Author's Note:

Thank you all for your support! You're all being so fabulous, which I greatly appreciate. It's also nice to see the overall readership growing as well.

Thanks to SamSam, SPN Mum, Destiel, ncsupnatfan, TheKingOfTheCrossroads, 1983Sarah, and SnarryMoreidLover for their reviews on chapter 6!

Chapter 7 - Are The Worst of All

Sam was sitting at the table in the kitchen when Dean waltzed in the next morning, looking perfectly fine, and distinctly pissed about it.

"What bit you?" Sam asked, raising an eyebrow at his older brother.

Dean scowled at him like Sam was bothering him by existing. "I'm not hungover," he explained, sounding as though it was the worst news he could deliver.

"You miss hangovers?" Sam asked him incredulously.

Dean rolled his eyes. "No, it just sucks that I don't have one. More proof I'm not human. Not exactly what I need first thing in the morning."

Sam had to swallow the frown that was building from Dean's phrasing, but he thought he understood what was really going on. "Get some breakfast - there's stuff in the fridge you can heat up. I think I might be able to distract you."

Meandering towards the fridge, Dean retrieved some sausage and threw it into the five dollar microwave they'd picked up a thrift store a few months ago. It had been Dean's idea. Sometimes, he just wasn't patient enough to deal with the stove. As the microwave beeped and he pulled the meat out, he waved a hand at Sam. "Go on. What's the news?"

Sam still thought it odd that Dean was eating so consistently, but he thought it probably had more to do with Dean trying to maintain normalcy than any actual need for food. He shoved the thought away and replied, "So Cas made a deal with Metatron to trade for information."

"Right, bookstore. That's why he came by yesterday," Dean said around a mouthful of sausage. He made a face and swallowed when Sam gave him a look, and added, "Sorry, continue," he snarked.

"Anyway," Sam emphasized, sighing internally at his brother. A part of him warmed at the sign of sameness though. It was good to know that the majority of his brother's personality had remained intact so far. "Cas gave Metatron the first book in exchange for the location of a vault. You'll never guess what he found."

"Then you'd better tell me," Dean deadpanned.

Sam smirked. "The Horn of Gabriel."

Dean's brow furrowed. "Isn't that what that sigil thing was that Gadreel was using to murder angels?"

"Yes and no," Sam explained. "Apparently the sigil just takes advantage of the summoning properties of the horn, but when you actually have the horn, the sigil is way more powerful. That's why so many angels kept getting caught in the traps - they didn't really have a choice to ignore it. Cas says that the physical horn is impossible to ignore, would summon all the angels, and if wielded by Gabriel himself, could possibly bring the dead back to life."

Dean blinked once, then again, staring at Sam thoughtfully. "Huh." He took another bite of sausage, chewing as he gazed at his brother, trying to decide how to react. "I guess it doesn't surprise me that Metatron had powerful weapons hidden away. Or powerful stuff, at least. I don't know if the horn qualifies as a weapon."

"Depends on who's using it," Sam pointed out. "According to Cas, the physical horn hasn't every actually been used. It's always been protected, because only Gabriel was supposed to use it. He seemed kind of indignant of the fact that Metatron had even had it."

"So, what, it's pretty much useless since its archangel is dead?" Dean asked, wiping the corner of his mouth on his hand.

Sam hesitated. "Cas was actually a little cagey when I asked about that. He said something about having to talk to Hannah and then he kind of quickly said goodbye and hung up on me."

"Is that the angel version of 'I'm going through a tunnel'?" Dean asked, smirking.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Or something."

"Wait a minute," Dean interjected, suddenly realizing something. "Isn't Hannah the chick who asked Cas to kill me?"

Sam shrugged. "It sounds like she's his right hand again."

Dean scowled. "I don't trust her."

With a snort, Sam replied, "That's because she totally called Cas on his loyalties. It sounds like she's being helpful, and Cas kind of implied that her covering for him is the only reason he's been able to spend so much time down here since Metatron's rule fell. Mostly because he's worried about you."

"He doesn't need to be worried," Dean muttered self-consciously. "I'm doing fine."

"Dude, you teleported to England yesterday to get drunk and insult the locals while they watched their national sport," Sam reminded him. "Don't get pissed if Cas is concerned. It's kind of valid."

"Well, at least I can still get drunk," Dean offered with a grin.

"Yeah, you come back that sloshed again and I'm shoving holy water down your throat," Sam threatened. "According to Crowley it'll burn the alcohol right out, and I don't want to deal with a drunk demon on a regular basis. Especially since your default now apparently is to get all weird on me." He made a face, not relishing the memory of Dean's questions from the day before.

Dean flushed slightly and shifted awkwardly. "Yeah. About that -"

"It's not the same thing, Dean, and I don't want you to be playing the comparison game, okay?" Sam said firmly, cutting his brother off before he could get started.

Dean huffed. "Not that I want to talk about this, believe me, but I gotta know, Sammy, how can you think it isn't even a little bit the same?"

"Because I deliberately chose to ignore the advice of those I trusted, gave myself over to evil willingly, and betrayed pretty much the entire human race," Sam bit out. "You're literally only a demon because you died trying to kill one of the most powerful demons we've ever faced and the worst enemy Heaven's had in a good long while."

Dean stared at him. "So what do you call Lilith then? It's not like you knew her blood would release Lucifer, and I was hardly supportive."

"God, Dean, I was willingly drinking demon blood. I mean, I hated it, but I was still doing it because I loved the power. You shouldn't have been supportive. I don't blame you at all." Sam ran a hand through his hair and sighed deeply.

Dean made a disapproving noise. "Not of the blood drinking, idiot. I should have been supporting you. You're so damn supportive of me and the stupid demon training with Crowley, and making sure I stay me and don't turn into some super villain, and all I can think about is the way I acted when you were dealing with all this demon shit."

"It's. Not. The. Same. Thing." Sam enunciated, leaning forward in earnest. "I'm serious, Dean. Once I figured out how wrong I was, I never blamed you for anything. You were right about everything you said. Everything. I made my peace with everything you and I went through back then ages ago. God, please don't feel guilty, or whatever's going on with you. I sure as hell didn't support the First Blade crap, results be damned, but I'm going to do my best to keep you on the right path now that you're reaping the consequences. How is that any different from what you did for me?"

Sighing slowly, Dean finally nodded. "All right, point taken." He ruffled the slightly too long spikes of his hair and smirked lightly. "Air feels clear. It's weird. Maybe we need to do this more often."

"Thought you didn't like talking?" Sam teased, responding with a slight grin.

"Eh, it has its merits." Dean shrugged and relaxed against the seat he was in. Changing the subject, he asked, "Do you think Crowley had enough of me yesterday or will I have training today?"

"Beats me. He seemed pretty done yesterday, but you can always give him a call." Sam chuckled and got up to put the dishes away. "Your funeral."

"Eh, he won't kill me." Dean said confidently, sending a text to Crowley.

Sam gave him a look. "Did you just text the King of Hell?"

"Yep," Dean replied, tucking his cell phone back into the pocket of his jeans.

"I'll be in the library," Sam informed him, rolling his eyes and heading out, muttering something about their weird lived under his breath as he left, leaving Dean grinning behind him.

"Castiel. Castiel. CASTIEL!"

The final call of his name startled the angel enough to look up, catching Hannah's concerned look. "I'm sorry, Hannah. What were you saying?"

"Are you all right?" Hannah asked, eyes wide. "You seem very distracted."

"I am," Castiel acknowledged. After a beat he added, "distracted, that is."

"Is something the matter with Dean?" Hannah asked hesitantly. She was still far from fond of the newly formed demon, but was both aware of and mindful of the bond between him and Castiel.

"No, I spoke with Sam recently and Dean is fine," Castiel replied absently. "If a little too determined to cause trouble," he allowed after a moment's consideration, the side of his mouth twitching briefly towards a smile.

"So, no different from usual then?" Hannah asked kindly, still looking worried.

Castiel didn't look at her, staring into space. "It is Metatron that concerns me."

"What did he do?" Hannah demanded, sudden fear creating urgency.

This time Castiel did look at her, lifting a hand to calm her. "Nothing, Hannah, relax. It is something he did to me while in power that currently distracts me. I feel that it may have an impact on more recent discoveries."

Hannah hesitated before asking, "Does this have anything to do with whatever it was that you found in his vault?"

"It may," Castiel replied, slowly nodding in consideration.

"Are you going to tell me what it was?" Hannah asked eagerly.

"Not yet," Castiel shook his head. "I would rather not advertise the discoveries of his vaults until I have a better idea of his end game. He knew what he was doing, sending me to this particular vault, and I worry that Metatron is manipulating me."

"Perhaps you should confront him?" Hannah asked tentatively, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the prison. It was odd, working in such a human looking environment in Heaven. Everything had direction and form to it, where once everything had been formless and light. Castiel found he appreciated the semblance of order that he human layout provided. If nothing else, it provided a balance he could understand.

"Maybe that would be best," Castiel sighed. Rising, he straightened the trench coat and strode towards the door. Pausing, he turned back. "I am sorry, Hannah. I do not mean to be so distracted during our meetings. Was there something I needed to address?"

"Right now I believe you need to be addressing Metatron," Hannah told him with a smile. "There is nothing else so urgent it cannot wait."

With a smile and nod, Castiel moved towards the prison. On arrival, Metatron did not look up at him, but smiled slightly, clearly aware of his presence.

"Can I help you, Castiel?" Metatron asked, setting down the Agatha Christie novel he had been perusing, his finger stuck inbetween two pages towards the back of the book.

"I want to know what exactly your goal is with this game you are playing," Castiel said firmly. "I do not believe you so careless as to send me to a random vault with no purpose. You knew well its significance, and I want an answer from you."

Setting the book completely aside, Metatron turned to face Castiel, perching his chin on his hands. "Well, well, you seem to have an awful lot of faith in my intelligence," he teased. "What exactly is it you want from me, Castiel?"

"Right now, the answer to only one question," Castiel told him, his tone brooking no room for argument.

His eyes twinkling with what could only be described as mischief, Metatron replied, "What might that be, I wonder?"