.
Dammit, he should've known.
"I think..." she spoke again, oblivious to the tension and already over the previous subject, "I think I have to leave," Marley sounded rather surprised by the sudden revelation herself, even though she had been contemplating the possibility for a few days now, ever since she'd read the hidden pages in Arthur's journal.
Sam regarded her with confusion, "What?"
"There's a coven of witches. The one that gave me the mark," Marlene avoided Dean's utterly murderous glower, "I think I need to find them. They might be able to tell me more about...well, me. My...situation," she shrugged, "Maybe...maybe they can lock them away again, like they did the last time —"
Dean cut her off with a scoff, "Yeah, sure. You're not going anywhere, not with that Lothario on the loose."
"But they can help us," Marlene reasoned, "These witches, they...they're not into Lucifer. They made no deals — they're pagans. They'll have something to say about the upcoming Ragnarök."
"Pagans?" Sam frowned.
"Yeah, they — I think they worship a goddess Astłik. Goddess of light. That's where their power comes from, or so my father claims."
"Oh, and he is so trustworthy," Dean muttered.
Marlene shot him a half-hearted glare, "Got any other ideas?"
"Not yet — "
"Sam, you're the reasonable one," she appealed to the younger brother, whose face betrayed the obvious curiosity. Dean quirked an offended brow, "You know it's worth a shot. And after Carthage...we really can't afford throwing it away."
Marlene recognised the look in Sam's eyes — the reluctant agreement. But then something in them shifted, his brows lowering into a frown. "You can't go alone, Marlene."
She huffed out a sigh, "Look, this coven is extremely private. They are not gonna reveal themselves to you — "
"Then it's not a shot we can take."
Marley's eyes grew hard, "You can't be serious."
"It's too dangerous. Especially now that we know Lucifer wants something from you."
"So what, you're just gonna lock me up and throw away the key like it's the 19th century? If I can vote, I can take on the Devil."
Sam's brows lifted a fraction, "Gloria Steinem say that?"
"She might've."
"Sam's right," Dean spoke again, drawing Marlene's wrath to himself, "We can't take that risk."
"Right now," Sam added to soften the blow, "Just...can you give it some time? Lucifer expects us to be rash, he thinks we're desperate — "
"We are desperate. " Dean cut in.
" — we just can't afford a misstep right now."
Marlene already opened her mouth to object, but found that she had nothing to argue with, for as much as she was loathe to admit it, Sam had a point. Laying low made more sense than jumping right back on the Apocalypse train after an assassination attempt on Satan gone wrong.
"Fine," she begrudged. Sam and Dean relaxed noticeably, "But just for the time being. And...do we, uh, have more whiskey?"
𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐
Monday
He always comes to wish me good night.
Dean wiped the windshield with a newfound ferocity, his face the picture of gruelling concentration mixed with an unadulterated desire to destroy. Sure, Baby had done nothing to deserve such brutal manhandling — he would have to apologise to her later — but as of right now, Dean Winchester was doing everything to keep his fury safely bottled down. Only the bottle was filled with sparkling champagne and some asshole had been shaking it relentlessly for a good couple of hours. That is to say, that shit was about to blow up.
Besides, the child needs his father. Wouldn't you agree?
He couldn't help but wonder if that had been his plan all along. Lucifer had been pulling the strings in all their fates for decades, carefully crafting the twisted narrative to fit his megalomaniacal designs. It wouldn't be too far fetched to assume that them meeting Marlene hadn't been a lucky coincidence, but just another part of the devils masterplan — to create a superior species. Sure, the entire Harry-meets-Sally scenario sounded ludicrous, but Dean had been to the future and seen its fruits with his own eyes. Which meant that there was no changing the course.
Whatever you do, you will always end up here. Whatever choices you make, whatever details you alter, we will always end up...here —
"You okay, man?"
Dean nearly jumped at the voice, masking his surprise with a look of annoyance. Sam had been watching him for a while, leaning against the garage door, arms crossed. Speak of the devil, indeed.
"Are you?" Dean bit back. Sam quirked a brow. He sighed, "I'm fine. Just staying busy, keeping my mind off things, you know?" Mind off things, my ass. Dean went back to cleaning — it was easier than having to look at the unfortunate baby-daddy.
"Hey — what was that back there?" Sam asked after a moment.
"Back where?"
"When Marlene told us about Lucifer. I saw that look."
"What look?"
"Come on, Dean. Seriously?"
Dean stopped and hung his head down, letting out a heavy breath. Goddamit. And just like that, the bottle popped. "You wanna know what's up? Alright, I'll tell you what's up," he dropped the cloth a bit too aggressively and stalked over to Sam, "The little back-to-the-future trip Zachariah sent me on, remember that?"
"The post-apocalyptic one?"
"No, the one with 90 days in Shangri-La," Dean said sarcastically. Sam levelled him with an impassive look, "Yes, the post-apocalyptic one."
"What about it?"
"There's something I didn't tell you, okay? Seemed kinda freaky back then, but now — dammit, Sammy," Dean broke off, shaking his head. Sam frowned at him, wary, "In 2014...Marlene — well, she, uh, she... sorta had a kid."
Whatever Sam had expected to hear, it wasn't that. His apprehension gave way to bewilderment, "A kid?"
Dean held a long pause, gauging his brother's face for any clue he might've caught on to the very evident subtext. It seemed he hadn't, "Yeah," Dean said slowly, "Your kid."
"My kid," Sam repeated, the look on his face quizzical, as if he thought his brother had lost the last of his marbles, "With Marlene."
"Robby. Five years old, mop of dark hair, huge cartoon eyes. Complete nerd. Sound familiar? Seems like Lucifer's plan worked. In 2014, at least." Dean thought he spotted a tinge of blush on Sam's face. God, had they already?...He tried to do the math in his head — "Please tell me you two haven't done it yet."
"What? Look, we're not even — " Sam spluttered, "What the hell, Dean?"
"Come on, I might be a dick but I'm not blind, Sammy. I know foreplay when I see it. And gotta say, yours has been painful to watch. Really thought you had more game than that." He cut Dean a look of frustration, "Well, am I wrong? You two have been dancing that tango for a good while now."
Sam didn't admit it. He didn't deny it either. Instead he let out a slow breath as though to calm himself, face drawing into a pensive, troubled frown. Dean watched his brother carefully — try as he might, he could never know what he was thinking. Every part of Sam's life had been a step in the Devil's path to dominion. And just when he was finally beginning to believe that he was in control, the girl he had hots for turned out to be just another one of Lucifer's machinations.
"Sammy?" Dean called hesitantly, finding the prolonged silence too unsettling.
But Sam stayed quiet, his face an unreadable mask. Only his eyes betrayed a glimmer of reticent, calm anger, the color of a raging storm.
"Oh, great, you're here," Dean's head whipped to source of the sudden noise, "Have you guys seen Bobby? He isn't in his study — " Marlene stopped in the entrance, instantly catching on the vibrating tension in the garage, "Everything's okay?"
Dean cleared his throat, flashing a look to Sam, "Yeah, all good. What's up?"
Marlene narrowed her eyes, not quite believing the shamefully unconvincing reply, but decided not to pry. It was probably some family drama she had no business getting involved in. Glancing at Sam, who had barely acknowledged her presence, she said, "There's uh, there's been a call. From a psychiatric hospital in Oklahoma." That did well to catch their attention. Marlene felt a slight shiver when Sam's eyes finally landed on her, dark and probing, "It was some guy Martin...Creaser?" Dean's eyes widened with recognition as did Sam's. Marley watched them exchange wary looks, "So you know him?"
"Kind of. He's an old friend of our dad's. Checked himself into a loony bin after a case gone wrong. That's the last we heard of the man."
"What did he want?" asked Sam.
"Your help. Didn't tell me much, though, guess all hunters are wary of outsiders. But," Marlene got closer. Sam got tenser. Dean gave him a pointed look, "I checked out the hospital. Patience been dying like flies — suicide, they say. But I don't think your friend Martin agrees."
Dean frowned, "But why didn't he just call dad's old cell?"
"Maybe because you turned it off?" Marley pointed out, brow quirked. She hadn't forgotten their very short and very unfortunate first exchange. Dean made a face at her.
"Well, then," Sam sighed and turned to his brother, "I guess we got ourselves a case."
𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐
Thursday
Sam was going crazy. He was pretty sure of that, but then again, didn't crazy people usually think they were the sane ones? Or was it just another trick of his mind? Nothing seemed real anymore. Nothing but the boiling anger inside of him that he was unable to simmer down, however hard he tried. He had attacked an innocent man. Hell, he almost killed him. Like a madman. A monster. Perhaps, it was good he was locked away in here.
Still a little high on the drugs had given him, Sam stalked into the day room, accompanied by a burly orderly to keep him in check. He could take him down in a minute, maybe two. Kill the guy, if he wanted.
Stop it.
Sam found Dean sitting at a checkers table, staring at the wall with a distant, blank look in his eyes. "Dean? Hey — " he looked up, jarred out of his trance, "Oh. What's wrong?"
Dean rose, slowly, and frowned, "It's not the demon blood, Sam. It never was."
"What?"
"The problem was you. It was always you," the sheer hatred in Dean's eyes made Sam flinch, "The lies...your arrogance...the black spot on your soul. Everyone can see it, except for you. Marlene can see it," he seethed, merciless, "And to think the only girl you managed not to get killed's been sent by the devil."
Sam staggered away, harrowed, "Shut up..."
"Do you still think you can fight him?" Dean pressed, "Just get over yourself and die, Sam. It will be better for everyone."
Shaking his head frantically, Sam stumbled back only to find himself surrounded by a horde of other patients. "Now we're all gonna die because of you," a mad-eyed woman screamed in his face, "It's all your fault!"
Sam turned away from her but was faced by a man, "You killed all of us. Pathetic freak," he shoved Sam into the sea of the other patients.
"You evil son of a bitch!" the first woman pushed him back.
Another one shoved him away, "Loser!"
"Grow up and die!
"Freak!"
They kept clawing and grabbing on him, and Sam tried to push them away, he really did, but when the screams got too loud and the blood in his veins started thumping violently, he couldn't hold back anymore. Sam swung a fist into the crowd, hitting the patients one by one, without even looking to see the damage.
"Leave me alone!" he yelled, red in the face, when an orderly grabbed him from behind. He whirled around and hit the man in the face, but the other one managed to seized him by the arms, "Leave me alone! Stop it! I didn't do it! Get off of me!"
The orderlies dragged Sam out of the hall, his screams filling the cold, empty corridors of the psychiatric hospital.
𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐
Friday
Marlene stared at her laptop, then at the map layed out on the table. Then at the laptop some more. But the strenuous activity yielded no magical epiphany. Shocker, that was.
Even with Arthur's extensive notes that at times bordered on a secret diary Marley had no business reading, locating Astłik coven's current hiding spot was proving to be much harder than she'd anticipated. That's why she was currently studying sun paths in the Northern Hemisphere. It's at moments like this she really wished she'd paid more attention to at school.
Marlene was so caught up in solar patterns, she barely heard the sound of wheels rolling into the room. She noticed Bobby only when he placed a cup on the table. Marley eyed the ember liquid in it and grimaced, "Thanks, but if I have any more whiskey, I'm going to die. And I'm not being dramatic."
"It's tea," Bobby said gruffly. She stared at him, surprised, "What?"
Marlene took the hot cup, enjoying the warmth between her palms, "Nothing," she mumbled and took a sip. God, that was nice, "Thank you."
Bobby appeared almost affronted by gratitude, a very uncomfortable look on his face. Finally, he cleared his throat and muttered a reluctant, "You're welcome," before returning to his table. Marley noticed that he hadn't brought a cup for himself.
"You should have some too," she pointed out nonchalantly, briefly glancing at the bottle of whiskey by his side.
"I'm fine," he replied, head already stuck in the book again.
Marlene tried to mind her own business. She'd done it pretty successfully for a couple of days, but now...Seeing Bobby so distant and despondent, having to battle his grief all alone with nothing but stubbornness and alcohol made it impossible for Marley to stay impassive. Dean was wrong — there had to be another way to go on.
"Did you find anything?" Marlene asked, even though Bobby had made it perfectly clear he wasn't in the mood for talking.
"Not yet."
"Do you know what you're looking for?" he lifted his eyes only to give her the grouchiest look she'd witnessed so far, "I'm only saying that because telic research is always better than haphazard — " Marley broke off under his unimpressed stare.
"I'm looking for the devil."
She was a bit stumped by the blasé declaration. "Uh, well...See? That's something. An objective — that's...yeah. Um, you should probably aim lower, though? Say...the horsemen. Look out for omens, that sort of thing? Cause it doesn't seem like the devil wants to be found."
Bobby narrowed his eyes, "Shouldn't you be doing your own telic research?"
"I am. I'm just — " Marley sighed, reclining in the chair, "— a little stuck."
"Seems like your witches don't want to be found either."
"Yeah. Seems like it."
The silence that settled between them didn't feel stifling anymore. It felt like quiet camaraderie, a shared solitude that provided a certain comfort. Marlene glanced over at Bobby and found him staring at the half-empty glass in his hand, a distant look in his eyes. She knew that look too well.
"Bobby?"
"What?"
"There's nothing you could've done."
Bobby levelled her with a glare, "Don't go talkin' about things you don't understand, girl."
"Hell, we could've lost you, too," Marlene went on without a beat, unfazed by Bobby's glower, "Ellen and Jo...they knew what they were getting into, and they did it because they cared. Their deaths meant something, Bobby. They have to. We're going to make damn sure of that. Together," she whispered.
For a moment Marley thought Bobby would give her a piece of his mind and roll away in anger, leaving her alone to grovel. But to her surprise, the old man's face mellowed, losing the edge of irritation, his shoulders sagging, free at last of the pent up tension.
"I am damn tired of losing people, Marlene," he confessed with a heavy sigh.
Tessa. Jo. Ellen. Her father, whom she would very likely never see again, "I know."
When Bobby looked at her, his eyes were filled with anguish and determination, "We ain't losing anyone else."
𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐
Saturday
Sam and Dean burst out of the side door of the hospital and headed straight for the woods where they'd left the car. God, it was nice to be outside. It felt like they'd spent months in that dreadful place.
Dean made his way towards the Impala, Sam following closely behind. "Well, looks like Tom Cruise was right. Shrinks suck," Dean opened the door to jump in, but Sam stopped at the trunk, hesitant. Dean turned to him, confused, "What are you doing? Sam? You okay?"
"No," Sam sighed, "No. The wraith — "
"What about her?"
"She was right."
"No, she wasn't. She's dead, okay? Let's hit the road. I need a drink, or twelve," Dean reached for the door, but his hand froze over the handle when Sam spoke again.
"Most of the time, I can hide it, but...I am angry. I'm mad at everything," he confessed, every word drenched in self-loathing. Dean faced him, brows drawn into a concerned frown, "I used to be mad at you and Dad, then Lilith, now it's Lucifer, and all that stuff with Marlene...All I do is make excuses. I blame Ruby or the demon blood, but it's not their fault," Sam breathed, shaking his head, "It's not them. It's me. It's inside me. I'm mad...all the time...and I don't know why," he shrugged, eyes brimming with stubborn tears of exasperation, "I have no control, Dean. Over anything."
"Stop," Dean walked over to him, "Stop it. So what? What are you gonna do? You gonna take a leave of absence? You gonna say yes to Lucifer? What?"
"No, of course not. I — "
"Exactly. And that's exactly what you're gonna do. You're gonna take all that crap and you're gonna bury it," Dean told him vehemently, "You're gonna forget about it, because that's how we keep going! That's how we don't end up like Martin! Are you with me?" Sam stared at him, face crumpled with indecision and self-doubt. So Dean pleaded, "Come on, man. Are you with me?"
After a moment's hesitation, Sam mumbled, "I'm with you."
"Good," Dean nodded slowly. But something in his brother's eyes made him wary, "Now let's get the hell out of here."
𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐
Sunday
Marlene sat cross-legged on her bed, surrounded by a sea of notes, books from the disorderly piles in Bobby's living room and a couple of old road maps. One could easily mistake the scene for meditation if not for the look of exhausted frustration on Marley's face. The Astłik coven was a bitch — or should she say a witch? Probably not, because it's ridiculously lame — to trace down, but staring at the map now, after days of endless research, Marlene was quite certain she'd succeeded.
The Astłik were sun-worshippers, which meant their "migrating" patterns were connected directly to its movement. They changed their location twice every year — for each solstice — deviating between north and south, depending on the season. According to Arthur's journal, the last time he'd visited the coven was in 1997, in Pungo, Virginia, sometime between late June and December, before the winter solstice. He'd been trying to pin them down for months before that by studying sun patterns — the very thing Marlene had been wracking her brain over for days on end. All of that just to narrow their location down to south-west. For approximately another month before the winter solstice after which all her research would have gone down the drain.
Marley circled the probable destinations on the map, "Needle in a damn haystack," she whispered, massaging her temples — they were thumping with pain, and her eyes were tired and dry, begging for rest. She would need as much of it as possible in the coming weeks. Or months, however long they had left. Soon, a warm bed would be an inaccessible luxury.
Yawning, Marlene collected the papers sprawled on the sheets into a neat pile and started to fold the maps when a sudden knock on the door halted her little cleaning session. She looked up when it opened, revealing a very hesitant yet friendly-looking giant.
Marley's face lit up with a tired smile, "You're back."
"Yeah," Sam shuffled awkwardly in the door, "Uh, do you mind if I?..." he gestured to the room.
"Oh!" Marley sat up straighter on the bed, "Of course. Sure, you can come in," she tried to clear the space around her haphazardly and with very little result. She really wasn't kidding anyone.
Sam walked inside and closed the door gently behind him. Marley quirked a brow at that, the knot in her stomach twisting violently. But she found it wasn't with anticipation, but rather anxiousness — the grim look on Sam's face didn't bode well.
"How was the case? Is your friend okay?"
He seemed confused for a moment, but then his face cleared, "Martin? Yes, he's fine. We...uh, we delt with it. The wraith."
"A wraith?"
Sam nodded distractedly, "It drove people insane. Fed on their madness."
"Wow," Marley breathed, kind of impressed by the sheer ingenuity of the monster, "That place must've been a feast for it."
"It certainly didn't hold back."
Marlene followed Sam's pacing figure with narrowed eyes. He looked uneasy. Nervous. "Are you alright?" she asked.
He stopped, looking caught off guard, "I'm fine. Look, Marlene — " Sam broke off. There it goes, Marley thought, watching as he walked to the bed and sat down on the corner, "I think we need to talk."
She quirked a brow, feeling her face heat up at his close proximity, "We do?"
"About what happened the night before Carthage."
"You mean the kiss."
"Uh — " Sam cleared his throat, not prepared for such bluntness, "— yes."
Marlene wasn't an idiot. She knew he hadn't come here to profess his undying feelings and then ravish her on this ridiculously creaky bed littered with old maps and papers. But Marley wasn't going to fight his battles for him, and so she waited patiently for the other shoe to drop.
"Marlene...we shouldn't have done it," Sam finally said and glanced over at her with great caution. He probably expected her to speak, but Marlene didn't say a word. What could she say?
She wasn't about to start an argument and beg him to change his mind like some crazed maniac. It was clear Sam had made his decision and the reasons were his own. Sure, Marley wouldn't pretend it didn't hurt — she thought they were on the same page with all the stolen glances, passing touches and "what happened the night before Carthage" as Sam had so romantically put it. But it turned out they weren't even in the same book. Or on the same shelf.
"Marlene?"
"Yes?"
"Did you hear what I..." Sam trailed off, brows raised a fraction.
"I did. I...I mean, I get it. You don't have to explain it to me," Marley pursed her lips into a tight smile that looked more like a grimace, "After what Lucifer said...I can't really blame you, can I?"
A shadow fell over his face at his mention, "It's not...it's really nothing — "
"Sam, please," a humourless little laugh that Maddock used to describe as "manic" tore from her lips. Despite her better efforts, "No Hallmark one-liners, I think we're better than that. Plus, I don't think they'd have anything for our situation." Marlene could already imagine a red postcard with little devil horns that said "Devil made me do it!"
"Sorry," he chuckled sheepishly. Marlene hated that her eyes instantly flashed to the annoying pair of dimples, "It's just the timing..."
"As I've said: you don't have to explain it to me, Sam," she interrupted, "It's fine. It was just a kiss, right? My honour is intact." Sam quirked a surprised brow at that. When Marlene finally realised what she'd said, her cheeks flushed a violent shade of pink, "I mean — you know...obviously."
He nodded, barely holding back a smile, "Obviously."
And so they sat there, just a few feet apart, both too awkward to say a word after what must've been the most confusing conversation in Marlene's life.
"So...I'll probably head to sleep now," she finally spoke, dragging out the vowels to sound more polite.
Sam nearly jumped off the bed at the announcement, "Of course. Sorry — "
"It's okay — "
"Goodnight," he stumbled his way to the door, "Again, I'm — "
"Sorry," Marley supplied helpfully, "Yes, we've covered that. Goodnight, Sam."
Giving her one last contrite smile, Sam nodded and walked out, closing the door behind him. When his heavy steps disappeared down the stairs, Marlene could finally breath. And with that miraculous ability came the annoying tears. Blinking the buggers away, Marley fell down onto her pillow and let out a long, heavy sigh.
There couldn't have been a better sign.