Chapter 8: It's Gonna Be A Busy Year
Castiel stayed on the radio for the rest of the day, and Sam found a small semblance of comfort in the familiar voice. Cas told him what had happened in Heaven. How they had been imprisoned, how Gadreel had sacrificed himself so Cas could be free and try to stop Metatron. Sam's over-weary heart sank yet lower when he heard this. As far as he was concerned, Gadreel had earned his redemption. With a sigh, Sam let go of any lingering anger he felt towards the angel. What he had done since being freed from Heaven was no worse than the crimes Sam had committed in the past. He couldn't blame him for his poor judge of character, and, he knew, he owed his life to the angel.
While Sam updated the demon-tracking algorithm Charlie had shown him on his laptop, he and Cas took stock.
"So Heaven's still on lockdown, huh?" Sam called over to the radio from the desk strewn with pages from half a dozen Men of Letters files.
"Unfortunately, yes. I still don't know how to reverse it, and Metatron's not exactly helping."
"I still think you should have killed him," Sam said darkly.
"Believe me, I wanted to. But enough angels have died already."
Rather than pursue the argument, Sam clenched his teeth and held his tongue. As if Metatron was going to suddenly see the error of his ways and join the good fight. As if he wouldn't try something else.
"What about –"
"Sam, you don't need to shout. I can hear you just fine."
He stopped, surprised mouth still hanging open. With a frown he asked, "How can you hear me anyway? How come you can talk to me from Heaven?"
"Do you remember the last time you were in Heaven?"
"Yeah," Sam huffed. "Not all that easy to forget."
"Well, when you and Dean were up there, I was stuck on Earth. I was able to achieve the right frequency to converse with you via the car radio and television in your respective heavens. I wasn't sure if it would work backwards, but it was the only way I could think of to answer your prayer, since I can't leave Heaven just now."
"Huh. Clever."
"Thank you."
"So, Cas." Sam shook his head slightly, returning to the subject at hand. "What about your Grace?"
A pause. "What about it?" Cas replied, his tone somewhat guarded.
Sam rolled his eyes. "Well, I mean, is it still ... y'know ..." Was there a tactful way to say this? "Killing you?" Guess not.
"Yes, it, uh, it's killing me."
"How long've you got?"
"A few months, if I'm careful."
"That's not very long, Cas," Sam said, his voice low and sombre.
"No. It isn't."
"Well, isn't there anything you can do? Steal another one?"
"I'm not going to do that, Sam."
"Why the hell not! Cas, you're dying!" Somehow glaring at an inanimate object just didn't hold the same sort of satisfaction.
"Because even if I could bring myself to murder yet another angel, it wouldn't solve the problem. At best it would give me more time, but it wouldn't even fill me as much as this one did."
"What, like an addict never getting that first high again?"
"Well, I'm not addicted to angel Grace, but yeah, it's the same principle, I guess."
"So, instead you're just gonna waste away and die?" You're just gonna leave me alone to save Dean?
"Yes."
Sam's head flopped into his waiting palms.
"Why don't you just ... take Metatron's Grace? He'd be a lot less dangerous if he was human."
"Sam ..."
Sam tried to keep the bite out of his next words. "So you don't think there's enough worth staying around for?" He failed.
Cas's voice was filled with sorrow when he spoke again. "You know that's not how it is. I don't want to die –"
"Then go and take Metatron's Grace!"
"I can't!" Cas yelled, impatience and anger almost hiding the sadness in his voice. "If I take his power away, if I kill him, it'll make me –"
"What, as bad as he is? Cas, you do realise you two are the only angels to ever be gods, right?"
"I am aware. That's not what I was going to say. I don't know how to explain it to you, Sam. I know you want him dead. To be honest, I wouldn't mind using him as an angelblade holster myself, but I just ..." Sam could hear him change tack. "He's the only one alive who knows what's on the Tablets. The answer to Heaven's Gates must be on there somewhere, and maybe the answer to my Grace problem too, and Metatron is the only one who can tell me."
"Yeah," Sam scoffed derisively. "I bet he's just itching to tell you."
"I'm sorry, Sam. Without my own Grace ... I'm going to die. And there's nothing you can do about that." Sam winced as he suddenly remembered the last time he'd heard those same words, in a tiny hospital room, from a Dean who'd already looked half-dead.
"I'm sorry," Cas finished, the words heavy with sincerity.
Not knowing what to say, Sam reached over to the second bottle of whiskey – one he'd found in Dean's room – and took a long, burning gulp of the amber liquid. He suddenly felt very alone.
"Cas, you just, uhm –" He cleared his throat. "You just worry about – about Heaven for now. Get the angels under control. I'll ... I'll find Dean. I'll pray to you when I've found him."
"Okay, Sam. I'll hear you."
The radio became silent, the small yellow light from the display slowly fading until it too succumbed to the suddenly oppressive silence of the too-empty bunker.
"Right," Sam muttered to himself, needing to hear something, some sign of life in the stillness, even if it was his own. He returned his attention to the laptop. "We've got work to do."