Chapter 10: Finding in the Temple

Planning how to infiltrate seventh heaven without Metatron knowing anything was not a simple task. Metatron was the heavenly Scribe that maintained the archives, kept most of the souls' records and oversaw the other 'recording' angels.

He was in charge of what was a heavenly equivalent of Santa's good and bad list. Because of that, to enter Aravoth after passing by the now absent guardians Dumiel and Kaspiel, (which Ash also helpfully informed Dean, could also be transliterated to Castiel) all souls wishing to stand before the Throne of Glory had to pass by Metatron.

It didn't exactly make for easy pickings. In Dean's absence, Ash and some of the other hunters managed to find some obscure books on the Circles of Heaven through what they thought of as old angel outposts. Ash had helpfully translated one of the books (which Dean now called The Big Book of Heaven) into English and left it with Dean to work on.

Dean found himself back in his heavenly equivalent of the bunker's library staring at large volumes that he'd rather not read. It was boring work, relieved only by Ash's visits (and therefore other hunters he brought along as well). One such day found Dean antsy from the lack of action, until Ash had left Bobby with Dean.

Bobby was hauling in a clunker of a car and invited Dean to work on it with him. Dean would never understand just how Bobby stumbled upon it… it wasn't like people actually could drive by asking for Bobby and Dean to fix their cars. Dean suspected, but would never be able to prove, that Bobby had just dreamed up the car to take Dean's mind off the current problem.

Dean was looking for one of his tools in what passed for the bunker's garage when he noticed one of the weapons mounted on the wall. He frowned distractedly, leaving his tools behind to look at the bow and arrow clearly.

Bobby stopped working to give him a questioning look. Dean touched the feather on the fletching, his eyebrows furrowed. "This ain't ever been here before."

"Not here when you were alive, or not here since you built this place?" Bobby clarified.

"Not when I was alive—"

Castiel stood up and fingered an arrow from the display case showing it to Dean with a knowing smile. "A little larger than a cherub's arrow, I think."

"Stop being such a tourist, Cas," Dean teased under his breath as he pocketed the notepad that he used in cases while the owner of the shop had his back turned to them. "This case looks like a standard salt and burn, so why are you thinking about cupid's bow?"

"I always think of Metatron's Spell in my free time." Cas grimaced as he let go of the full quiver and looked around at the shop. It was a sporting goods store that had enough of an arsenal for hunting game, like deer and bear. He followed Dean outside and headed towards the Impala.

"So… what do you have?" Dean asked once Castiel was already seated in the passenger's side, noticing the well-worn paper Cas had pulled out. It was torn out of the ubiquitous notepad they toted for 'detective work' and filled with marks that were actually color coded with scribbles over the components of the Spell.

"Kevin has an interesting theory on it," Cas said slowly, although Dean couldn't understand the hesitation. He thought Cas would be ecstatic over any theory with regard to the Spell. "He postulated that the Spell tried to recreate the first sin of my brethren against yours."

Dean's eyebrows furrowed in thought. "You mean Lucifer's Fall?"

"Lucifer's chief fault lay in pride: that he was better than humans, that he was better than our Father, that he cannot love beings that are intrinsically flawed." Cas head thumped heavily against the headrest as he leaned on it, eyes closing in what was close to despair. "And thus Metatron's Spell found symbols that united both angels and humans, symbols for angel's love for humanity and desecrated it in such a way that angels have no other recourse but to fall. It was then just a simple matter of closing the gates."

Which is why it was irreversible. If Heaven sees all of them as having Lucifer's first sin, then the gates would have truly barred to them. "So why the long face, Cas? It seems like a solid theory. We've worked with less."

"Of all the angels in Heaven that Metatron could have picked, he picked me," Castiel said in the tones of the truly remorseful. "I am tired of causing my brothers harm. I am tired of being broken."

Ah, this was self-deprecation then and not really about the Spell. Dean knew a thing or two about self-worth. "Cas, believe me, I know broken and you ain't it."

"Not broken?" Cas gave a soft pained snort, one that showed both his disbelief and the depth of what he'd lost. "I cannot even help you anymore, and I have been manipulated one time too many, and quite frankly, I am unsure why no one has called me out as an idiot and then punished me for my mistakes."

Dean stared at Cas, trying to come up with a decent answer that didn't border on chick-flick. He understood that Cas missed his angel mojo, but Cas has been close to graceless before, and his worth had never been defined by being there and fixing things when things got rough. Family was more than blood and Cas has been family for a long time. Dean could forgive many things if it was because of family.

"No one has punished you for it? So this entire self-sacrifice, leaving yourself in Purgatory, that ain't enough of a punishment for you?" Obviously it wasn't, obviously, in angel-camp, Cas thought he deserved more than death and dying. Dean took a calming breath before continuing, "Look, we've all done some messed up things, we're all idiots. We get called out on it almost everyday. Listen to Bobby rant once you get your wings back."

Cas looked unimpressed about Dean's spiel, but the angel did keep emotions close to his chest. Dean would have never noticed it if Cas hadn't brought up the Spell. When had they designated Cas as the get-out-of-jail-free card? They'd been wallowing in their own problems that they hadn't allowed Cas to develop any self-respect.

There was no convincing the angel of his redemption, and frankly Dean wasn't the best person to reassure Cas of that. So Dean tried to take a different approach. "If I understand Kevin's theory, then Metatron chose you because if the entire theme of his Spell was love and you're the angel who's been consistently devoted to humanity. No one else could have done it." Too much heart, Samandiriel had said, and that had been the core of the Spell hadn't it?

That statement didn't seem to have cheered Castiel up at all. "Dean, I'm not as devoted to the entire human race as I am devoted to you."

Dean covered his embarrassment by coughing into his fist then turning on the ignition. "Spell then, you were thinking to deconstruct the Spell to purify the angels of their metaphysical sin and then open the gates. So you were planning to get something that had broken apart angels and humans and purify it? What have you got for Cupid's bow?"

"It is Heaven's will encouraging the human heart to find its mate." Castiel pocketed his note then absent-mindedly tapped the dashboard. It was something that he had learned when he became human because as an angel, Castiel had been unnaturally still. There had been an economy of motion that was absent when he had lost his grace. "The cherubim's symbols are the bow and arrow because love wounds while inflaming the heart."

"Sooo… something that attracts?"

Castiel hummed in thought. "The string of Pharzuph."

"Please don't tell me that you find that in the middle of Egypt under a sarcophagus buried with flesh-eating scarab beetles," Dean said dryly as he maneuvered out of the parking lot and towards their current motel, where Sam was waiting.

Castiel looked appalled. "Of course not. Pharzuph was a malakh who fell. He ties people together with his string to meet in lust. His symbols usually show his depraved mind and his trickery."

"I can tap myself some of that."

"Dean," Castiel reprimanded, "you get enough people to 'tap' without the aid of the string."

It was Dean's turn to grimace. He could almost see the air quotes Cas used in that sentence. "Well… deconstructing a spell with ingredients that need to be snatched from demons seems a little counterproductive to me."

"I'm sure we can get hold of that somehow," Cas said readily. "We've worked with less."

Dean raised an eyebrow at his words being thrown back at him. Cas answered with a slight curl of his lip up.

"Is it a mnemosyne?" Bobby asked. Dean took the weapon from the wall and brought it back to Bobby so they could both look it over. Dean waited for Bobby to explain that because Dean had never heard of a mnemosyne before. "Some souls make 'em when they build their heavens. There are some memories we lock away, sometimes we forget memories more than once. A mnemosyne is sort of a clue, so we remember."

Dean watched Bobby take off his baseball cap. It sounded like Bobby had learned that from experience. Dean briefly wondered what memory Bobby had repressed then remembered before he turned his attention back to the bow. "Why would I shut out the Spell?"

Bobby shrugged. "Lots of people forget for different reasons. Maybe you knew it was something that wouldn't exactly help you with peace in the hereafter."

Dean looked around the room, a bit frantic. If he already worked out the Spell with Cas, then the batcave might contain other clues. Bobby eyed him from where he was standing as Dean inspected everything in the room for any triggers.

How had he forgotten that he couldn't just open the freaking Gates of Heaven? He needed a spell that would make Heaven recognize its citizens again.

He had done a half-assed job of going to the seventh heaven without even knowing what he needed. He had no idea who the Caretaker of the Throne was, he barely knew what the counter-spell to Metatron's own Spell was and he couldn't even reach the Throne. He'd shown his hand to Metatron for nothing.

"I don't think it works that way, boy," Bobby apologized, approaching him and placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "It doesn't come when forced."

Dean breathed in deep gulps of air to steady himself and crouched at one of the lower shelves that he'd haphazardly jostled to see its contents. "I just feel so damned useless here. I promised Cas I'd do something and this sure ain't something."

Bobby pulled Dean up to his feet. "That angel of yours has believed in you since he pulled you out of Hell. We're in Heaven, our coin is faith and promises. Cas believes in nothing—no one else—but you. You won't disappoint him, no matter what comes out of this clusterfuck."

oOo

"Hey, Cas… do you ever think about dying?" Dean asked slowly, if a little drunkenly, while perched on top of the hood of the Impala, clutching one of the last bottles of beers. Dean knew he'd made a resolution somewhere against drinking and Cas because they always ended up sickeningly depressing, but if he didn't shower Cas with booze, no one would.

Castiel eyed him critically. There was a long enough pause that Dean thought Cas wouldn't answer. It was long enough to think that, had the angel still retained his wings, he would have flown out of the conversation ages ago. Dean seriously thought he'd broken these pauses out of his angel already. There was nothing but awkward in long stretches of silence, staring at a dude who looked like he was trying for a Vulcan mind meld. "Every day since my grace was taken from me. Most especially since April knifed me."

Dean winced. Yeah, there was that. If there was one thing to be said about hanging around the Winchesters, it was that you had to be ready for imminent death. It said something about Castiel's life when the least threatening of all deaths was merely described as a "stabbing."

Dean straightened up, opened and closed his mouth several times, to which Castiel gave an amused huff with a fond smile. It was the kind of smile that Dean figured Castiel wouldn't have had if he'd still been fully graced-up. "You can ask me anything, Dean. I have found that there really is little that I wouldn't do for you." Including leaving the bunker on his say so with barely a complaint, which was all sorts of fucked up. It was how they'd ended up on the Impala after Cas' botched date night.

"Ever thought of trying to go back?" Dean asked looking up at the night sky, the gibbous moon was shining its small sliver against the multitude of stars. The alcohol was making him maudlin. How appropriate. This conversation never would have happened without the alcohol. Surely. Probably. Maybe.

"Of course." The answer was hard and fast. Decisive, as Cas the human had never been decisive. "But… I was malakh once, then I fell slowly. I still had my grace but it was an ebbing thing, I had no soul but I had the Song and the Song was enough. I was a seraph twice and that was a fierce burning joy, because it was an unexpected gift. I was a false god briefly, I had enough leviathan in me to be considered one, been lauded as a prophet and faith healer when all I had been was lost and amnesic and now I am human. Do you understand what that means?"

"That you have a dissociative identity?" Dean quipped. Castiel had lost him at malakh and seriously, they hadn't really thought about going through lore about angels because they had Castiel. At least if Dean had read up more on angel lore, he'd understand where this conversation was leading.

"I have tasted existence fully, and nothing compares to being human. I didn't understand that before I grew a soul." Castiel shrugged and placed his burger on the hood of the car. He'd taken to eating burgers again in much the same way Dean had always taken to eating pie. "I will end up back in Heaven, whether I'm an angel or not."

"But you're alone down here," Dean pointed out. And Dean wished he had a brain-to-mouth filter, especially with alcohol, because, whose fault was it that the angel was alone in the first place? "And you've been sad about being graceless."

"I'm not 'sad' about being graceless, I am sad because of my inability to help and because I was instrumental in the fall of my brothers. There is a distinction."

That explained why there was a distinct lack of vice that Dean had seen with Zachariah's version of Castiel. Cas didn't need to fill the gaping holes that his grace had left with drugs, booze, and women. Maybe Cas had filled those with family and hunting, the way Dean had filled the mom-and-dad shaped holes in his life with the same things.

Cas' gaze sharpened as he watched Dean and said, "All right, Dean. What is this really about?"

Dean froze and sat up from the easy sprawl he'd been on, because he hadn't expected Cas to catch on to him that early. But Castiel had pointed out in many occasions that he was an expert in Dean Winchester, probably only surpassed by Sam. "I dunno, opening the Gates of Heaven seems to be something doable. We tried closing the Gates of Hell didn't we?"

"And how do you propose we do that?" Castiel asked matching Dean's rigid posture, eyeing him critically over the slits of his eyes. "I think I remember that we failed spectacularly in that endeavor."

"Spectacularly? Really?" Dean asked incredulously. Way to rub it in Cas. " 'Cuz I would've just called it failed and left it at that."

Cas rolled his eyes. "Dean? How are we doing this?"

"I could—you know—die," Dean said slowly, Castiel reached out for Dean looking like he was going to strangle the hunter in frustration and Dean ducked instinctively. The angel glared at Dean while the hunter looked mournfully at the last bottle of beer, spilled uselessly on the asphalt after he'd kicked it out by evading Cas. "Geesh, Cas, what the fuck? I didn't mean now."

Cas calmed down visibly and returned to his relaxed pose at the car's hood. "You will die sooner or later, you cannot help but die. Death is mortality defined. By that time, I will still be here, there is no rush to open the Gates of Heaven because it will be a mere moment for me."

"But you know, angels out to get you," Dean said while waving widely out into the big breadth of the unknown. Castiel was vulnerable on Earth without his grace, much like Anna had been before they'd restored her. "I just don't want you to…"

He trailed off after that because anything said after that would be too sappy even without the alcohol and the stars and the Impala. It would sound too close to girly feelings and he was sure he wasn't drunk enough for that.

"As long as I know that you are willing to do it, and that it will be done, it does not need to happen in the immediate future," Cas reassured Dean, picking up the burger that he'd carefully positioned and took a bite. "And as I said, I am beginning to see the appeal of humanity and why Anna fell in love with it. It is something you cannot appreciate fully without a soul. And I now have that."

oOo

Dean opened his eyes and gasped with the deep breath of the drowning. Maybe it had been the arrow, maybe it had been the beers he drank with Bobby after that, but he was remembering. He ran his hand through his hair and looked at the clock.

Ass o'clock in the morning. Perfect for brooding and generally sleeping in if he wasn't already forcing the days in his heaven to go slowly so that he could come up with answers for Cas faster.

Dean rubbed the sleep out of his eyes before crawling out of bed. His eyes landed on the piles of letters as he made his way out of his room. He'd spent an hour reading through three of them. One of Sam's, one of Cas', and a random pick; but he'd stopped after that.

Reading prayers from those that he left made Dean feel impotent. Heaven was nice and wonderful up to the point that you realized that while he was lounging around here, there was a fight down there.

There'll be peace when you were done? Bull. There wasn't any done. Done didn't happen for hunters like Dean. Abbadon and Crowley were still fighting over Hell's vote, the angels were still walking around lost, Metatron was still being a giant dickbag and Lucifer and Michael were waiting for another go at the Apocalypse. Awesome. He shouldn't have agreed to Sam's equally insane plan to let each other go next time.

Hadn't it been easier when his world had existed in the clear-cut black and white, when the dead remained the dead? When demons were full on monsters and angels didn't exist?

Dean rummaged around the fridge for something edible before he remembered he was in his heaven and thought up an apple pie and a burger. Master chef he was not, but conjuring pie out of thin air still hadn't run out of awesome after the first ten thousand slices.

He was about to start eating when his eyes landed on a potted plant in the middle of the table. First off it was the bunker, not a goddamned conservatory and second, who had decided it was a brilliant idea to put live things where he eats?

Dean reached out to pluck one of the flowers. It was pink, clustered together shaped as a heart with a small drop like pod at the bottom. He took his burger and the flower to the library then pulled out one of those botany books that catalogued these kinds of things.

The flower had been crushed in his failed attempt to juggle the large book, a burger, and the cutting in his hands but he had managed to reach the table with the items. Dean was just thankful that they actually had a book like this to name plants in spells and such.

The hunter flipped through the pages, one hand turning the leaves of the book while the other was preoccupied with his burger when he spotted the picture. Cramming the last of his burger into his mouth and wiping his hand on his shirt, Dean picked up the flower and set it beside the picture. The caption read: Bleeding heart.

"Heart of a nephilim," Dean murmured touching the flower's petals. It was another mnemosyne then.

He reached over to one of the books scattered on the table, left after a frustrating day of research and opened it to one of the marked pages. Nephilim: Ezekiel's mighty fallen. A product of an angel's folly with human desire, the union of humanity and angels in one act of love.

Dean already got that somewhere down the road, or in less dictionary terms from Cas, in any case. What was actually new was the annotation written over after reading the translations Ash sent over that said: root n-ph-l which means 'fall' and another post script written after that: 'those that cause others to fall down'.

Dean huffed out a breath. What could he substitute as a purification for that? He dropped his head on top of the book thinking, Another soul? Angelic babies?

He groaned out loud because, angelic babies? Seriously, was he even touching that with a ten-foot pole? Didn't they sprout out fully formed from the head of their Father? Okay, that was a different religious belief all together, but still. Dean didn't think putting a soul in this spell was going anywhere. Besides his ideas were already spiraling down to the ridiculous.

He took a deep breath before lifting his head enough to rub his eyes again. It was when he noticed the blue underside of his wrist, he frowned absent-mindedly and rubbed it before he realized, The blood of an angel's victim.

The victim as a product of an angel's hate, purified for forgiveness. It was definitely easier to find in Heaven than Castiel's string of Pharzuph. Pamela could do in a pinch, although she wasn't really harmed by hate rather ignorance; Jimmy could probably be one but he had been a willing sacrifice.

Dean had gone out of his heaven to throw the idea around. When he brought up the idea with Bobby for suggestions, the man said, "You could always just use your blood." The idea came after Dean had junked almost everyone he knew that they could easily talk to.

"I dunno," Dean said uncertainly. "I ain't much of a victim."

Bobby snorted. "You were Michael's chosen vessel but Zachariah tried to force you plenty. You were hurt because you were Heaven's chosen. It doesn't need to be a physical act of violence, boy, although Lucifer did almost beat you dead."

That was one memory Dean would rather not relive.

"So what are you going to do?" Bobby asked offering a beer to Dean. "You still have one ingredient to remember, right?"

Dean hesitated before he accepted the proffered drink. "I've always known the last ingredient: Cas' grace."

Bobby paused from taking a swig off the beer bottle. "Always knew that angel was in love."

"What?" Dean squawked, almost coughing up his mouthful of beer.

Bobby looked at him critically before clarifying, "With humanity. He was the one who got the Spell's ingredients together, wasn't he?" Dean nodded in response before Bobby continued, "Makes sense that the Spell really was all about tainting an angel's love for humans. For the counter spell you'd probably need the inverse: an angel who hated human kind so much, that hate caused his fall."

"I don't think I can actually trick Lucifer into getting all those ingredients for me," Dean muttered dejectedly. Dean had put an angel's tainted grace in the back of his mind until the other ingredients had been located. However, deep down Dean had known that Lucifer's grace had to be the one they needed to power the counter-spell. Lucifer was the only being that fit the criteria. There could be other angels, there could be other demons, but purifying the grace of a tainted angel screamed Lucifer. "And no one else is up this side of the watchtower."

"Don't need to trick Lucifer," Bobby said thoughtfully. "What we need is a bargain."

Dean closed his eyes. He had not wanted to hear that. "I'm going to the Cage again, aren't I?"

oOo

Dean was up in his elbows with weapons deciding which ones he should bring. He didn't think he'd be needing them this time around when he hadn't needed it the first two times, but Lucifer had a way of getting under your skin and the familiar cold steel was a comfort.

"Now, are you getting ready to ambush Aravoth?" Metatron asked behind Dean.

Dean wanted to throttle the angel. Yep, Metatron was still an annoying little douchebag of an angel. Not even all of that research that Dean read had changed his opinion. Elevated from the secretarial ranks his ass. Metatron had probably been a suck up douche.

"Don't you need to win a People's Choice Awards somewhere?" Dean asked annoyed as he sheathed another blade inside his boot. "You really want me to go out and hunt you now?"

"Well, that seems to be the Winchester answer to everything. Hunt, kill, maim." Metatron shrugged. "I'm just hurrying you along to the realization that you can't kill me."

"Reality check: the world doesn't revolve around you," Dean said stalking out of the bunker's weapon's room straight into the garage. When he entered the Impala, he found that Metatron had mojo-ed himself into the passenger seat.

"This is my playground, it does revolve around me," Metatron insisted with his fake as ass pout. Goddammit, that face should have never been bestowed to a grown ass man, much less a vessel for an angel. If there were a one to ten scale of pathetic, Metatron would've bordered on a fifteen.

"You're this toddler who can't stand the thought of sharing his playground others. The only difference between you and a three-year old is that you're mean-spirited enough and know enough to lock everyone out," Dean practically shouted, almost hitting the steering wheel in anger. "Are you going to harass me until I get to my destination?"

"I am forever. I have been alive longer than you. I sincerely doubt that you could wait me out."

Dean couldn't toss the angel out, and he couldn't reason with him, so apparently, Metatron was going with him to the Cage. Awesome. Just… awesome. Dean glared at the angel as he shifted to reverse and backed out of the garage, onto the idyllic lakeside.

Metatron didn't seem to have a response to that so he attacked instead. "What did Sam say when you let 'Ezekiel' in to fix him up? I may be selfish but I'm not cruel. I don't force people who're ready to die to live in spite of themselves."

Dean noticed that his knuckles had gone white gripping the steering wheel of the Impala. He forced his grip to loosen because Metatron was not goading him to a fight. "Get out of my car."

Metatron chuckled. "Got on your nerve there, Dean, didn't I? Stop trying to get into Aravoth or I'm going to get my second in command to hunt your brother and angel down. Your brother has stopped hunting, he's probably dumbed down now. And your angel? He's human now, it's going to be delightfully easy to pluck his wings."

"Taking out a page from the history books and doing a Children's Crusade?" Dean asked dubiously.

Metatron laughed, his beady eyes looking at Dean. "You think my second in command was that child? I told you she was a pet."

"Yeah, and I told you to get out of my fucking car," Dean repeated, this time swerving towards the side of the road and hitting his breaks suddenly.

Metatron gave him an amused look before fluttering out of the car with his wings. Dean took a moment to calm himself before getting the car back on the road. If there was one thing he'd learned from his father, it was that hunters didn't negotiate with freaks of nature. John would've been proud.