Supernatural

The Mark of Cain never lets its host die easy.

It's just a curse. It can be removed.

This is Purgatory.

There was something about being there.

Most days felt like 360-degree combat.

It felt pure.

Cuthbert Sinclair. He was named "Master of spells."

His work got a little crazy.

The leadership called it "eccentric and irresponsible."

We're done. So you're choosing the Winchesters?

I'm choosing me.

The Book of the Damned is a spellbook

for creating or undoing any kind of damnation there is.

We translate this thing,

I think we can get the Mark of Cain off you, Dean.

I don't trust you, but I need help.

I need the Mark of Cain off of my brother.

Something tells me you can crack this book.

The only question is,

will you help me? Shall we discuss terms?

Hey!

Get lost. My show just started.

You have a record player in your room.

Dad's speakers are better. Tough luck.

I need the laundry started. The workmen have finally...

Left for the day, and I have my hands full with dinner.

And please, none of your Betty Friedan stuff.

It's not fair.

Look, I always get stuck with the hard chores

just 'cause I'm the girl.

Yeah? Well, tough luck.

The house is great, Ted.

It's a bit of a fixer, but it's a real beaut.

It was caught in some ownership muddle for years.

But finally hit the market, and I leapt.

Don't spend all day down there!

Mom?

Dad, where's mom?

Mom?

Brad?

Uhh!

Aah!

Mom?

Mom!

Everything's gonna be okay.

Everything's gonna be okay.

Everything's...

Gonna be just fine.

== sync, corrected by elderman == @elder_man

There's only one thing

you could possibly do for me

that I can't, at least presently,

do for myself.

Kill my son.

He's expecting it from me.

Already has his stinking minions on high alert.

And if you're wondering how a mother can get to the point

of wanting her own son -- No, I'm really not.

I'll do it.

I'll kill Crowley.

First things first --

can you read the book?

Of course I can.

I'm likely the only witch alive

who can understand such old, dark magic.

Just not in its present form.

Drink's on me.

Hey. You're not going anywhere, pal.

I'm your mortal enemy.

I've tried to kill you and your brother --

your brother as recently as last month.

You wouldn't have come to me if I wasn't your last resort.

You're desperate.

You can stop pretending you're not.

So rude.

Now...I can't read the book in its present form,

but there is someone who could.

Nadya. Grand coven witch.

Where do I find her?

You don't. She's dead.

Long ago.

Murdered for her life's work.

Her decryption formulas, her codex...

That you can find.

Bring me Nadya's codex, and I'll...

Break this text right open

and give you your cure.

Where do I look?

If I were you, I'd start at home.

Who do you think murdered Nadya

and stole the codex in the first place?

The Men of Letters.

Ha ha!

Jackpot.

Dean! Hey.

Hey.

What happened? What is this?

I know, right?

Six vamps. Solo.

I think that's gotta be a personal best.

You couldn't have waited?! For what?

For what? Oh, come on, man.

I can handle it. I did handle it.

What if you couldn't? But I did.

It's done.

Come on, man. It's the only way I can take the edge off.

I'm sorry. I don't always like to wait around for you,

especially with you looking at me like that all the time.

Look at you like what? Like that.

Like I'm some sort of a-a-a diseased killer puppy.

You know what, man?

I'm sweaty and I'm covered in vamp juice.

Can we just talk about this later?

I'd like to get back to the bunker, get my buzz on,

and, uh, you know,

pass out watching "Speed 2: Cruise Control."

We cool?

Cool.

Please, let come to order.

Men of Letters meeting minutes --

May 16, 1956.

On the matter of Cuthbert Sinclair expulsion.

This is hardly your first offence, Cuthbert.

You've been cited for disciplinary infractions

seven times in the course of your tenure.

This...enchanted vault of yours,

this...

"Werther box."

A warding so potent it achieves a theoretical rate of...

In your own words, "98% lethality."

Extreme measures were warranted.

The coven's desperate to get the codex back.

The Werther box works.

All too well, I'd say.

Working in secret,

embarking on this project without oversight...

you left two fellow Men of Letters vulnerable

to your most potent magics.

Fletcher and Martinez were members in good standing.

Fletcher chanced upon the box and died in two hours.

Martinez heroically tried to shut it down.

We found him dead on the floor beside the box,

his wrists cut.

I already apologized for that accident.

I refuse to do so again.

Why are you all so small-minded?

Hmm?

We were brought here to do great things.

To take risks,

to bring the fight to the monsters of this world --

and yet, to a man,

you choose instead to moulder in these stacks.

You are not men. You are not men.

You're librarians. Nothing more.

Before we rule

on what is to be done with you,

I'm prepared to give you a chance to secure our leniency.

Tell us how to shut it down.

The box is still in St. Louis with the codex.

It's still a danger.

Let me tell you what you can do with your leniency, Markham.

You know,

I saw the writing on the wall.

I knew you cowards would shut this project down,

which is why I built it the way I did.

There is only one way to silence the Werther for good.

Let's just say Martinez was on the right track.

I doubt you lot have the guts,

but you're welcome to die trying.

Markham, would you have us keep trying?

The box is to be interred and guarded where it stands,

in perpetuity.

Bury it.

It's a bit early.

I'm over 300 years old.

Beauty sleep isn't optional.

I've been looking into the, uh, thing we discussed.

So I got a lead,

but it's guarded by a violent enchantment

I need a spell to...

break the spell.

The Cabirian invocation.

Easy to obtain. Good all-purpose disenchantment.

Great. Thanks. Uh, but...

It's not recommended for amateurs.

In inexperienced hands,

the invocation has a way of fizzling out.

I could come.

You might need me.

I'll take my chances. Thanks.