Supernatural [Reader Insert]

26. Marriage Counseling

Crowley leaned over a long table full of spell books and drawings. Some were undecipherable even to him. He flipped slowly through one written on dried human skin. Candelabras sputtered on either side of him and classical music filled the room from some unknown source.

"Hard at work, I see," a familiar woman's voice pulled him away from the book.

Crowley looked across the table at Morrigan before looking back down at the book.

"I suppose you are trying to avoid another failure," she grinned wickedly.

Crowley abandoned the book and stood up straight. "I have a plan."

"Yes, you wish to remove the archangel from the equation." Her eyes flicked over the books and drawings in front of her. "None of these are going to help you with that."

Crowley frowned, growing tired of the sister fate's unhelpful observations. "It may help if you were to take care of him yourself."

"You know I cannot do that," she said, still grinning. "My work is more than what you need now." A pale arm disappeared into her black cloak and pulled out a large black book and a smaller red one. She set them down on the table with a dull thud.

Crowley's eyes widened and he stared at the black leather cover. "Where did you get that?"

"It has been kept secret," she told Crowley, "but it holds the answers you seek."

Crowley made to reach for the book, but stopped himself and brought his hand back. "What does this mean?" he asked her. "What will I owe you?"

Morrigan cackled, the sound of a crow laughing. "You already owe the fates everything. Everyone does."

Crowley looked back down at the book and grabbed it. He looked back up and Morrigan was gone. He moved the book he had been looking at before aside and set the one he had just received in its spot. The cover was old black leather. The pages tan leather. It made little cracking noises as he opened it and the pages separated from each other. He tried to read through a couple of pages and frowned. "I need the prophet for this." He turned his attention to the little red book. He opened it and found Latin. This he could work with.

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Sam and Dean stood outside of the Impala in front of Don Stark's house. Dean had called you to let you know where they had gone and was now hanging up. He looked over at his brother who was staring down at the sidewalk and pushing a thumb into the wound on his hand. "Hey, you ready?" Dean asked him.

Sam looked up, looking a little surprised. "Uh, yeah. Let's go."

Dean pursed his lips but started toward the front door. He pressed the doorbell and heard a long, fancy ring echo through the house. The door opened and revealed a face that matched the statue at the center of town. A clean cut older man in a business suit stood in front of them.

"Hello, can I help you?" Don Stark asked.

"I'm agent Willis, this is agent Sambora," Dean pulled out his badge and then pointed to Sam's badge. "We'd like to talk to you about the deaths of Wendy Goodson, Carl Dunlap, and Dewey Stevens."

Don Stark nodded and opened the door the rest of the way. He gestured for them to follow and started leading them into the house. "If the bureau's involved I assume you think all three were murdered."

"It's looking that way, yes," Dean nodded.

The three of them walked into a wood-paneled study, a large desk at one end. Mr. Stark rounded it and stood behind it.