Just Call My Name
For a moment, there was peace. The war between angels was, at least for now, at an end. Metatron was safely locked away, his twisted plans finally known. Perhaps this time, the Hosts of Heaven would truly learn not to blindly follow orders.
None of that mattered to the currently highest-ranked angel. Castiel had caused all this, broken and repaired Heaven itself multiple times, damned and then saved its inhabitants, and it had been pointless.
Metatron had reveled in his own triumph, believing himself to have won, due to one crucial factor: Dean Winchester.
Metatron had killed Dean. Countless sacrifices and choices Castiel made for one mortal soul. And now none of it mattered - Dean was gone. The angel knew the human had died before, not once but many times. He had almost bought into the tale whispered among the hunting community that Dean couldn't remain dead. So often, the man had been brought back to life, whether by the will of Heaven or other forces. Now, that was not possible. What power Castiel had held was crippled, burning him out from within. As for the remaining angels, none bore near enough Grace to be spent on finding the soul of a man most appeared to hate and returning him to a living state.
Now, Castiel put off his followers and advisors. He sat still as stone and mourned.
Dean was gone.
That was when the screaming reached his ears. Sounds of battle, the clash of blades, the wet, choking noises of those injured beyond repair, a stamping of shoes darting back and forth in a deadly dance.
Then another sound joined these - loud and brash, resonating through the air. Music. A song Castiel had heard before.
Dean had had a list of favorite bands, particularly a group named "Metallica". This… this was a number of theirs which he had shared with Cas on a long ago car ride. Castiel, at the time, had found it confusing, mildly fascinating, and overall cacophonous. Now, it was hideous.
The angelic commander forced himself up and forward, pushing the door to swing and reveal the corridor. Whatever struggle there had been was clearly over, bodies strewn across the floor like broken toys. And walking over the last fallen angel came a figure Castiel had thought never to see again.
It was wrong, so wrong. Cas had always been able to see what no mortal could, and his current view made his stomach turn. Beneath the familiar, loved face was the writhing, twisting mass of a lost soul, the color of old, dried blood. Green eyes he had long considered a testament to the wonder of his absent Father's creation, expressive and beautiful, were suffocated beneath blackness.
This blasphemous facsimile of his dearest friend, a new version of the infamous Colt pistol in one hand, the First Blade slung over his shoulder by the other, whistled along as the lyrics grew yet louder.
Master of puppets, I'm pulling your strings. Twisting your mind and smashing your dreams. Blinded by me, you can't see a thing. Just call my name, 'cause I'll hear you scream - Master, master. Just call my name, 'cause I'll hear you scream - Master, master.
Master, master, where's the dreams I've been after? Master, master, you promised only lies. Laughter, laughter, all I hear or see is laughter. Laughter, laughter, laughing at my cries. Hell is worth all that, natural habitat. Just a rhyme without a reason, a never-ending maze. Drift on numbered days, now your life is out of season. I will occupy. I will help you die. I will run through you. Now I rule you too.
There was a grin twisting up full bow lips, sharp as a razor and harsh as this truth. And Castiel was frozen before this cruel, bloodstained, newly-made Knight of Hell, unable to speak, to move, to think.
Dean simply chuckled. "Hey, Cas. Did ya miss me?"