Lord Dark Helmet: What the hell am I looking at? When does THIS happen in the movie?
Col. Sandurz: NOW. You're looking at now, sir. Everything that happens now is happening now.
Lord Dark Helmet: Go back to then!
Col. Sandurz: What?
Lord Dark Helmet: THEN!
Col. Sandurz: I can't!
Lord Dark Helmet: Why not?
Col. Sandurz: We passed it!
Lord Dark Helmet: When?
Col. Sandurz: Just now!
Lord Dark Helmet: When will then be now?
Col. Sandurz: SOON!

-Space Balls


Kate woke very warm and with a crick in her neck. The bed she found herself on was old, and its springs protested loudly as she sat up, pushing off off the thin duvet. She appeared to be in a hotel room, which puzzled her for a moment, before she remembered her conversation with Metatron, and the fact that he resided in the Two Rivers Hotel. She decided to take the fact that she was both alive and still here as a good sign.

There was a small stack of clothes on the dresser, and Kate brought them with her into the bathroom to dress after a shower. Thirty minutes later she emerged, curls damp and cold against her neck, dressed in an odd hodge-podge of clothes: a thick cardigan and man's button-up shirt she thought might have belonged to Metatron himself, and a long patterned skirt she guessed might have belonged at one point to one of the women in the Two Rivers tribe. There had been no underwear provided, but there were thick woolen socks, which Kate donned with relief. She hated the cold.

Finding Metatron again wasn't difficult. The room she'd occupied for the night was nearby, and through the open door she could spot towers and towers of books. She hesitated in the doorway for a long moment, unsure whether to knock and announce herself. There ended up being no need.

"Don't just stand there," Metatron's voice floated out into the hallway. "Your waffles will get cold."

Kate raised an eyebrow at the mention of waffles, but obediently entered. It had changed overnight. There was still an insane number of books, but they'd been pushed aside and re-arranged haphazardly, clearing a large space on the wall. There was indeed a plate of waffles sitting on a low table, but that wasn't what caught Kate's attention. The wall was.

It looked like Metatron was trying to solve a murder. There was one long red string spanning horizontally across the wall, with note cards stuck to the wall with pushpins every few feet.

Metatron himself stood before the wall with his back to her, looking at it. His hair looked fluffier than it had yesterday, as if he'd been running his hands through it.

Kate hesitantly picked her way toward the food, keeping a wary eye on the angel. "What is all this?"

"An outline," Metatron said simply. He turned, brows raised and tucking his hands into the pockets of his cardigan. "You want a rewrite?" He gestured grandly at the wall. "This is how we do it."

Kate paused in the process of picking up the plate, straightening to stare. "You're going to help?"

"I'm going to help."

There was actually something of an excited gleam in his eyes. It both reassured and worried Kate. Reassured her, because he wanted to help. Worried her, because she suspected that she wouldn't be able to keep his own future actions from him for long, and she wasn't at all sure how he would react to the revelation. Kate sat in the worn armchair and ate the waffles mechanically, hardly tasting them in her haste to look at what Metatron had put together on the wall.

She finished quickly and put the plate aside, examining the notes Metatron had put up. They were just a few of the key points she'd told him last night, with approximate dates. She rearranged a few of them wordlessly.

"First order of business is fleshing this out," Metatron spoke from behind her. Kate's lips quirked a little as she realized she stood a good two inches taller than the angel. "Now, tell me the story again," he instructed imperiously. "From the beginning."

Kate obeyed, leaning against the wall while Metatron scribbled notes and pinned them along the timeline. Hours passed. Unlike last night, he interrupted her frequently now, asking clarifying questions and trying to determine when, precisely, events took place. Unfortunately, Kate couldn't remember all of the details he asked about, and with each unknown factor Metatron grew visibly more irritated. The sixth time Kate was forced to admit, apologetically, that she didn't know the answer to a question, Metatron threw down his cards and rand a hand through his hair, glaring at her.

"How are we supposed to do this if you can't remember the simplest details?"

"There are a dozen seasons of this show, and I've only watched it twice," Kate defended. She would have watched it more carefully had she known she'd be dumped into this universe. "I thought angels could read minds? Can't you just… pluck the details out of my head?"

Metatron rolled his eyes. "It's not that simple. It's a mess in there." He thrust a finger rudely at Kate's head. She wondered if she should be offended, but Metatron continued, "Things half-remembered, out of order—not to mention half the time you were just listening to the dialogue and not paying attention to what was on screen." He gave her a withering look. "This is what you get for playing so much Tetris."

Kate sighed, rubbing her temple and staring at the wall before her. It looked dismally empty, and filling it up with the correct information suddenly seemed hopeless. "Old fashioned way it is, then," she muttered, resigned.

"Not necessarily." Metatron's eyes narrowed thoughtfully, giving Kate a speculative look. After a long moment of just staring at her, he gestured to the armchair. "Sit down."

Kate dragged her feet, but sat. "What do you mean, 'not necessarily'?"

"There are spells to sharpen the mind and the memory." Metatron sounded preoccupied, not looking at her as he wound his way through the stacks of books as if looking for something. With a soft 'aha!', he returned with a small knife. Kate eyed it warily. "This should speed things along."

She hoped he wasn't going to try coming at her with that thing. "Is it safe?"

Metatron's lips quirked up at the corner. Belatedly, Kate realized she'd accidentally quoted Marathon Man. This did not comfort her. Still, Metatron seemed to consider his answer. "Mostly."

"That is not at all reassuring."

Metatron sighed impatiently. "So long as you don't have any deeply buried trauma or repressed memories, you should be fine." He cut his palm with the knife with a grimace, adding belatedly, "Or past lives."

"And I'm not going to burn out?" Kate remembered the gruesome effects of some of Rowena's spells on her victims. She wasn't keen to have her brain boil in her skull.

"No burning out," Metatron assured her. Kate hoped, desperately, that he wasn't just lying about it. "Now, chin up."

Kate lifted her chin. Metatron dipped a finger in his own blood and began to carefully draw sigils on Kate's forehead, a look of deep concentration and something like peace on his face. Kate watched his many-colored hazel eyes, trying to read him. His hands and the blood were hot on her face, and Kate had to clench her fists on her knees to resist the urge to wipe or itch at the odd sensation. When it finally seemed like there was no more room on Kate's forehead, Metatron placed his bloodied hand on the crown of Kate's head, closed his eyes, and chanted.

Kate wasn't sure of the language, but she did know it echoed unnaturally in the room and in her skull, like the clanging of church bells. All of her senses seemed to grow hyper-aware. She heard the sound of her own heart, and Metatron's, the whoosh of blood through veins and the hum of electricity in the walls. She smelled the syrup on her own breath, dust and paper from the hundreds of books stacked around her, the metallic smell of Metatron's blood on her face, and tasted it all with every inhale. Metatron's hand in her hair was burning hot, every nerve tingling like her whole body had fallen asleep. She had to shut her eyes as her vision grew so bright and vibrant that she thought she might vomit from sheer over-stimulation.

Then it was over. Metatron yanked his hand as if he'd scalded it and Kate blinked, feeling disoriented and cold. Metatron strode away past some tall stacks of books while she gathered herself, and Kate heard the distant sound of water running. Metatron returned a moment later with clean hands and a wet rag, which he tossed at Kate. She caught it and scrubbed at the blood on her forehead, remaining seated. She wasn't sure she could manage standing on her own two feet just yet.

"Now," Metatron said, picking up the abandoned cards and the fat marker he'd been writing with. "Tell me the story again."

Things went much more quickly after that. Kate told the story again, remembering things much more clearly. When Metatron asked clarifying questions, Kate could close her eyes and return to the memory like rewatching a video. It sometimes took some time to locate the precise detail he'd asked after, but the hours seemed to pass much more quickly and productively. The wall filled up steadily with notes, string connecting key events and key players, and Metatron seemed to grow more energized the longer they were at it.

But now that Kate had no excuses for lapses in her memory, she could no longer hide Metatron's own involvement. And Metatron, being as intelligent as he was, caught on quickly.

"What exactly are you trying to hide here?" Metatron looked significantly between Kate and the vast gaps in their forming timeline. "I can't 'rewrite' if I don't know all the material."

Kate swallowed. He was right, she knew. But would he even want to rewrite, once she told him?

"We should… probably sit down for this." Kate slowly worked her way to what was becoming 'her' armchair, slumping into it. She didn't want to have this conversation.

"Is this related to my death, which you've so far managed to gloss over?" Metatron asked, eyes sharp. Of course he'd noticed that. Kate nodded, and Metatron sat, folding his hands over crossed legs. "Go on, then."

Kate took one last look at his open, optimistic face. She wished it could stay like this. That Metatron could be the hero editor, righting the wrongs of the story.

Haltingly, she explained. About Sam and Dean coming to visit him, and saving Kevin. About tricking Castiel into casting the angels out of Heaven, the warring factions and his own bid to take over. His defeat, and the loss of his grace. His life as a human, meeting God again, and finally sacrificing himself to save Lucifer from the Darkness.

Metatron didn't speak, but he didn't need to. Kate watched the light in his eyes get dimmer and dimmer, the smile lines in his face turning to frown lines as his brow furrowed and then his face went slack. By the end it was hard for Kate to look at him. She wasn't sure if he knew how raw and bare he looked, but Kate felt like she was intruding just watching him.

When she finished, there was a long, pregnant silence. Kate waited for Metatron to speak, to move, to do anything.

"Why did you come to me?" Metatron's voice was hollow as he repeated the question he'd asked her last night. "I understand, now, why you distrust me. Fear me, even. But I don't understand why you called out to me."

Kate bit her lip. Every logical reason she'd spelled out the night before was true, of course, but when it really came down to it, the reason she called out to Metatron before anyone else was, "Because I like you." Metatron stared at her, uncomprehending. "Because I find you relatable, and understandable. Because I thought you'd work with me on this, and be good at it. Because in the end you redeemed yourself, and I want to believe that that's the person you are deep down. Not… X."

Metatron's brow was low, his eyes glassy, though with sadness or anger or something else Kate couldn't tell. "Get out," he said finally, voice barely more than a whisper.

She did, hastily, hoping she hadn't just ruined her chances of fixing this world and getting home.


Metatron stared at the blank space on the wall when Kate had gone. Metatron's blank space, where Kate had hemmed and hawed and tried to avoid talking about the things he'd done. Or would do. Or wouldn't, as the case was now.

Metatron, the villain. Metatron, the vengeful hermit. The nerd whose revenge had failed, fantastically. Metatron, who wasn't special and never had been. Just the angel closest to the door. Metatron, whose greatest accomplishment in millennia on this Earth was getting himself killed.

For so long, Metatron had been alone. Living among the humans, hiding in books and losing himself in stories to distract himself from his exile. But it was all worth it, he had thought, because God chose him to take down his word, trusted him, saw something in him. And that feeling was… indescribable. The pride he'd felt. The honor. The sheer delight of basking in his father's warmth and light, taking down his word and preserving it. Years passed and Metatron missed Heaven, missed angels, missed home. But he stayed away, because he had to, and he bore the burden because it was God's plan.

Except, it wasn't. Except God hadn't picked him. He'd simply pointed at the first angel he saw, and that angel just happened to be Metatron.

What did his life amount to, then? Unspecial, unwanted, unloved and alone. Living among creatures who couldn't hope to understand him, that overwhelmed him with their sheer emotion.

Why should he try to change any of this? To 'rewrite,' as Kate had called it. Why should he care for the world, for Heaven, when it cared nothing for him?

No, he thought, he didn't owe anyone anything. He'd send the girl home, now, and get her and her ridiculous expectations out of his life forever. Metatron turned away from the wall.

His eyes fell on his books. Hundreds and thousands of them just in these rooms, and these just a fraction of what he'd read in his lifetime. The books, which had been his only company for hundreds of years. The stories he cherished, that kept him sane. The true flower of free will.

He looked back at the wall, mouth twisting. The human toll of the disasters outlined in broad strokes was likely in the hundreds, if not thousands. He looked back at the books, then back at the wall.

He supposed he owed humanity, just least a little. For the stories.

And if Metatron got to be the hero this time, got to be important... well, that was just a bonus.


Kate returned to the room she woke up in, for lack of anywhere else to go. Or did Metatron mean 'get out' entirely? Did he want her to leave the hotel? Seek out Gabriel, or the Winchesters, or one of her other backup plans?

She paced the room and twisted her fingers. More than once she made for the door, then stopped herself with a curse. Should she leave, or stay? Try to talk to Metatron, or wait him out? She mumbled possibilities out loud, but despite listing dozens of facts and possible courses of action, all Kate could bring herself to do was pace the room and think herself to death.

Luckily, she was stopped before the rapid fire of her thoughts could kill her.

A knock sounded on the door. Kate froze and stared at it, wondering if she'd imagined it. The knock sounded again, more loudly, and Kate darted across the room, throwing the door open.

"How long does Dean spend in Hell before he's saved?" Metatron asked, business-like, as if their conversation from however-long-ago had never taken place and he'd never sent her away.

Kate's shoulders sagged in relief, and she told him readily that he'd spent four months in Hell before Castiel raised him up, trailing behind Metatron back to his rooms and resuming the feverish, frenzied construction of the outline. Metatron was once more absorbed in the work, and if possible even more enthusiastic than before.

His frantic scribbling energy seemed to catch, too. Kate scribbled her own notes, muttering and rearranging and adding details about certain people's movements or motivations that Metatron's searching questions hadn't revealed. Kate's concentration only broke when her stomach growled, so loudly that she fumbled and dropped her pen in surprise. She picked it up, rubbing her stomach and looking around the room, surprised at how dark it had become. They'd worked well into the night, it seemed.

"Here." Metatron shoved a plate with a sandwich into Kate's hands. She hadn't noticed him leave or return, which wasn't like her at all. She sat in the plush armchair to devour the sandwich, the exhaustion of being on her feet for hours catching up to her all at once. "I sometimes forget how often humans need to eat."

Kate huffed a small laugh around a mouthful of sandwich. "Me, too."

Metatron glanced at her over his shoulder, and she saw his eyes flick from her narrow face to her thin wrists. "I believe that."

Kate shrugged. When she'd been younger she'd been more self-conscious about the way people saw her. Her height and bone structure, combined with her tendency to become obsessively absorbed in whatever she was engaged in, often left her looking less than healthy. But she'd grown comfortable in her own skin, and was unbothered by the judging looks people, and now angels, would occasionally shoot her way.

When she'd finished wolfing down the sandwich, she tried to resume working, but Metatron kicked her out with instructions to 'get some sleep and come back when you're useful again'. Despite the disparaging tone, Kate happily complied.

It took nearly a week for them to fully flesh out the outline of the story to both of their satisfaction. They finished on a Friday evening, and to Kate's surprise Metatron produced a pizza and some beer in celebration of the accomplishment. He even ate some, though he didn't touch the beer.

"So," Metatron said after he'd finished, wiping grease off his fingers with a napkin and nodding to the organized mess on the wall. "I'm curious. What do you propose we change?" Kate blinked at him curiously, mouth full of pizza. "I assume you already had some idea what to change when you proposed this insane undertaking."

Kate swallowed, frowning. She did have an idea, but she wasn't sure how well it was going to go over with Metatron. She took another bite of pizza to stall, pondering how to phrase it so she didn't sound completely heartless.

"Basically all of Heaven and Hell is pushing for the apocalypse to happen," She began, matter-of-fact. Metatron crossed his legs, lacing his fingers together and placing them on his knee, eyeing her with interest. "I don't particularly like the thought of taking on both sides, not when the Winchesters can put Lucifer and Michael in the cage. What I propose, is letting the apocalypse play out largely unchanged, and then help Castiel and the other anti-apocalypse angels take out Raphael once the dust clears."

Metatron hummed. Kate couldn't read the expression on his face. "Interesting."

Was interesting good or bad? Kate was lost. "Interesting?"

Metatron uncrossed his legs, leaning back in the chair and drumming his fingers along the arm. "You said your universe isn't the same one the Winchesters supposedly traveled to."

Kate nodded. She'd told Metatron about The French Mistake, but that the world the boys traveled to couldn't have been hers, given the fact that, as far as she knew, Misha Collins was very much alive. But she failed to see how it was relevant to her plan.

"So, what makes you think the universe you are in now is the precise one you've seen in the show, and not some alternate timeline?" Metatron asked simply.

Kate swallowed her mouthful of pizza with immense effort.

She'd never even considered that. She was in Supernatural, so surely events would progress the way she expected—but as Metatron had just said, there was no telling that it really would. Maybe she wasn't in the Supernatural she'd seen. Maybe she was in one of the darker alternate timelines where the apocalypse really happened, where the world ended. She looked to the wall in panic, wondering if the timeline they'd created was even worth anything.

"Doctor Who is a lie," she muttered finally, rubbing her temples. "Time and interdimensional travel is the worst."

Metatron hummed sympathetically. "It's not a bad plan, assuming everything happens the way you think it will. But it's a tricky, complex story." He eyed the wall contemplatively. "A balancing act. And it could go off the rails at any time."

Kate sighed shakily. "That's…"

"Exhilarating," Metatron breathed, at the same time as Kate finished, "Terrifying."

Metatron smiled, though Kate didn't find it a particularly kind expression. "To each their own."

"We could fail," Kate said, eyes wide. "The world could end."

"You realize that was how it's supposed to happen in the first place?" Metatron asked, sounding unconcerned. "Look, we still have the advantage. We know how it's supposed to play out, at least according to you. We just have to keep an eye on things. Nudge them in the right direction if they start going off track."

"If we can." Looking at all the moving pieces on the board laid out in front of her, Kate wasn't so sure they could.


Kate knocked tentatively on Metatron's open door the next morning, unsure of her welcome in his rooms now that the outline had been completed. "Metatron?"

"Mm?"

Kate picked her way through the mess of books, finding Metatron in his cushy armchair. He watched her over a copy of Alice in Wonderland, which she thought was too relevant a choice to be unintentional. She wondered if he'd been reading something else and then switched to this book when he heard her approach. "I wanted to talk to you about how I can get home."

Metatron's eyebrows raised. "Why on Earth would you want to go home? We've only just begun."

Kate blinked at him. "Because I don't belong here?" She said uncertainly. "I mean, now that you know everything I do, there's no reason for me to stay." Kate didn't feel entirely comfortable leaving all of that power in Metatron's hands unsupervised, but she figured she could send the details to Bobby before she left and he'd ensure that there was some opposition if Metatron tried to seize power.

Metatron frowned. "No, I suppose there isn't." His eyes looked distant for a moment, then refocused on her. He gestured for her to take the seat opposite him. "Tell me again exactly how you came to be here. And the details of Balthazar's spell."

Kate re-told the story, and after some thought, was even able to sketch out the sigil for Balthazar's spell on a piece of scrap paper. Metatron accepted it and eyed it curiously, but he frowned, and Kate's stomach dropped.

Metatron offered her a pitying look. "I've never heard of anything like the spell Balthazar used, or the artifact that brought you here." Metatron tilted his head, as if reconsidering his words. "Except, maybe, in Through the Looking Glass. But unless you want to go throwing yourself at every mirror in the world, hoping to find the one that leads you back…"

"You mean I'm stuck here?" That was not ideal. Of all the shows and books Kate loved, Supernatural probably ranked right after Lord of the Rings in terms of universes most likely to get her killed. And now here she was, meddling in things way over her head. "I'm going to die."

"You're not going to die." Metatron rolled his eyes. "Look, I'll look into it. See what I can dig up on alternate universes and how to get you back."

Kate hadn't put much thought into what would happen if she had to stay in this world for any extended period of time, but now the thoughts and doubts and half-formed plans descended on her all at once. Kate put her head in her hands, groaning. "I'll need to find a job. And an identity, so I can get a job. What a mess."

"I don't follow." Metatron put a bookmark in his book and set it aside.

Kate shot him a tight-lipped, unimpressed look. "I can't just live off the grid like you do. I need a place to live, food, clothes. For that I need money, for which I need a job, for which I need things like identification. Which I don't have, because I don't exist here."

A line formed between Metatron's brows. "Have I somehow given you the impression that I'm kicking you out?"

Kate blinked at him, mouth open. "Well, no. But it's not like I can just stay here forever."

"You can, and you should," Metatron said, like it was that simple. "Despite what you've said, I am not at all certain that I've picked all possible relevant details from that brain of yours. No, I think it's best you stick around and see this through, for as long as you do stick around."

He had a point. Kate's shoulders sagged, but she nodded reluctantly. "I still want new clothes."

Metatron frowned. "What's wrong with the ones you're wearing?"

Kate huffed a laugh. "Apart from the fact that they're yours? I look like a homeless grandmother."


Kate settled into her room and something like normality in the Two Rivers Hotel and Casino. She earned some curious looks from the hotel's employees, but they dropped off some fitting clothes and essentials in boxes outside her door the same way they did books for Metatron, without a word.

The other 'essential' was delivered much less pleasantly. Metatron had simply found her in the hall, pressed a hand against her head, and seared sigils into her bones without warning. While Kate was still cringing and recovering from the pain, Metatron had explained that she could no longer be found by angels, possessed by demons, or have her mind read without her consent. Kate had wheezed at him, and Metatron had returned to his room and his books.

For lack of anywhere else to go, Kate often found herself in Metatron's rooms. He was always half-listening to angel radio now, and every once in awhile he'd stiffen and tilt his head. Sometimes this would result in a tidbit of information that he shared with Kate. Other times he shook his head, dismissing what he'd heard as unimportant.

Kate wasn't sure whether to believe him. As much as she liked Metatron as a character when he was on a television show, she wasn't sure how much she could trust this Metatron. This angel, with a chip on his shoulder and a thirst to prove himself, who Kate had handed very dangerous information, and who Kate knew was an exceptionally skilled liar and manipulator.

It was for this reason that Kate kept her own eye on things, as much as she was able. She procured a laptop and set up alerts, keeping an eye on the newspapers for any unusual events or mentions of the Winchesters.

She also searched for her own way back home. She wasn't sure if it was her skepticism that Metatron's vast knowledge didn't contain a means to return to her own world or something in the tone of Metatron's voice when he asked her why she would want to go home, but she suspected that he knew more than he let on. Though Kate wasn't sure what his motivation could be for keeping her around. If he was attempting some manipulation, surely the wisest thing to do would be to send her away?

There were hundreds of leads to explore, but it was impossible to tell what was genuine and what was fake. She sifted through dozens of webpages, blogs, and even academic articles every day, looking for a way back home. What she really needed, she thought, was access to a good library. Metatron's, while impressive, was almost entirely fiction, and contained none of the lore books that might have proven helpful. The only other libraries of any use that she knew of belonged to Bobby Singer—out of the question for obvious reasons—and the Men of Letters, whose bunker would be inaccessible until Henry Winchester arrived with the key in a few years.

After the first few days, Metatron had relegated her to a corner of the room separated from his own preferred reading spot by several stacks of books, irritated at her frustrated sighs and the clacking of keys interrupting his reading.

Kate barely slept. She suspected that this was less a product of her own mania, and more a side-effect Metatron's mind-sharpening spell. Kate already had a tendency to obsess and overthink before. She had lost sleep a lot of nights because she simply couldn't quiet her mind enough to rest. Now, it was even worse. She found that working herself to exhaustion was a good way to avoid tossing and turning with an overactive mind for hours. So instead, Kate stayed up reading until the words blurred together on her screen. More than once she'd fallen asleep contorted in an armchair with her laptop on her lap, woken by Metatron's shuffling or the sounds of stacking books.

One one such occasion, nearly a month after meeting Metatron, Kate woke to the newspaper hitting her in the face and a disapproving look from Metatron.

"If you're going to snore, you could at least go to your own room to do it," he groused as Kate blinked rapidly and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Kate managed an apology mid-yawn. "Why are you exhausting yourself like this?"

Kate shrugged tiredly, setting the forgotten laptop aside and beginning to skim the paper absently. "What else am I supposed to do? Sit on my ass and wait for the apocalypse to come?"

"I don't know, read a book?" Metatron gestured at the room. "Watch a movie? Eat full meals and sleep in a bed?" Kate rustled the paper, paused, and smiled. Metatron frowned, puzzled. "Why are you smiling?"

Kate raised an eyebrow, smile growing at the question. "Can't a girl just smile?"

"You don't smile just because," Metatron said simply. Kate was a little surprised that he'd made that observation, and her smile dimmed. She thought Metatron had been doing his best to ignore her presence over the last few weeks. Apparently he's been paying more attention than she realized.

"You're right, I don't." She nodded to the paper. "Just, you mentioned movies. One of my favorites is playing in town. I saw it in high school, but I guess it just came out here…" Kate looked up at Metatron consideringly.

She hadn't left the hotel since she'd arrived, and she was getting stir-crazy. Sure, she could see the Colorado mountains outside her window, but she hadn't felt fresh air on her face in weeks. She was used to being on the road, moving from place to place. She couldn't remember the last time she'd stayed in one place for this long.

And so she asked, hopefully, "You up for a movie?"

Metatron stared in such disbelief that she may as well have propositioned him. "You mean go out?"

"A few hours away from this place won't kill you, will it?" Kate asked, part teasing and part serious. "I doubt the angels are searching for you right now. They're a little busy preparing for the apocalypse."

Metatron frowned deeply, seeming to consider it. "What's it about?"

"In Bruges?" Kate folded the paper, wondering how to phrase it. "Life, death, mistakes, redemption…" She grimaced at how cheesy that ended up sounding and added, "Also hitmen and drugs and hookers."

Metatron surveyed her for a long moment before taking the newspaper back without responding. Kate assumed at first that was a 'no', but then Metatron called over his shoulder that she'd better shower and eat something if she wanted to go out, and she grinned.

Metatron, still paranoid about being watched any time he left the safety of the well-warded hotel, bypassed the ticket booth entirely and zapped them directly into the theater. Kate thoroughly enjoyed seeing the film again, though she watched Metatron out of the corner of her eye throughout, trying to gage his reaction. He kept a straight face for the most part, but every once in awhile he'd crack a smile or even laugh. He either didn't notice or didn't care about Kate's observation, though he did shoot her a wondering look when, despite herself, she had to brush away a tear during one of the climactic scenes.

When it was finished, Metatron returned them to his rooms and Kate picked her way to the small kitchenette hidden behind several stacks of books to fix two cups of instant cocoa. Placing one at Metatron's elbow—she'd surmised, from his reluctant and infrequent contact with her, that he didn't like to be touched—she asked what he thought of the movie.

He dissected it. Pointed out the flaws, what was good and what wasn't, what was pointless or overdone. Kate listened to him take apart one of her favorite films with a patient ear, sipping hot cocoa and wondering just how many stories Metatron had read, and what it took to impress him.

"You didn't like it, then?" She asked when he'd finished, slightly disappointed.

"Oh no," Metatron denied immediately. "I thoroughly enjoyed it."

Kate smiled. Metatron looked uncertain and a bit confused at the gesture, looking away towards the wall of string and notes and maybe-will-happens. "What I am trying to figure out," Metatron said after a moment, glancing back at her, "is what it says about you that that was one of your favorite films."

Kate laughed.