Chapter 7
"Dean, what's this?"
Dean knew something was up the second he heard Sam's tone. And sure enough, when he looked up, he saw that Sam had a folder in his hand. And not just any folder. It was the folder that held Dean's notes on his research about Metatron. The research he hadn't told Sam about. Dean was well and truly screwed. And things had been going so well.
It had been two days since Sam's apparent miracle recovery, and the brothers had been making the most of things. That meant going for drives in the Impala, shooting -both pool and guns-, going out to dive bars and generally having a good time.
Dean hadn't abandoned his research completely: a part of him still didn't believe that Sam's recovery would prove to be permanent and besides, just because Sam was feeling better now, that didn't mean Metatron didn't still deserve to get his ass kicked.
Dean had been meaning to tell his little brother about Metatron being the one causing his pain and about how it was all a punishment for quitting the Trials for a while now, but he hadn't been able find the words. And then Sam had started feeling better and they had been doing all this fun stuff together and Dean just hadn't wanted to ruin that. But here they were. The crap was about to hit the fan.

"Sam, I-" Dean looked up at Sam from his seat the kitchen table. His little brother looked back at him, not showing any signs of wanting to sit down.
"I know what it is, actually. I just read it. It's a whole file of notes on Metatron. And how it's his job to punish people who quit the Trials." Sam slammed the file down on to the table, a hard look in his eyes.
"Sam-" Dean tried to cut in, tried to start explaining himself, but Sam wasn't having any of it.
"I'm guessing Kevin told you this?"
"Yeah, but-"
"When?" Sam interrupted again, practically fuming.
"Sammy, I-"
"When, Dean?"
Dean sighed, then took a deep breath, steeling himself.
"Remember that night when you threw up? And I put you in my bed?"
"Dean, that was more than two weeks ago! And you told me Kevin had nothing to say!"
"I know Sam, I'm sorry."
"It has been killing me, not knowing why all of this happened. Not knowing who was hurting me. It has been eating me up. And all this time, you knew. And you didn't tell me. I can't believe-"
Sam stopped short in the middle of his sentence. For a moment, a far-off look appeared in his eyes. Then they seemed to glaze over. A fearful look descended over them. A visible shudder shook his body.
"Sammy, what's wrong?" Dean jumped up from his chair, alarmed. When Sam finally answered, his voice was nothing more than a fearful, shaky whisper.
"He's here. He's back."

In his suite at the Golden Valley Inn, Metatron was sitting on his bed, propped up against the burgundy headboard, eyes closed in utter concentration. He had recently discovered that his connection to Sam allowed him to do more than just sent pain his way. Apparently, God'd had a wider definition of the word "punishment" in mind when he created the Enforcer's tasks for Metatron. In his quest to get the Winchesters to find him, Metatron had tried many times to manipulate Sam into coming out of hiding, to establish telepathic control over the younger Winchester brother. However, his powers as the Enforcer didn't allow that. He did find, however, that he could project images into young Sam's mind.
And thanks to a little book called Sam, Interrupted by ond Carver Edlund, Metatron knew just which images to pick.

Dean was frozen in place. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. This couldn't be happening. Sam couldn't be talking about-
"Lucifer, please. Please, no. Nononopleasepleasenono." Sam was walking, no, stumbling backwards. He hit the wall, slid downward until he was sitting and just kept pushing back as if trying to burrow into the cold, hard stone. Eventually he gave up and just sat there, knees pulled up, covering his face with his arms, muttering in a low voice.
"Sammy?" Dean was walking towards Sam slowly, unsure of how to approach his little brother.
"Sam, I'm gonna sit down next to you, alright?"
"Please don't hurt me anymore. Please I'll be good please."
Dean sat down quietly next to Sam, laid a hand on his little brother's trembling shoulder. Between Sam's arms and his overly long hair, he could barely see his face. But he could hear his words and between those and his brother's broken voice, Dean could barely breathe.
"Sammy, he's not real." Dean forced the words out, not sure if Sam was listening, if Sam could even hear him. How could this be happening? Castiel had taken Sam's memories from the Cage away. None of this was supposed to happen.
"Dean?" Sam said it in a small, desperate voice, but Dean was still relieved that he was talking to him again.
"I'm here Sam. I'm right here."
"Dean please help me. I'm so scared and it hurts so so much please help me. Dean." Sam started sobbing uncontrollably, almost violently, his face still obscured by his arms.
Dean's heart felt like it had been yanked out through his throat. Sam wasn't talking to him at all. His baby brother thought he was back in the Cage and he was begging for Dean to come save him.

Metatron could feel that it was working. Sam's energy had gone from clear and bright to slightly darker, and now, it was pitch black. It was like a night sky, only without stars. Complete darkness. Pure, unadulterated fear. Finally.
For months now, Metatron had tried to set a trap for Dean. But for months, Dean hadn't taken the bait, hadn't been able to find him. So Metatron had thought of a two phase plan: first, make Sam better, then, make Sam worse. That ought to wake Dean up.

Dean had no doubt in his mind that Metatron was doing this, that he was somehow screwing with Sam's head. He had to find that sadistic son of a bitch, he had to make him stop.
Dean put an arm around Sam's shoulders, whispered to his little brother:

"It's gonna be okay, Sam. I promise, I'm gonna fix this."