Chapter 12
He'd Be A Dick. (Part 2)
"I think it would be best if just the two of you go."
Dean shook his head, "No, you're not staying here."
"Dean. Cmon, she's not going to go anywhere."
"She better not."
Chelsea wasn't so sure it was a good idea to take three people on a trip to question and recruit one man. She didn't really care to be out in the world anyway. In all honesty, she was beginning to no longer care about stopping Amara.
"Anna! You didn't go with the boys?"
Chuck's excited greeting wasn't really something she was in the mood for. "No. I did not...obviously."
"Anna-"
"My name is Chelsea." She cut him off.
Chuck sighed and approached the table, moving to the chair across from hers. "That was her name. Yours is Anna."
She laughed a little in disbelief at his matter of fact tone and put the book she was reading up to her face, blocking him from view.
"Talk to me. I want to help you through this."
The witch knew she should continue to ignore him; read her book and mind her business. But the fucking audacity... "Through what exactly?"
"Her death."
"Her murder." She corrected.
"Of course."
She scoffed and put the book back up, "I am through it." She looked over the top of the small red book and her eyes narrowed in a glare, "But thanks, Chuck."
God decided he would try again; new subject. "What about this? Your quest for death?"
A sigh from behind the book, "What about it?"
"Why?"
"Like you don't know. Oh wait, you don't. I forgot you said you don't listen to prayers."
"I hear them. But I'm not in the business of answering prayers for death."
"Or any for that matter..."
"I don't expect you to understand. This is complicated and delicate."
Chelsea nodded obnoxiously, still attempting to read although she'd been on the same sentence the entire time because of the distraction, "Sure sure, it's been complicated since about the seventeenth century? Maybe even before then. You created something you can't control so you stepped away, like a coward, I get it." she snapped the book closed and put it on the table, standing, "Chuck, I stopped believing in you a very long time ago. You standing before me doesn't change that. Especially since I'm still un-killable and still probably going to hell…"
She drifted to gauge his reaction. He just sighed like a sad father faced with an indignant child. She smirked, "Right. God stands before me and is still useless."
"Faith in me makes things happen." he tried.
The witch turned on her heel and approached him in three short steps, she got in close to his face and said evenly, "Faith in you is blind and dumb."
He started to say something, his eyes seeming to water just a touch as he felt something but Chelsea was unfazed and stopped him, "I am uninterested in giving a fuck about how you feel."
"Chelsea." he called out to her once she was clear across the room, into the library and approaching the archway to the hall. She stopped at the sound of her name, the one she felt she owned and owed. "I'm sorry."
She didn't turn around, "Little late for that don't you think?"
"I don't think we should have left them alone." Sam turned to his brother as they neared the bunker. He'd been thinking about it since they'd left, although he'd advocated for Chelsea's want to stay.
From the backseat a worried, "Them?"
Dean chuckled, "What exactly are you worried about them doing, Sam?"
"She hates him, Dean."
"Who's she?" again, from the backseat.
A sigh, "Look, I'm frustrated with the guy too but it's not-"
"This is deeper Dean. Imagine feeling how you feel about him if you've been alive for three hundred years. It just festers."
"Will someone answer me please?"
An older man was in the backseat, a round academia type. He was the man who'd survived Amara's last attack, who also proved to be a Prophet once the Winchesters heard the full story and tested him.
Dean rolled his eyes, "Our witch."
"Our friend." Sam corrected.
"You know witches too?" the man's voice shook as he asked.
"You could handle God, God's Sister and Lucifer but not a witch?"
It was then that the man, Donatello, noticed they'd stopped. "This is the place isn't it? He's here isn't he?"
The brothers looked at each other, more than ready for this to be over. Just as Dean exited the car and closed his door Chelsea appeared before him looking relieved, "I really should have gone with you guys. Can we go now?"
Donatello was unnerved and climbed from the car with Sam's mostly reluctant help, "I-is that her?"
"Yeah. That's her."
Dean put his hands up, "What happened? How did you know we're not staying?"
She motioned behind him, across the car, to Sam, "Something about a meeting with a transformer. Right?"
Sam glanced at the ring then back at the witch and his brother, "Um…"
"I'll be in the car."
The older Winchester rubbed his face, "I really don't have time for this."
"I told you it wasn't the best idea."
Dean took a deep breath and clenched his fists, "Let's just get this over with."
After some awkward moments in the bunker, getting Donatello settled and failing to get anything out of Chuck about the witch's behavior, the brothers headed back up to the car. Chelsea was still waiting patiently in the backseat…sort of. She had her hands in her hair and looked utterly exhausted. When the guys got into the car she looked up and asked, "So what's this meeting?"
Dean didn't mind being back on track at all so he answered, "We're going to talk to Metatron, with a 'T'."
"So, not a transformer."
"An angel."
"Makes more sense. But why?"
"He has information about Chuck that we apparently need to know."
She sat back in the seat and rubbed her head, "Chuck…"
Sam looked over his shoulder, "What happened?"
Chelsea sighed, "He asked me about Chelsea."
Both men were thoroughly confused but only Dean looked up into the rearview, making brief eye contact to ask, "What do you mean?"
The witch glanced at him, "She's where I got my name."
"Who was she?" the younger asked.
"A girl I killed."
"Barkeep, tres margaritas! Top shelf vodka."
Amazingly, the brothers didn't push the issue of Chelsea murdering someone; seemingly of her own will with how she'd said it. At least not yet. It was a little late game to worry about that when so far she hadn't given off murderous intent beyond being ordered to. It didn't mean that both of them weren't going to ask though. It was just a matter of when is the right time when the world might be ending anyway.
Again, Chelsea was underwhelmed by yet another "person" the Winchester's spoke of. She could tell from the general vibe and what she could feel almost too strongly from Sam that they didn't like him. It made her hesitant but not so much so that she didn't seize the first completed, although pale green looking, margarita and shrug at the brothers when they looked at her incredulously.
"I need this drink." she said plainly.
"Ah, the witch Ann- I mean, Chelsea of course." Metatron regarded her with his usual uncomfortably knowing wry smile.
She cocked an eyebrow and looked him up and down, drinking from her cup the entire time and wordlessly moved behind Sam, uncomfortable under the angel's gaze.
"So Sam has the ring. Makes sense."
She almost spat out the straw and stepped forward, Sam used his body to block her.
"Leave her alone, Metatron."
"What is it you wanted to tell us?" Dean changed the subject and shooed away the guy sitting next to the angel. "And don't pull any crap."
Metatron rolled his eyes and raised his hands theatrically, "And what variety of crap could I possibly pull? I've lost my grace...I've got nothing."
Neither brother really cared and Chelsea was hardly listening; instead watching as the bartender placed a second and third drink before them. Dean pushed his away, "Just get on with it."
"Well I noticed you've been in touch with Chuck, AKA You Know Who." The angel drawled.
Out of some strange instinct Sam mindlessly slid his glass over to the witch who traded it for the one she just finished. It was gross, but it was alcohol. "Yes, Chuck agreed to take on Amara." Again, another urge and he reached across the angel and grabbed Dean's glass, handing it to the witch also.
Dean watched this with some curiosity but needed to focus on the conversation. Chelsea however was in a much better mood, more or less swinging her feet on the barstool next to Sam and paying, now, zero attention to what was happening.
Metatron raised a brow, "He said that? Chuck said he'd help? Used those exact words?"
"Pretty much." the older answered.
"Huh."
The brothers looked at each other and Sam asked, "What? What is that? Is he not confronting Amara?"
"Oh no, no no no. He's going to meet with her."
"Meet with her?" the witch finally chimed in. "And what? Annoy her into submission?"
She scoffed into the glass and Dean reached over and tapped his brother, gesturing to her. Sam gave her a glance but she was back in her drink, now grabbing the third and final glass.
Metatron's sigh pulled their attention, "He's going to meet with her… and sacrifice himself. Let her do whatever she wants with him."
"Do you really expect us to buy this?" Sam asked.
The angel grinned, "No." and reached for a ratty satchel at his side. He dropped easily about 500 pages on the bar, "Here. Buy this." The thud pulled the witch's attention and she leaned into Sam to see the stack of paper he grabbed.
'God. An autobiography.' Was typed clearly on the front. She rolled her eyes and went back to choking down the last of the horribly pre-mixed margaritas.
He glanced at her, third glass was almost empty but he didn't pay it too much mind as Metatron continued, "It's in his words. Read it." another sigh, "It's not an autobiography. It's a suicide note."
Sam flipped it open, then realized it was a lot to read. something in Metatron's voice…something about it sounded like the truth. He closed it and slid it back over the angel, taking a chance to make eye contact with his brother, "I don't need to read it."
"You believe me."
Dean stood, "I think we should talk to Chuck."
The witch groaned at the sound of his name and Dean flared his nose slightly in irritation. "Let's go Sam."
"What about me?" Metatron turned on his stool as Sam stood and took Chelsea by the arm, mostly pulling her off the stool, as gently as possible but firmly. Apparently three hundred years did little for her tolerance, although she did pound three drinks that were more alcohol than they were margarita mix.
Dean huffed, "We'll uh…be in touch."
He moved quickly to the door, Sam behind him, still guiding Chelsea by the arm. With a last glance before leaving he was satisfied with Metatron waving down the bartender again. Once they arrived at the car he whipped around, "What the hell was that?"
Chelsea shook her head, "Me?"
"Who else just drank three shitty margarita's in twenty minutes?"
She shrugged and sort of raised her hands, her speech not quite slurred, but very relaxed and slow, "You weren't going to drink them."
He was done with her and asked his brother, "And why did you give them to her?"
"What?"
"Sam!"
Then he remembered. It was involuntary almost, just this oddly natural urge to hand them over. Chelsea pat his arm, raising her hand, "I did that."
"Excuse me?"
In her current state she didn't quite get why Dean was so upset, "Suggestion. You know, the ring? My connection with Sam? I told him it would get worse…" she drifted off to yawn and take the last few steps to the car, "Are we going?"
She climbed into the backseat, stretching across it and not closing the door. Dean was fuming and stepped closer to his brother, "Get that under control." he pointed to his brother's hand.
"It's fine Dean."
"Fine?" He hissed, "She's suggesting shit to you and damn near reading your mind!" He tried to keep his voice low but he was so annoyed. After what they'd just heard the last thing he needed was to babysit a witch. Especially when she was supposed to be being useful.
Sam sighed, "She's in pain, Dean."
"I don't care-"
"You should." the younger interrupted him, "I can feel it. Whatever Chuck said to her or brought up, it hurt."
Dean lent his head back and tried to calm down. After a moment he stepped back and towards the car, "Fine. We're not leaving them alone together anymore. And you find out what the fuck that's about." he motioned to her the shook his head, climbing into the car. Leaving Sam to tuck the rest of the witch into the backseat and close the door.
He went around and got in, giving his brother a rather weak reassuring nod, "It'll be fine."
