Donatello woke up not long before Dean and Sam came back. He had questions, plenty of them, and I was more than happy to answer. Chuck had long since retired to his room, where I could faintly hear the sounds of folk music floating from.

Once Dean and Sam got back, though, they started answering the questions, and I made food.

Dean's phone went off for the first time maybe a minute after I started cooking. I could hear it from the kitchen. "Who is it?" I asked.

"Nobody important."

I kept cooking, the men kept talking, and Dean's phone kept going off. "Want me to make it stop?" I offered.

"No thanks!"

I showed back up with burgers and a salad for Donny not long after, the sound of Dean's phone beeping as I did.

"I got you a beer. I don't know if you drink." I told Donny, putting beers in front of all the guys.

"I do now." He said, popping off the top and chugging the whole thing. Damn.

I took my seat as Dean started talking. "Well," he let out a sigh. "I don't know... if Chuck is leaning our way." He said. They all knew about his plan to give up, by now.

"You don't know?" Donatello asked, flabbergasted.

"If we do get Lucifer for the added muscle, then...maybe he'll play ball." Dean admitted.

"That's putting a lot on an angel that only knows how to play Jailhouse Rock." I pointed out. Sam nodded in agreeance.

"I thought they hated each other." Donatello asked.

"Yeah, they do." Sam got up at this point, Dean's phone still going off. "Who is it?" I asked.

"Metatron." He grunted out tiredly, heading out the door. A minute later, he came back in with the ex-angel in question.

"Wow." Donatello sighed. "I so miss being an atheist." He admitted.

"All right, Metatron. Make it quick. Don't touch anything." Sam ordered.

"Fine." Metatron agreed. "Dean! Thanks for inviting me!" He exclaimed.

"Inviting you? You've been circling the building all night!" Dean corrected. "You sent me 200 text messages with dumbass emojis!" At this, I waved my hand at the phone so I could get a look at this. Indeed, the last several messages (and reason for the incessant pinging) was Metatron, sending Dean text messages that solely consisted of emojis, at this point. "You got three minutes." He stated.

"Oh." He turned to me. "Lovely to see you again, Diana. How are things among the Winchesters in their Fortress of Solitude?"

"It's not made of ice." I replied, handing Dean back his phone. Metatron just smirked before turning his attention on the prophet.

"Donatello! Pleasure to meet you. Metatron, scribe of God." He offered a hand, and Donatello shook it cautiously. "I was there when you were designed. I wrote your name on the inside of the angels' eyelids."

Donatello withdrew his hand, pointing at Metatron. "He's freaking me out." He told us.

"But the floating phone thing didn't?" Metatron asked in response, pointing at me.

"No, that did too." Donatello admitted. I rolled my eyes. "But she seems nicer than you."

"Okay." Dean interjected. "You said you wanted to help. Besides world-class douchery, what do you have to offer?"

"Oh, nothing." Metatron said off-handedly. "I just transcribed the angel tablet and know all the spells. And I know what makes Amara tick. And I had a relationship with the big guy for eons. Shall I keep going?"

"Shall I correct you?" I countered, glancing up at the guy.

Metatron winced, grabbing Sam's beer off the table for a drink. Sam lunged forwards quickly, taking it from him.

"Hey! That's mine!" He exclaimed, earning a glare from Metatron. Sam turned to Dean, taking a slow sip of his drink. "But as much as I hate to admit this... he kind of has a point."

"I don't know." Dean said.

Metatron just scoffed. "You need all the help you can get – even douche help. I mean, you're turning to a witch, after all."

"And since when did you jump on the God wagon?" Dean asked him. "You never used to give a damn."

"Well, I didn't," he admitted. "At one time. Now that he's gone all kamikaze, leaving us with the Darkness, I..." Metatron let out a sigh, and for a moment I saw that vulnerability in his eyes again, the same one from the bar. "I was by his side since the creation. He believed in me. If there's something I can do to help save him and his creation, then, uh, it seems like I should." He looked over at me. "Life is hard, right?" He asked me.

I nodded, and he smiled for a moment before putting on the douchebag-mask again. "So, Dean-o, whatcha got planned?" He asked.

"The plan is to rescue Lucifer from Amara." Dean explained, laying his hands on the table. "Then he teleports us out of Amara's hideout and we convince Chuck to use him to fight her."

Metatron rolled his eyes. "That's your plan? Do you even know where Amara is?"

"I've been trying, but I still can't get a solid lock on her." I admitted.

"Um," Donatello interrupted. "I think I might know where she is." He admitted. "I've been getting this vibe. Uh, it's like a ping in my cerebral cortex."

"Oh, so either Amara or a stroke." I waved a hand at him, and he rubbed his arm. "Ow! What did you do?" He asked.

"Psychic punch." I answered. "Be nice to the prophet."

"Fine." He agreed. "And how are we supposed to keep Amara busy while we're... liberating Lucifer?" Metatron asked.

Nobody answered, but instead we all cast Dean a few quiet glances. "Yeah, yeah, I know." He agreed. "Fine. But there's one problem. She can get in my head. As in, literally in my thoughts."

"I can fix that." I offered. "I think."

"How?" Sam asked. In response, I held up the simple necklace I still wore, with the coin on it.

"Psychic-proof." I answered. "Nobody can get in my head unless I take this off. Not demons, not witches, not angels, and if I do it right," I ran it through my head.

It should work.

"Not Amara, either." Metatron finished, impressed.

"Could you make one for all of us?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, but why?" I responded. "Dean's the only one that should need it for now."

"It seems like something that would be useful in the future." Sam answered evasively. He wouldn't meet my eyes, though.

Oh.

Ouch.

"It'll take a bit of time, but eventually, yeah." I agreed, looking away at my notes. "Sure."

"Great!" Dean clapped his hands together, and rubbed them for a moment. "Diana is gonna brain-game-proof my head, and we'll get working."

"In that case, Dean, follow me." I told him, getting up from my chair. I walked towards their kitchen confidently, with Dean doing as he was told quietly. "Necklace or bracelet?" I offered.

"Does it have to be jewelry?" He asked.

"It needs to be something that won't fall off your person easily and that will have near-constant skin-to-skin contact." I answered. "And it needs to be metal. I doubt you wear chain mail."

"Fair enough." Dean agreed. "I'll take a coin necklace."

"Great. Dig around in your pockets for a penny." I ordered. He did as he was told, and a good half hour later (plus him spitting in a bowl and burning a few strands of hair), he was set to go with a necklace that would hide his thoughts.

"Alright. Time to test this out." I put it on the table, and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Think something, anything."

I heard a bunch of chatter in the background, different random bits of conversation, but what shone clear was his voice in my head humming the tune to Free Bird.

"Nice song choice. Lynyrd Skynyrd is always a personal favorite." I commented, removing my hand. Dean looked startled. "Now, put this necklace on, and do that again with something different." I told him.

When I placed a hand on him again, this time I got nothing.

"You're clear." I told him. "And that can't be forcibly removed by anyone. You have to be the one to do it of your own volition, so I'd say you're good to go."

"Wow. Thanks." He said. "So, whatcha think?"

"About what?"

"Look, I know that this is an awkward situation to be in," Dean said, putting a hand on my shoulder. "And I know that you're kind of the odd one out at this point, you're not used to being around Lucifer or Castiel or all of these things…"

"I'm doing my part, aren't I?" I asked. "I can't complain if the world doesn't end."

"Yeah, well, if there's anything you feel like you need to tell me or want to tell me," Dean said. "You can."

"Thanks." I said, working hard to keep my brows furrowing. "You should get back out there. Amara, Lucifer, the whole schebang?" I reminded him.

"Yeah. No problem." He said, walking away. "But, I mean it. Feel free to talk."

Once he was out of earshot, I thought for a moment. "That was… Just plain weird." I muttered.