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┏━━━━━━𖤐━━━━━━┓ chapter twenty four: the one with many revelations ┗━━━━━━𖤐━━━━━━┛
"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?"
