Author's note: I'm finally back! I found a spot with internet so I decided to upload a new chapter. My vacation afforded me plenty of time to write, so I'll be updating again soon. Once again: thanks for reading!
As a side note: the book mentioned in this chapter is Specimen Days by Michael Cunningham, which is a great read I don't own, nor get paid to promote, I promise.

Chapter 5
Research had always been more Sam's specialty than Dean's. Dean managed just fine, but Sam was the expert. Sam color-coded the pertinent pages of thick tomes, sorted neatly cut-out newspaper articles into orderly folders and precisely circled symbols that stood out to him.
Dean read books and read articles, scribbling notes in the margins that even he himself would sometimes fail to decipher upon attempt. And yet, he managed.
He had to: Sam was in no shape to do any research. Besides, Dean still hadn't told Sam he was searching for Metatron.
So Dean was managing on his own. For example, he'd managed to find out pretty much all there was to know about Metatron. Most of this was old news: he was the Almighty Scribe, he took down the Lord's word, he liked to read, but also: that he was one of the few people mentioned in the Bible who had gone straight up to Heaven without dying first. All of this was interesting and might very well prove useful in the long run, but it wasn't really the kind of practical information Dean was looking for right now.
What he needed to know was where Metatron might be hanging out. And: how he could be stopped. It really wasn't relevant that Metatron liked stories.

Metatron liked stories. He had always liked reading them and recently, he found he also liked being a part of them. With the Winchester boys, he got to have both. After taking Castiel's grace, Metatron had retreated to a hideout, a luxury hotel suite with a view of a gorgeous valley. From there he had watched his Heavenly Fireworks, as he lovingly called the thousands of angels hurtling towards Earth's surface. In the weeks directly after the Fireworks, the weeks during which he had first started carrying out Sam Winchester's punishment, Metatron had taken to reading a type of story he'd rarely read before: news stories. He was fascinated by what the humans were making of his work. Terrorism, he read. Plane crashes, meteors, nuclear testing, extra-terrestrials... And then nothing. The Fireworks went from being first page news to being shuffled onto the third page to being as good as forgotten. There were uprisings in the Middle East, protests in Russia and of course the all-important celebrities who just wouldn't stop dating and breaking up with eachother.
At this point, about fourteen weeks since the Fireworks, everyone was just trying to forget that they had ever happened. And they were succeeding. Metatron could have been angry. He would have been angry about being so easily banished from the collective memory, if he wasn't so sure that soon, he would bring about something really, truly memorable. For that, however, he needed the Winchesters' help. And he knew just how to get it.

"Sammy?"
"Yeah?"
Dean had just entered Sam's room. He had hit a dead end with his research and he felt like doing something nice for his brother instead. Sam was sitting up in bed, reading something called Specimen Days. Sam had been reading the same book for weeks, which was very much unlike him. Sure, the book was pretty thick, but under normal conditions Sam would have been able to finish it within a few days. However, they weren't under normal conditions. Sam's pain made it hard for him to focus on the story, his exhaustion made a battle to keep his eyes from glazing over.
Dean saw his urge to nonetheless keep reading as a testament to his little brother's tenacity. It made his chest -usually tight with worry, these days- swell with pride.
"I've got an idea. You haven't been out of the bunker since we got back here. I was thinking, maybe you could come with me on a grocery run. We could stop by the library after. Maybe the fresh air'll do you good."
"I don't know Dean, would it be safe for me to be out there?"
"I called Garth and he thinks it'd be fine: without Crowley around, things have been pretty quiet on the demon front. Cut the head of a snake, and all that. Besides, it's the same run I've been making for months now. I can't see how it would be a problem."
And besides, Dean added mentally, do you really think I would let you out of here if I had any reason to doubt your safety? Since he'd had the idea of taking Sam outside (ten days ago now) he had called Garth for information four times, located three hideouts in town that he could take Sam to if things turned sour, scoured local newspapers for any signs of trouble, made new angel and demon warding amulets for the both of them. Also, he currently had an angel blade tucked in the back of his pants and a revolver in his jacket pocket.

"Okay, I guess..." Sam still looked unsure, but there was also a ghost of a smile on his face. He would like to go outside, it had been way to long.
"Great, I'll go get the chair."

Dean went in to the hallway to fetch the wheelchair he had gotten from the hospital the day Sam was released. It was actually a pretty nice one that could be folded to fit into the trunk of the Impala. They hadn't used it since the day Sam got home and Dean felt conflicted about using it now. On the one hand, the chair meant that Sam was still incapacitated, on the other hand, it meant that at least he was willing and able to go outside again.
Dean decidde to take the side of optimism as he wheeled the chair into Sam's room.

Sam was already sitting on the side of the bed, feet on the ground. He was trying to put on his shoes. He was so focused on the task at hand that he didn't even look up when Dean walked in. Sam had already managed to get his both feet into his shoes and was now trying to tie the laces on his left shoe. It was clearly hard for him: his fingers were clumsy, shaking with every movement. Frustration and focus were struggling for the leading position on Sam's face, and for a moment, Dean thought he'd made a mistake in asking Sam to go outside with him. Then, finally, Sam managed to pull the shoelaces into a near-perfect bow.
Dean let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding as Sam started in on his right shoe.

"Do you want anything to eat or drink before we leave?", Dean asked Sam after he'd finished tying his second set of shoelaces.
"Ehm... No thanks. I'm fine.", Sam said, looking somewhat startled. It seemed he really hadn't heard his brother coming in.
Upon seeing the concerned look on Sam's face, Dean felt it was necessary to ask his little brother something.
"Look Sam, you can get back in bed if you want to. It was just an idea. You don't have to go outside."
"No, I want to. I want to." Sam repeated that last part in a quiet voice, as if he was trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to convince Dean.
Dean still wasn't completely sure about this, but he pushed his worries down. Sam wanted to go outside, so he would take him outside. He watched his brother get into the chair, unable to keep from noticing how thin his baby brother was, how shaky his legs, how sickly his complexion, how dull his eyes, how clammy his skin, how-

"Dean, you ready to go?" Dean realized he'd been staring at Sam for an uncomfortable length of time. Now Sam was sat in the chair, looking up at him with an unsure look on his face.

"Yeah, let me just do something about your hair." It was a scraggly mess. Dean was no fashionista himself, but he wasn't about to let Sam go out in public like this. He knew his brother would hate it if people stared at him. He grabbed a comb from his brother's nightstand and moved to the back of Sam's chair. He began carefully untangling the mess that was Sam's overly long locks. He was scared to hurt Sam by pulling on the plethora of knots too hard, but instead of tensing up, Sam seemed to relax under his ministrations, leaning into his hands and letting out a soft sigh of contentment.
After Dean was done, he pushed Sam out to the car, ready to face the world. Or at least, the vegetable aisle.
Elsewhere, Metatron was sitting on a chaise longue, sipping on a glass of the rather excellent Chablis he had ordered from room service as he perused a book he had just received from eBay. It was entitled Hello, Cruel World and it was part of a series called Supernatural.
Metatron's task as the Enforcer, as allotted to him by God in his words on the demon Tablet, had given him a unique connection to Sam, that allowed him to carry out his punishment.
He didn't know where the boys were -they were hidden to him somehow, though he wasn't sure how that was possible- but he was still able to reach Sam, he was still able to make him pay his penance: chronic pain. Metatron knew it wasn't the most elegant of punishments, but he also knew it would be effective. He knew that by now, Dean would probably know that it was him who was messing with Sam. That Dean would probably be frantically searching for him, reading book upon book and calling contact upon contact, trying to locate him. After all, Metatron knew the Winchesters' story. He knew what made them tick.
Metatron had to get the balance just right. He wanted Dean to find him, of course, but he wanted Dean to find him in a way that'd make the hunter would think he'd done it on his own. Metatron didn't want Dean to know that he wanted to be found. He closed the book, looked at the image of a frowning Dean brandishing a gun that graced the cover. Metatron smiled serenely down at the little image printed on the thick, glossy paper.

"I'll see you soon, Dean."