Thirty

Sam showed up hours later and Brooke immediately went to him and hugged him, but pulled back quickly. "Okay," she said, her mind spinning. She'd been going over and over details in her head, anything that could help them find Cass. "I think we should—

Angel.

She spun around, and there stood Metatron, in the motel room, smiling at the two of them.

The Grace in Brooke's blood boiled immediately, her vision showing white spots as she yanked her angel blade out of her coat pocket. "What did you do with my husband?" she screeched.

"Whoa, easy there," Metatron said, still smiling. "I'm not here for you, I'm here for the big fella."

Brooke and Sam glanced at each other.

"What do you want?" Sam snapped.

"I'm here to trade," Metatron replied, his hands up to show that he was not going to fight anyone. "You have something of mine, and I have something of yours."

"Gadreel," Sam said.

"Yes. Bring him here tomorrow. Say, six-ish? If not, Castiel dies. No comebacks this time."

Brooke took a step toward Metatron, and the the walls of the motel room began to rumble ominously.

"If I die, there is an order in place to have your precious husband killed," Metatron said, staring her down.

Brooke squeezed her eyes shut and turned away.

"An even trade?" Sam asked, as the rumbling dissipated.

"I'm an entity of my word," Metatron growled, as if offended that Sam would be skeptical of a deal with him. And then he was gone.

###

That night, and the next morning, were hell. Absolute hell. The boys wanted to make the trade for Castiel, and then trap Metatron. They tried to drag her into it, but all she cared about was getting her husband back. In the morning, as they set up their trap, she simply stood by the Impala, waiting. Shaking. Holding her hands in front of her, squeezing them, hard.

"He's late," Sam said, eventually.

"Or he's not gonna show," Dean replied.

"Of course I'm gonna show," Metatron said, appearing suddenly. "I was just waiting for you two to finish setting up your little trap for me."

Brooke did nothing. Said nothing. Simply waited, squeezing her own fingers until they tingled with weak circulation. If this stupid trap Sam and Dean had planned pissed Metatron off, Cass could die. But they would not listen to her. So she would not side with them.

Metatron glanced at her, smiling "I notice you didn't help them."

She said nothing, barely reacted to him at all. Just give me my husband, she thought, in his general direction.

Metatron winked at her, and then stepped forward, looking down at his feet. "Am I hitting my mark?" he asked, squinting at the ground to see if he'd stepped inside the ring of holy oil on the ground.

Sam and Dean seemed shocked at the fact that he knew what they had been planning for him.

Brooke resisted the urge to call them both stupid fucking idiots, and closed her eyes, waiting.

One over-dramatic acting session later, wherein Metatron pretended to choke and gag, as if the holy fire was hurting him, he blew it out, with a smirk.

Sam and Dean stared at him, then yanked blades out from their waistbands.

"No, thanks!" Metatron yelled, flinging them back against the Impala and holding them in place. He did nothing to Brooke, for he knew that she would make no move against him. Then he gestured toward a car coming up the way.

Brooke hardly noticed as he released Gadreel from the trunk of the Impala. All she could sense now was Castiel. Their Graces still clashed, but she had gotten used to what he felt like, now, and knew how to recognize the Grace inside him, as she had once been able to when he'd had his own. He was pulled from the back of the car and shoved toward her and the Winchesters.

The moment he was near enough, she hugged him, fiercely, and refused to let go. He did not make her stop, but pulled her gently along so that he was facing Metatron while she continued to hold him.

"Why are you doin' this?" Dean asked.

"Because I can," growled Metatron, coming toward the four of them.

Castiel's arms tightened around Brooke the closer Metatron came to them.

"Because you and your little brother," the Scribe continued, "and your fine, feathered friend and his whore, and all those secrets you've got locked away in your bunker can't stop me. But I am going to enjoy watching you try. It's gonna be a hell of a show." There was a pause, then, "I'll see you around, Castiel. Never forget, I gave you a chance." And he was gone.

The moment he left, Brooke relaxed, pulling back from Castiel to look up into his face. Are you all right? Are you hurt?

No, I'm not hurt, he replied, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. He bent down to kiss her. He was not physically hurt, but something was definitely eating at him; Brooke could feel his mind churning.

"Somebody wanna tell me what the hell's goin' on here?" Dean asked.

"Metatron is trying to play God," Castiel explained, looking at the boys, though he kept one arm around Brooke, and his other hand pulling at strands of her hair.

"Play God?" Sam replied, scoffing. "Cass, he erased angel warding. He friggin' blew out holy fire. He is God. He's powering up with the angel tablet. How the hell are we supposed to stop this guy?"

"All right," Dean stepped in, "so what if there is a stairway to Heaven? We find it and get a drop on the guy."

"You wanna sneak onto the Death Star, take out the Emperor?" Sam asked.

"Okay, I—I'm not sure what a fictional battle station in space has to do with this, but if taking out the Emperor means taking out Metatron, I'm on board."

All three humans stared at Castiel.

"Wait," said Dean, slowly. "Did you… did you just understand a Death Star reference?"

"Yeah, I think so," Cass replied. "But I don't understand what that has to do with Heaven."

Brooke stared up into her husband's face. "Did you take that reference from my memories?"

"No, I…" He sighed. "Metatron… gave me a… almost like a catalogue of all the books, movies, and TV shows he's consumed in the past… ever."

Brooke continue to stare at Castiel. The thought that her socially awkward I-don't-understand-that-reference husband was suddenly not so ignorant was… a strange thing to wrap her head around.

"Dean, are you all right?" Castiel asked the older Winchester brother, stepping gently out of Brooke's embrace. "There's something… different about you."

Brooke squinted, turning to look at Dean. She'd been so worried about Cass' wellbeing that she hadn't really noticed a change in Dean, but if Castiel sensed something off about him, then there was probably something wrong. He may not have been the most pop-culture savvy, until now, but he had always had a certain instinct about people, even as socially inept as he was. Especially when it came to her, or to Dean.

Dean cleared his throat, awkwardly, and patted his best friend on the shoulder. "I'm fine," he said.

Castiel snatched his wrist, maneuvering Dean's arm so that he was looking at his forearm, and lifted his sleeve up.

There, branded on the skin, was some kind of… mark.

"What have you done?" Castiel asked, through gritted teeth.

Dean yanked his arm out from the angel's grasp. "It's a means to an end."

"Damn it, Dean," Castiel growled.

Brooke glanced up at Sam, who looked back and her, and swallowed nervously. The air was charged with electricity as Castiel and Dean stared each other down.

"Look," the older Winchester said, "you find Heaven, you drop a dime. Meantime, I got a knight to kill." Abaddon. He walked around the Impala, to the driver's-side door and got in.

Castiel stared after him, but did not argue.

"Be safe out there, you two," Sam said, patting Cass' shoulder.

"You, too," Castiel said. Then, "Hey, Sam?" Sam turned and looked at him. "You keep an eye on him."

Sam nodded, and got into the car.

###

Brooke sat on the edge of the bed and listened as Castiel poured all of what had happened to him since he had been captured into her mind. Mostly, it had been a lot of blustering on Metatron's part. He'd been trying to convince Castiel to lead the angels against him, so that Metatron could rise up as the hero of the story he was writing, playing God, as he was. He wanted Castiel to lead the rebels… and fail, and become the villain.

I just don't know what to do, Castiel said, after he had explained everything to her. He paced the room, back and forth, back and forth. Metatron wants me to lead angels against him, so that he can destroy them all, and win. He ran his fingers through his hair, looking a bit like he had eight years ago, his hair windblown and static-y. Do I… do I lead the angels against him in the hope of proving him wrong, in the hope of defeating him? Or will I simply play right into his hands…?

Brooke said nothing, allowing her husband to have his moment to freak out.

He paced some more. The last time I thought I knew what was best… the last time I commanded angels, I… I destroyed thousands of my own kind. I opened the doors to Purgatory and released Leviathans onto the Earth. I… He shook his head, stopping in his pacing, and closed his eyes. I hurt you, Sam, Dean… Bobby.

Brooke finally rose from the bed and went to him, holding his hands in her own. You've learned a lot, since then. And I would think you've learned… what not to do, as a leader. You've humbled yourself. You know, now, what it means to be human, what it means to have everything taken from you. Ever since you regained your memories years ago, after you remembered what you had done, opening the doors of Purgatory… you have spent every waking moment trying to make up for it. She sighed. I think you've punished yourself enough, Castiel. Now, it's time for you to stand tall, and be the—what?—man, angel—that I know you to be.

He closed his eyes for a moment, pressing his forehead against hers. "You never stopped believing in me, did you?"

"Never," she said. "To me, you have never stopped being the angel that I saw that first night, in the warehouse. I know you can do this. Now, I need you to know it, too." She took a breath. "You are loved, you are strong, you are worthy of respect. As long as you don't let it all get to your head, too much, you'll be fine."

Castiel chuckled. "The only one persistent enough to let it all get to my head is you."

Brooke smirked. "I'd make a joke about how you're horrible and no one likes you, to balance it out, but you'd probably take me seriously."

He laughed genuinely, this time, and pulled her into a hug. Then he pulled back from her, and turned to face the wall, beside the door. "All right. I'll… I'll need to call the angels here." He began to tear down all the maps and the photos of the vessels that certain angels had taken, all the clues that had been leading him to Metatron. He removed his trench coat, tossing it behind him onto the bed, and took a knife—a normal one, not an angel blade—and cut his arm, to draw the symbol onto the wall. The symbol that he had Brooke had seen days before, the one that had drawn all the angels to that place.

Brooke, in the meantime, wrapped his coat around her shoulders, feeling the residual warmth of his body within it, She smiled as she watched her husband finally accept the role that, somehow, she thought she had known all along that he was made for. He activated the symbol and it began to glow, and ring that pulsating sound that, to Brooke, sounded like Castiel's Grace—his real Grace, not the Grace he had stolen from Theo.

Castiel turned from the wall, healing the cut on his arm, and placed the knife on the table. "And now we wait," he said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "It may take hours for them to reach us, without wings." He looked up at her. "You should probably take the time to sleep," he suggested. "We'll be busy once they arrive."

"Of course," Brooke said, but turned away from the bed. "I'm gonna shower first." And she walked into the bathroom, still wearing his trench coat over her shoulders.

When she came out, ten minutes later, she wore a secret smile on her lips and padded silently up to her husband, who was still sitting right where she had left him, on the edge of the bed, his hands in his lap. Her hair now wet, and smelling of shampoo, she stood before him, still wearing his trench coat, held carefully closed with her hands.

"You sure it'll take hours for them to get here?" she asked.

He looked up at her, his mind busy with thoughts of what he would do when—if—any angels actually showed up. "Yes, most likely," he said.

She smiled again, staring down at him as he sat on the bed, and released her hold on the sides of his coat so that it drifted, slightly, open.

Castiel's eyes moved from her face, down her neck, to the parts of her naked body, exposed beneath his coat.

"They'll call you Commander, now, won't they?" Brooke asked, her voice low with desire.

Castiel slowly rose from the bed. "Yes, I expect they will."

"Perhaps I should… help you prepare yourself… to hear that word, all day, every day," Brooke said. "You know… Yes, Commander. No, Commander… Fuck me, Commander."

A low growl emanated from Castiel's throat as he picked her up, turned with her in his arms, and tossed her onto the bed.

###

In the morning, the angels arrived. Brooke had risen early, having slept very hard after a night of… Castiel. He, of course, had not slept, though his mind had calmed some, after exerting some of his excess energy. When Brooke awoke, a little before dawn, she had woken to see him smiling down at her, his head resting on his fist. He twirled a length of her hair around his finger, then got out of the bed and made her a cup of instant coffee.

She sat up, accepting the cup from him, and grimacing at the flavor, but she was not one to deny coffee. It was a Hunter's best friend, other than her gun. She took another few sips and then slid out from the covers and quickly got dressed, unsure of how much longer they'd have to wait for the first angels to show up. She took a protein bar from one of the bags they carried with them and chewed it absentmindedly.

"So, what will they call me?" she mused, aloud, and laughed. "The Commander's Whore?"

Castiel came to her, shaking his head. "I wish you didn't find so much amusement from that," he said. "Don't belittle yourself."

"I'm just messin' around," she said.

"What you like them to call you?" he asked.

"I…" She thought about it. "Well, if you're the Commander, I can't simply be Brooke."

"You can if you want to," he said. "I would much prefer they simply call me Castiel."

A smirk tugged at one corner of her mouth. "Yeah, cos you only want me to call you Commander, is that it?"

His eyes sparkled in amusement, and he lowered his forehead to hers. "What would you like them to call you?" he repeated.

"I don't know," she admitted. "Because if I'm the Commander's wife, what does that make me to them? I'm not even an angel."

"The vast majority of angels have known about you for years. You were… notorious up in Heaven, for a long time." Castiel pursed his lips, glancing away from her.

"Yes, I gathered that," she said, raising an eyebrow. "Angel Whore, and all."

"I don't know that I can make you my Second-in-Command," he murmured. "You're a great fighter, but you don't have any official military training, especially not in terms of what Heaven puts its soldiers through."

"That's okay," Brooke said. "I don't really want to be your Second-in-Command."

"What do you want to be?"

She shook her head, touching his face. "I just want to be your wife, at least, to them. Isn't that enough?"

"Yes, of course." He took the hand that was touching him and kissed her knuckles. "Why don't they just call you… Mrs. Harris? I'd give you my last name, but I… don't have one."

Brooke tilted her head back and laughed. "Imagine… Mrs. Castiel." She laughed again. "Okay. Mrs. Harris sounds a little… stuffy, but…"

"And you think Commander doesn't? If I have to be the Commander, then you should have to be Mrs. Harris."

"That's fair," she conceded.

The two of them stilled at the approach of a couple dozen angels. Brooke could feel their Graces as they came closer to the motel. She looked up at her husband, and he looked down at her, steeling himself.

"You ready, Commander?" she asked.

He inhaled slowly, and then squared his shoulders, standing tall. "Yes. Let's go, Mrs. Harris."

Brooke made a face, but quickly settled it back into neutrality and went with him to open the door.

And the angels looked up, looked upon the face of Castiel… and they smiled.