𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘯

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Hey guys! This chapter is a bit on the dark side so here's a little fun vid I've made to brighten it up a bit ❤️

Now, without further ado...

┏━━━━━━𖤐━━━━━━┓chapter eighteen:maiden, mother, crone ┗━━━━━━𖤐━━━━━━┛"Pour everything out for the blood you have shed, you're wasting your time in appeasing the dead

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┏━━━━━━𖤐━━━━━━┓
chapter eighteen:
maiden, mother, crone
┗━━━━━━𖤐━━━━━━┛
"Pour everything out for the blood you have shed, you're wasting your time in appeasing the dead."

— Aeschylus "The Orestia"


The part of town they were travelling through was completely deserted. No humans, no Croats, nothing — it almost seemed too quiet, Dean thought. Nothing but the sound of angry steps and an occasional can being tossed away. It was just him, his psychotic alter ego, Marlene, Cas, Risa, and a couple of guys from the camp.

Marlene was trudging behind, away from the rest of the group. But Dean knew that there was one person in particular she was avoiding. He slowed his step and waited for everyone else to walk ahead, "So, Mary-Kate over there isn't wild about you being here."

Marley's mouth twitched, "I think he's more of an Ashley. And I don't give a crap," she gripped her rifle tighter, eyes scanning the upper levels of the abandoned buildings.

"Cas said you rarely go on missions," Dean pointed out.

"I'm surprised he could tell seeing as he was stoned for all of them."

"Still, it's — "

Marley aimed her rifle and pulled the trigger without a moment's hesitation. A dead Croat fell from a window. Dean gaped at her, "Where'd you learn to shoot like that?"

"Bobby taught me," Marlene said quietly after a beat of silence, "He was the only one who had the patience," she gave him a side-eye and kept walking.

"Hey — what happened to him? I've been to the house, found the wheelchair..."

"He, uh...he died. Pretty early on, about three years ago."

"What happened?"

"What always happens: Croats, a horde of them," Marley replied darkly, "I was there. Robby and I both," Dean glanced over at her, "Bobby held them back so we could get away."

That was an honorable death. A way to go worthy of a man like Bobby Singer — giving his life to protect a girl and her little son. Sacrificing himself. You old grump, Dean shook his head with a rueful smirk. He'd be sure to give the old man a hug when he returned.

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