Author's note: My apologies for the unbelievably late update. In an attempt to compensate, here are three new chapters, all at once. I hope you enjoy! Thank you so much for reading.

Chapter 9

It was about a six hour drive to Trueville, so Dean had plenty of time to think on his way there. He'd decided on the following plan: go to the Inn. Check in. Get a reservation in for one of the conference rooms for the next day. Ask to be allowed to set up his powerpoint presentation. Make a circle of holy oil, ready to be set aflame once Metatron enters it. Draw angel warding around all exits and windows to help lock Metatron in.
Do some re-con. Find out under what name Metatron checked in. Have hotel staff send him an invite to a symposium on books at the conference room for the following morning. Have Metatron fall for it. Trap Metatron and get him to leave Sam alone.
Most of these steps were simple: they were mere technicalities. The last two though, were a lot more complex. Metatron was a lot of things (a sadist, a weasel, a son of a bitch) but he wasn't an idiot. He might not fall for this trap. So, as the Impala sped over the four lane blacktop, Dean started thinking up a plan B.

Garth, meanwhile, wasn't planning so much as worrying. He was sat next to Sam's bed, fiddling with the frayed sleeves of his hoodie, as he pulled it more tightly around himself.
Sam was still sleeping, or rather: still unconscious and there was not much for Garth to do except for wait. Wait for Sam to wake up and possibly start freaking out again. Dean had given Garth few details about what had happened, but he'd gotten the gist: Sam had hallucinated about Lucifer and it had sent him into a desperate frenzy. And now it was Garth's job to not only keep an eye on Sam, but to comfort him when he woke up. And he was to do this until Dean came back, which could be quite a while.
As freaked out as Garth was by all of this, a small part of him also felt oddly honored to be allowed to watch Sam for Dean. He knew how much Dean cared for his little brother, how protective he was of him and how hard it must be to leave him with someone else, especially in such a vulnerable state. Garth's gut churned. Vulnerable. It just wasn't a word that should be associated with big, strong, tall Sam Winchester. And yet, here they were.
Garth briefly touched Sam's shoulder, whispered unded his breath: "It's gonna be okay, Sam."

Metatron wasn't really one for worrying these days. And why would it be any different? Things were going swimmingly. Sam was hallucinating, meaning Dean was no doubt on his way to Trueville with some brilliant plan of how to trap him. How ironic. Poor Dean was like a fox, setting a trap for the hunter, only to be caught in a snare in the process.

Dean arrived in Trueville at around 6 am, grateful for the fact that the Golden Valley Inn had 24-hour reception. Having booked his room, he made all the necessary arrangements before going to his room and getting out his cellphone. He called Garth, itching for an update on Sam.

"Hey, Dean."
Garth sounded nervous, jumpy. This couldn't possibly be a good sign.
"How is he? Is he awake?"
"Yeah, he is. He's... He's kind of freaking out, Dean."
"Freaking out how?"
"He's still hallucinating, that's for sure. He's-"
"Let me talk to him."

Garth went into Sam's room (he'd taken his phone outside to take the call) and told Dean:
"I'm putting you on speaker phone. Do you want me to leave the room?"
"No, that's fine Garth. I'd rather you keep an eye on him."
So Garth did. He kept an eye on Sam, who has struggling against his restraints. Struggling, writhing, muttering in both English and Enochian. And he listened to Dean, talking to his little brother, trying to comfort him.

"Sammy, hey. It's okay. He's not real, it's just Metatron messing with your head. And I'm taking care of that. You're safe. You're not in the Cage, you're in the bunker with Garth and he's taking care of you while I gank Metatron. You're okay, Sam."
And then, to Garth: "Is he listening?"
Sam wasn't. He was too busy talking, gasping, begging Lucifer to leave him alone. Garth told Dean: "I don't think he can hear you Dean, I'm sorry."
Then it happened.
"Dean-"
Sam let out soft, desperate keen, which turned into a sob, which turned into him crying loudly and helplessly, tears streaming down his face as the chains around his wrists rattled. Garth was at a loss.

He heard Dean swearing on the other end of the line. Then:

"Screw the plan. This ends now."