Author's note: Here's the next chapter. I hope you enjoy.

Chapter 10
All precautions abandoned, Dean went straight to room 410, the room which, so said the flirty maid he'd been chatting up, was occupied by a "pretty old, weird guy with a whole bunch of dusty old books". He'd brought holy oil, an angel sword and a burning desire to make Metatron taste his own spine. It wasn't even a semblance of a plan, but it would have to do. There was no time to waste. Not when Sam was suffering.
So yeah, Dean stormed down the hall and knocked on the door, not even making an effort to sneak up on Metatron. Maybe not the smartest move, but Dean didn't care about smart. He cared about fast. He cared about right freaking now.

The door opened soundlessly to reveal Metatron, lying on the king sized bed, wearing a cream-colored hotel robe and pair of fuzzy slippers.

"Why hello there, Dean. Come in. And close the door behind you, please."

Dean did as Metatron asked, and by the time the door had clicked quietly shut, Metatron was standing right in front of him, hand in the pockets of his silk pyjama pants. Dean seized the moment, took the angel sword from its spot inside the back of his pants' waistband, and stabbed Metatron right in the heart. The angel crumbled to the floor.
Dean's mind went through the following phases: first, relief. Second, disbelief: this had been way too easy, hadn't it? Third-

Metatron disappeared, the knife, no longer held up by anything, clattered to the floor. Behind Dean, the door to the bathroom opened.
"Wow, Dean. I thought you were smarter than that. You really thought you could just waltz in here and stab me? I'm disappointed in you."
Out strolled Metatron, the real Metatron this time, dressed in the same attire his double had been wearing moments earlier. Dean went to pick up the knife, but right at he leaned down, Metatron flicked his hand and he was flung at the wall, staying pinned there by an invisible force.

"So I guess in the end, you couldn't stand Sam's blubbering anymore? He's really turned into a bit of a crybaby lately, hasn't he?"
"You son of a bitch. What do you want from him?"
"If you can behave and refrain from cussing, I'll let you down and tell you exactly what I want. If you can't, however, I'll have to leave you there. And leave Sam where he is too. Which is, unfortunately, down in the Cage with Lucifer. Or so he thinks, the poor sod."

Metatron's faced crumbled in mock empathy.

"Let me down."
"Promise you'll be civil?"
Dean took a deep breath, bit back an insult.
"Fine."

Dean was released and slid to the floor, landing on his feet. Metatron gestured towards a mahogany table surrounded by four chairs. He walked over there, sat down and beckoned Dean over.

"Have a seat, Dean." Dean obeyed, taking the chair that was as far away from Metatron as he could get. He was deeply unnerved by the lack of shock, or even surprise, Metatron seemed to feel at seeing him, at having been found.
"I'll get right down to brass tacks, Dean. Your brother has something I want, and you're going to help me get in from him."
"What? Sam doesn't have anything. And if you think I'm going to help you take anything from him, then you're out of your freaking mind, you son of-"
"Manners, Dean. I could make things a lot worse for you, you know. And for Sammy."
"Don't call him that, asshat!"

At that, Metatron reached over the table so quickly Dean barely registered the movement and slapped Dean across the face with amazing force.

"I said, be polite."

Dean blinked away the stars he was seeing, feeling blood dripping down his cheek where Metatron's hand had split the skin.

"As I was saying, Sam has something. Not anything physical of course: you two have very few things of value, if the books are to be believed. I suppose that's a side-effect of your transient lifestyles: you don't get to hold on to much on the material plane... No, it's not any physical
object that I want from Sam. What I desire is inside his mind. I want to know what he learned from Lucifer."

Dean was stunned by Metatron's words.

"What do you mean what he learned from Lucifer?"
"Oh, Dean, Dean, Dean. Sammy learned many things from my diabolical brother. He learned what his own entrails taste like, for example. He learned what it means to be in such agony that you forget your own name. He learned what it's-"

"Shut. Up."

Another slap in the face. Another instant where Dean thought he'd gone blind. Metatron leaned back into his chair and continued.

"Well. I suppose you didn't want to be reminded of just the kind of lessons Lucifer taught baby brother. And that's not actually what I'm interested in, of course. What I want to know, is where the weapons are. There are many chambers of Hell, you see. And many of them contain powerful items, spells, scrolls, you know, the sort of thing that's very useful in these times of turmoil. But very few people, or rather, very few creatures, know where to find these items. They're hidden away quite carefully. Lucifer is one of the few who knows where they are and how to get to them, but as you're well aware, he is currently... Indisposed. Therefore, I'll have to get the information I want from the next best thing: his one true vessel."

"What makes you think Sam knows anything?"

"Because that's how it works, Dean. Between an angel and his vessel, there is... Symbiosis. You form a connection. Your thoughts and memories bleed into each other. With how long Sam and Lucifer were intertwined, there is no doubt in my mind that he knows it. But of course, it's hidden far, far away."

"Castiel removed his memories. They're not hidden, they're gone."

"They're actually not, Dean. What Castiel did is akin to doing a mediocre job weeding one's garden. He removed the leaves and the branches of the poison ivy that is Sam's Cage memories, but he failed to remove the roots. All I've been doing is watering and fertilizing those roots, and as you've seen, the memories have flowered once more. But these are mostly overall impressions. What I need for the weapons are specifics. Therefore, they require me to dig deeper. And you're going to help me."

"Why the hell would I help you make Sam remember all of that stuff? What makes you think I would help you get your dirty hands on a bunch of demonic weapons?", Dean snapped.

Metatron smiled.

"Because if you don't, Sam will remain the crying, begging, pathetic mess that he is right now for the rest of his miserable little life."