Chapter 3
Dean grunted as he pushed himself out from underneath the Impala and into the bright sunlight he'd forgotten about since he'd gone under the car to repair it. Dean wiped the sweat and grime from his forehead and sat up. He rubbed his eyes, trying to purge the lingering slight headache from them, as fast images of what had happened flashed through Dean's mind.
He remembered the blood and gore. He remembered the cries of anguish from every single victim. He remembered Crowley's words of encouragement every time Dean had gone in for the kill. Every single time he went in for the kill.
"Go on Dean," he'd say. "They don't matter."
But they did matter, that was the hard part. They had mattered before Dean had taken every inch of them and turned it inside out. Before Dean had slaughtered the masses and heard their innocent cries for help even now in his dreams and before everything had gone to Hell once again, literally. The radio next to Dean blasted "Back in Black" and Dean slammed its off button. He turned towards the trunk of his beloved car and jumped, holding his heart. There, Titan sat, staring at the hunter.
"Damn it Titan," Dean cursed and grabbed a rag to wipe off his shirt and hands with. "Give a guy a warning next time. You're turning into Cas."
"My apologies Dean," the hound said through Dean's mind. Dean forgot he could do that sometimes. "Would you prefer my human form next time? Would that be less surprising?"
"Whatever form you want Titan," Dean also forgot sometimes that all Angelhounds had a human form as well. Titan's ironically looked almost nothing like his hound form. His human form was a young man, skinny but muscular. His human form had the same eyes, crystal blue, but blonde hair and a fouler mouth than Dean sometimes. Dean liked to think that was his only contribution to the hound's time on Earth was him picking up Dean's habit of cussing. "Speaking of Cas, where did he head off to? I figured he wanted to follow up on our talk from last night."
"Castiel is attending to matters in Heaven," Titan stretched and yawned, whining a little. "It may take awhile. I cannot speak for him Dean."
"You're a real barrel of sarcasm you know that," Dean chuckled and went under the hood of the Impala, checking it's engine and making sure it was in full working order. "Hard to believe I haven't driven Baby since…well since that night."
"You are referring to the night you were killed by Metatron," Titan almost slinked off the hood and down to the ground next to Dean, his eyes shone in the sunlight. "Then became your worst nightmare, are you not?"
"We need to work on your bluntness," Dean said, avoiding that subject. "I tend to think you picked up more than my foul mouth since you became mine."
"I don't know what the hell you're talking about." Titan replied arrogantly as his dog tags jingled on his neck. A red collar donned his neck; the one Balthazar had placed on him. The tags were in the shape of angel's wings and were real silver. Balthazar's name on them had been magically changed to Dean's when the hound had been given over to him. Dean grabbed the tags between his fingers and looked at them a moment before letting go.
"I feel like I've missed part of my life." Dean admitted with a sigh.
"That's what rebuilding is for." Dean could've sworn Titan almost smiled when he looked at him. The hound's eyes shone once and he ran off towards the bunker. The gravel kicking up behind his paws as he went and for one second Dean saw himself running back towards the bunker, covered in blood and with that crazed look in his eyes that only came after a kill, but as soon as the image presented itself in his mind it ran off just as Titan had.
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"Oh guard," Metatron sang out, his voice sounding sickeningly sweet. "Guard!"
"What is it Metatron?" Belphagor, one of the angels guarding the jail on the night shift, said. He was a gruff angel. Not really one to socialize too much and one who had seen many a battle. He had the scars to prove it. All in all, a perfect candidate for the guard job.
"You see guard," Metatron explained. "I'm awfully bored here in this cell and I could use something to entertain myself. So that I don't annoy the likes of you as well."
Belphagor sighed. He realized anything he gave Metatron could easily lead to him getting himself out somehow, but what were the chances of that? The cells had been re-done since his arrival and since Gadreel had decided to be a martyr. What could Metatron do?
"Fine," Belphagor said. "What do you require to assist you in curing this so called boredom of yours?"
"Oh nothing," Metatron said with a smile. "Just a piece of paper and a pencil."
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Castiel trudged along the path in Heaven he enjoyed most. It was the Heaven of an Autistic man who drowned in his bathtub and loved flying kites. The grass was a luscious green and the sky a perfect blue with fluffy white clouds. It was here that Castiel had also stood up to Raphael and his army and bled out on the green grass. It was here the singe marks of angels' wings still remained on the grass from said fight. The man didn't seem to ever notice though. He just continued to fly his kites. Castiel had always felt bad about what he considered to be "ruining" this man's Heaven. That was in the past though, along with everything else now. Castiel's constant mess ups, Dean becoming a Hell Knight, everything seemed right now for the most part. Although now, Castiel had this constant fear over his head ever since he'd done what he'd done. He knew he shouldn't have done it, but it was the only way at the time to save Dean and God knows he wouldn't just let Dean go on as what he'd become. The only choice Castiel had now was to tell him or not.
"A dilemma most interesting I'd say," the voice of the angel Ecanus echoed behind Castiel. "That took guts I'll give you that."
"Father forbid anyone else find out what I've done." Castiel rolled his eyes; he owed his sudden fluency in sarcasm to Dean.
"We all make mistakes Castiel," Ecanus landed next to him and admired the kite as well. "I would know most of all how that feels. I can't judge you."
Castiel sighed. Ecanus had once been a Scribe of Heaven like Metatron, but he had traveled to earth to assist in the Scribe Ezra in one of the many tribes somewhere in the world. The location escaped Castiel's memory. Ecanus had been captured whilst on earth by demons and they'd tortured him for information, using the same method Crowley had used on Samandrial when Castiel had rescued him. Ecanus had given away vital information on accident to the enemy and had been shunned by Heaven ever since. He'd taken up a new identity, using his Scribe friend's name in memoriam of him and gaining a new, younger, vessel by the name of Trey Walters. Ecanus had become known throughout Heaven as "Ezra", but in Castiel's company and those who knew, he was still referred to as Ecanus and if anyone knew anything about risky decisions and screwing up unintentionally, it was Ecanus.
"I thank you for your vote of confidence Ecanus," Castiel said, facing the autistic man once again. "But I'm afraid this time I don't think Father will be on my side."
"What could be worse than giving secrets to the enemy," Ecanus chuckled a little, but he sighed afterwards. "Although I do suppose what you have done goes a few notches higher on the totem pole than what I have done."
Castiel stared at the red and white checkers on the kite. Red, the color of blood and war and Hell, white the pure color of angels and all that was good. He fought for white, but most of the time he felt like he was in the red. He also always felt like the only one in the red.
"Father speed my friend," Ecanus placed his hand on Castiel's shoulder. The younger looking angel's brown eyes almost sparkled, almost, and his short brown hair blew a little with the slight wind. He had freckles like Dean. Somehow, Castiel didn't know how, but somehow that felt Castiel feel a bit better. "That's all I can say."
"I know." Castiel hated saying that, for he didn't know. He didn't know the outcome of this. There was a part of him that didn't want to. In that moment though, it was all he could think of to say.
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Sam sat at one of the many desks in the bunker. His mind had wandered along with the hours he'd gone without sleep. The days he'd gone without sleep, up thinking about how to save his brother. They were adding up and Sam was in a haze.
"Admit it Sam," the voice of the deceased Kevin Tran rang through Sam's head and Sam could've sworn that Kevin was standing before him now. A disappointed look on his face. "You couldn't stand the thought of leaving him behind either."
"Shut up Kevin." Sam had never said those words to the Prophet in real life, but now Sam was sleep deprived and quite frankly, annoyed with his own head.
"You just don't want to admit I'm right," the hallucination of Kevin said. "Do you Sam? I'm right, admit it."
"I said shut up Kevin!" Sam said, a bit louder than before.
"Because without Dean," he stepped closer, leaning his hands on the table until his knuckles went white. "You'd be alone, a sniveling mess, a miserable bastard. Is that what you want Sam? To be a miserable bastard all alone in this big place? No! That's why you're seeing me, that's why you've gone days without sleep. Because admit it, you're just as afraid of being alone as Dean is!"
"Go away!" Sam exclaimed.
"Because if you were alone," Sam looked up to see Kevin now, the hallucination of him had its eyes burnt out like he had when he died. "You'd end up dead like me!"
Sam gasped and immediately pulled himself out of his trance. The hallucination of the dead Prophet was gone and Sam was once again alone. He wiped at his mouth, some drool had appeared. He also rubbed at his eyes and temples. He jumped when he heard a rap on the doorframe.
"I'm going to bed," Dean said. "You should too Sammy. You look dead."
If only he knew.
"Oh," Sam stammered a bit. "Yeah, sure Dean."
"Goodnight Mr. Comatose." Dean said as he walked off towards his room.
"I thought that was Cas' title." Sam forced a chuckle and stood from the desk. He looked at the spot where "Kevin" had placed his ghostly pale hands and a shiver ran up Sam's spine when he left the room and turned off the lights. He really did need more sleep.
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Night fell in Heaven as well and the stars twinkled. Belphagor stood with Cathar at the head of the jail, guarding. The angel's patience had grown thin. The prisoner's trial had been postponed once again due to a disagreement among the Council and Belphagor was forced once again to waste his evening guarding the Scribe of Heaven. No matter, he'd given the Scribe a pen and paper, enough to occupy him the whole evening it seemed too because he hadn't heard a peep out of him since then.
"Did you hear that?" Cathar asked when Belphagor heard something drop in one of the back cells.
"Yes," Belphagor said. "I'll go, stay here."
Belphagor trudged back to Metatron's cell and saw the Scribe casually sitting on his bed and smirking. The spare pencil he'd given him had fallen to the ground and rolled away from him.
"What brings you to my humble abode?" Metatron asked.
"Very funny," Belphagor replied. "I wanted to make sure you weren't doing anything stupid like trying to escape."
"Oh no my friend," Metatron came close to the cell door and smirked again. "Not yet at least."
"What—" Belphagor exclaimed, but before he could finish his sentence he felt a sharp pain in his chest. An angel blade protruded from his chest and fresh blood spilled down his hands.
"See it's all written out," Metatron showed Belphagor what he'd been writing and the angel gasped. "Right here. Tsk, Tsk, and Belphagor you really should be more careful what you give a Scribe who's a prisoner."
Belphagor felt his breath being taken away before he could even call out to warn the other guard who was unaware of what had just occurred behind the double doors of Heaven's jail. Metatron watched as Belphagor sank to the ground, angel blade extracted Metatron whispered a few words, and Belphagor died quietly, no flash of light or anything. Just the way Metatron wanted it. Metatron looked down at what he'd been writing:
And the fearless guard fell. Blood oozing from his chest and life gone from his vessel. The equally, but slightly more fearless hero, Metatron, escaped quietly through the bars and assumed the position of Belphagor.
Metatron did just that. Morphing into that of Belphagor and making sure the body was disposed of somewhere it wouldn't be found for awhile. Metatron, now disguised, walked out of the double doors and Cathar looked over.
"We're switching shifts," Metatron said to Cathar and started walking off, hoping for a swift and once again quiet escape. "You may go."
Cathar nodded once and started to walk off, but not before he noticed "Belphagor's" hand dripping with fresh blood. He stopped.
"What the—" he said.
Metatron knocked him out as well and continued his escape, but the alarms blared and his walk turned into a fast run. He left Cathar lying on the ground, out cold and ran off into the outskirts of the Seventh Realm of Heaven, the top layer. All of Heaven's angels were in a frenzy looking for the escapee. Angels flew everywhere, searching, but to no avail. Metatron watched from the shadows and slowly made a break for it. Diving down from Heaven to earth in one swift move. Once safely on earth and in the dark once again he looked up at the sky above and smirked before writing one last sentence down:
The hero has returned and he is determined to raise Hell.
Read and Reviews are very much appreciated if you can!
So Metatron has escaped! Oh No!
And what did Castiel do?
Will Dean ever pick up the pieces?
And will Sam come to terms with everything as well?
More to come soon!
