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“Dean, can I kill him now?”
Metatron makes the fucking Pikachu face. “I am sitting literally three feet away from you. I’m right here!”
“Please, he’s so annoying,” Castiel begs, trying to get away from Metatron but failing because they’re in the Continental.
“I’m still right here, Ass tiel.”
Castiel groans, completely and thoroughly annoyed. On the other line, Dean says, “Just bring him here and we’ll get what we need, okay?”
“Okay,” He replies. He hopes that Metatron can’t hear what Dean is saying when those words aren’t meant for him -- but that asshole is a celestial being.
“Are you alright? I know doing this alone must be scary,” Dean says.
“Dean, just because I’m human doesn’t mean I can’t do things on my own anymore.”
“Alright, alright. Well I talked to Gadreel and he said Sam is almost healed up. So he’s leaving soon.”
Metatron clears his throat. “That was a waste of time. Gadreel is too focused on his ‘principles’ or whatever. I just wanted to be God.”
“Shut up or I will cut your tongue out,” Castiel snaps. “I’ll see you soon, Dean.”
Castiel hangs up the phone and punches Metatron in the face. He deserves it. He’s an asshole.
-
“Really? Enochian handcuffs in your sex dungeon?”
Dean rolls his eyes. Metatron is more annoying than he remembered. He looks at Cas. “Does he ever shut up?”
Castiel looked back to Dean, something almost haunted in his eyes. “No,” he replies solemnly.
Dean smirks, a tiny quirk of his lips, before stowing it away and turning back to Metatron. The asshole. Distantly, he thinks that is what Metatron’s nickname will become when stories are told about him. The Asshole. Dean thinks it fits. Then the crushing weight of what he has to do next drowns out any humor he has. “Cas, you might want to leave for this part,” Dean looks at Castiel briefly, then glares at the floor. “I don’t want you to see this.” I don’t want you to see me like this .
Castiel tries not to look hurt or unwanted. He knows exactly how Dean feels about torture. Instead, he crosses the room to squeeze Dean’s shoulder. “Thank you,” He makes sure to say. Dean doesn’t want to do this, he has to and only because Castiel (unintentionally) forced his hand. Castiel wants to be an angel again. He wants to be himself again. Hell will freeze over before Dean says no to a request like that. “I’ll wait outside, if you want.”
Dean can’t bear to look into Castiel’s eyes right now. He simply nods, and turns back to Metatron the Asshole. He feels Castiel’s hand leave his shoulder, and when the warmth goes with it, Dean steels himself. Hating Metatron gets easier every second. “Where is it?” He barks out.
Metatron just smiles. He fucking smiles. “You two are adorable, you know that, right?”
“Where is it?” Dean growls, his words like a vicious bite.
“Have you kissed him yet? I can see how much you want to,” Metatron continues. His voice wavers ever so slightly, as the fear of being trapped starts to eat him up. But he refuses to let it show on his face. He is Metatron, the Scribe of God. A puny human can’t hurt him. “He’s in love,” Metatron smiles cruelly.
Dean almost breaks. Almost unleashes years of rage or maybe tears, but he stops himself.
Instead, he breaks his gaze from Metatron and looks down at himself, at his hand that’s reaching into his jacket’s inside pocket. “What is that? What are you grabbing?” Metatron asks, his fear very clear now.
Dean smirks. “What, you can’t handle a blade? You’re just talk, Metatron.” He turns the angel blade in his hand, admiring it. Driving it through Metatron’s heart sounds like a wonderful plan. “No bite. Now, tell me. Where is it?”
“In a special place,” Metatron tries to get a grip. It’s failing.
Dean can see Metatron eyeing the blade. “Now, that’s not an answer.” He brings it close to Metatron’s face and presses the sharp tip into his cheek. A bright line of blue shines for a moment before Metatron starts bleeding.
“This won’t work!” Metatron cries out, panicked. “I won’t tell you! He doesn’t deserve it anyway.”
Dean sighs angrily. “You don’t get to decide what he deserves. Now tell me,” He lets his anger in and shouts, “Where is it?!”
Metatron shakes his head. “You won’t matter after he gets it back, you know,” he tries to make his words sound biting, but they come off as a pathetic last attempt at survival. One last try at digging in his heels. “Angels don’t have feelings like humans do.”
Dean shakes his head and slashes at Metatron's face again. The angel cries out. “Seems like you can feel something,” he backs away and lowers the blade so the tip is pressed against Metatron’s chest. “Tell me where his grace is.”
The or I’ll kill you didn’t need to be said. Metatron’s lips started to quiver and he realized he was running out of options. “In my library. I hid it in my library,” he says finally, defeated.
Dean smiles for the first time, a wide genuine smile. To Metatron, he looks bloodthirsty.
-
“Cas, come on, we’re going.”
Castiel nods, getting up quickly. Dean’s walking towards the garage, pressing an angel blade defensively into Metatron's side, and holding the back of his neck with the other hand. “He told you where it is?”
Metatron’s face is a little bloody, with several bleeding cuts peppering his cheeks and forehead. His neck is bleeding a bit too, and a spot on the chest of his shirt is ripped. He looks at the ground.
“Eventually. But he said he had to take me there, so it’s probably a trap.”
Castiel nods. “Sounds reasonable. Should I get Sam?”
Dean shoves Metatron into the backseat of the Impala. He slams the door, then looks over to Cas. “I’m not sending my brother into a trap. Or Gadreel. Even if they can help, I’m not risking Sam.”
Castiel nods again. He feels bad for asking, but instead of saying that, he opens the Impala’s passenger side door and says, “Together, then.”
Dean smiles, a crooked one, and nods, “Together.”
-
It was a trap. Luckily, Dean and Castiel had each other’s backs.
Metatron almost got away, but Dean was able to stab his shoulder and drag him back. “You’re not getting away that easy!”
“You have to pick! Me or him,” Metatron smiles cruelly again. “He doesn’t have much time, Dean.”
Dean grumbles, watching Castiel trying to fend off Metatron’s trap, a very real beast with razor sharp claws, then turns back to Metatron. He’s still skewered on Dean’s blade, and Dean has to think very quickly. Either Cas gets hurt (or killed) or Metatron gets away. Dean shuts his eyes and turns to Metatron, opening them again and glaring.
All Metatron sees is hate. Hate and anger masking something else below it -- something more pure but just as intense.
Dean slices at Metatron’s throat and puts his grace into a bottle. “Fuck you,” Dean roars, punching him and breaking his newly mortal nose. Then he stands and leaves Metatron writhing on the floor to help Castiel.
“Dean! He’ll get away!” Castiel shouts, dodging some claws and trying to keep an eye on Metatron at the same time. He jumps at Dean to push them both away when the beast tries to slash him, and Castiel lands on top of Dean, crashing bodily to the floor. “What are you doing?” He asks quieter, between panting breaths.
“Find your grace,” Dean pushes Castiel off and stands, ready to go back in. “I got this.”
Castiel looks worried, concerned, for half a second before nodding. Then he runs past the beast while Dean is distracting it. When he hears Dean cry out in pain, he does not turn back.
He tries to remember the cryptic things Metatron kept saying. “What’s the maddest thing a man can do?”
Then it clicks. “It’s a quote!” Castiel says to no one in particular.
He knows that quote. What’s the reply? “Let himself die.”
That just seems cruel.
He finds a copy of Don Quixote, and opens it. Sure enough, in a space cut into the pages, is his grace. He opens the small bottle and his grace comes back, and he feels like himself again. All the books on the shelves explode out, and the beast disappears with a shriek. Castiel glows, and when he stands, he feels his wings spreading out behind him.
He blinks and stumbles a little, clutching at his head. He hears a low groan, stifled by pain, and he runs back through the shelves to Dean. He’s holding his side and bleeding, and Metatron has the angel blade aimed at his throat. “Let him go,” Castiel demands.
He can feel his power thrumming beneath his skin again, and when Metatron doesn’t immediately let Dean go, Castiel charges.
He never thought smiting an angel could feel so good.
“Dean, are you okay?”
“I think it got me pretty bad,” Dean says quietly, laying in a growing pool of his own blood.
Castiel presses two fingers to Dean’s head, and pushes his grace inside. He puts Dean’s skin back together, fixes his muscles and organs, and cleans up the blood. Dean sits up slowly, and Castiel pulls him into a hug. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help before,” He says. “I thought I needed to get my grace before I could be truly usefu --”
Dean interrupts him with a kiss. “Congratulations, Cas. You’re you again, yeah?”
Castiel blinks his wide eyes and nods.
“Good. Let’s go home.”
Castiel smiles.
They walk past Metatron’s corpse on the way out. It’s like he wasn’t even there. What an asshole.