Throne of God

Summary: Centuries ago they drove him out of his home, yet he still has mercy upon them. He made them gods and all he got in return was a throne. This was fair. (Oneshot)

Author's note: So I'm eager to see how they'll play Metatron as the villain next season. I, personally, would love to see him become slightly off-his-rocker as opposed to all the vengeful and calculating villains we've gotten so far. A little madness is fun to play with.

(Psst…and I don't believe Naomi is dead. *denial*)

Oh, right! I don't own Supernatural.

He sat on his throne (not his) and watched his subjects (not his) with a critical eye, leaning against the golden arm with an over exaggerated sigh, not as though anybody were there to hear it. Perhaps he should get his own scribe to record his story. There was panic and resentment (deserved) among the out casted angels, towards both him and Castiel.

Castiel was a pawn (a brother) and he was so eager to atone for his sins he played right into Metatron's hands. He couldn't have asked for a better outcome himself. This had been planned for so long (bitterly) and there was no doubt in the scribe's mind (to doubt was to sin) he would fail.

He spread his wings (once glorious) and frowned. They seemed to be decaying and weakening, gray and brown feathers molting and losing their luster. Metatron was never graced with beautiful wings like the Morning Star's, or even impressive, powerful ones such as Michael's. What made them more deserving? The thought put a scowl on his face and with a gust of wind the feathers that had fallen to the floor were swept away from his throne. He wrote the word of their father and yet he was still categorized as weak and unworthy. The knowledge he had would put any garrison's fighting skills to shame (or so he thought).

Standing, he dismissed the image of the earth (disgusted) and stalked down the long corridor. It took him a moment to realize he was walking (old habits were hard to break) before he grinned and took flight. While he wasn't as graceful as he had once been (out of practice) the wind on his face was a missed feeling. He allowed himself to get lost in the moment (he was already lost).

Metatron entered one of the darker sectors of Heaven and swung open the door (he could do what he wanted, now). A battered figure raised her head slowly and Metatron pitied (hated) her. The saddest part was she could no longer summon the energy for anger and instead a desperate, pained look was etched on her face.

"Why?" She croaked, letting her head fall forward so that it was resting on her chest, all the fight seeming to have been sucked out of her. She lost all contact with her brothers and sisters and the heavenly host. Never before had she felt such a gaping hole in her chest.

"You deserved it…" He paced in front of her and all at once was struck by the reason he left his throne to engage in conversation with her. He needed someone to understand, he needed to justify his actions. "You let my home to fall into chaos! All of you did!"

Naomi chuckled weakly. "You are so broken." Her blue eyes narrowed. Her gaze was judging and harsh. It jerked him into reality the same way someone would submerge themselves in frigid water to become alert.

(Metatron lied and told himself he wasn't lonely—he wasn't.)

"I made them gods. Why can't anyone see that?" He stilled and met her gaze, unrelenting in his mind (cowardly). "You deserved so much worse and all I did was make you gods."

"Humans are not gods!" Naomi roared and viciously stood, straining at the chains that held her arms into place. "They are flawed and need to be guided."

Metatron's laugh held no mirth. "You haven't seen them like I have." He leaned forward, so close to the woman's face their noses were almost touching. "Do you ever stop to consider why God asked us to bow to them? To love them more than we loved Him?"

Naomi sank to the floor, shaking her head. "You have fallen in more ways than one, brother."

With a flick of his hand she was silenced and Metatron turned to leave (tiredly). If she wanted to be ignorant there was nothing he could do to change that. Her punishment was fair, and he could have hurt her in so many more ways (too cowardly to do it). She could be dead and the only reason she was still alive was because he still allowed it to be so. It was his will.

Metatron collapsed into his throne, unsure of what he was attempting to accomplish. He should have known Naomi would have been too blind (too wise) to accept his decision as the right one. He rescued humanity and Heaven by bestowing the greatest gift unto God's forgotten children. Unfair of them to treat him as the devil.

A dull smile crossed his lips and he straightened up in God's throne. If they would not love him, they would come to fear him.

Of that, he would be certain

(begging for forgiveness).