Chapter 10: Minor Setback

Metatron wasn't having what one would call the best day. Or month. Yeah, the last month hadn't been so brilliant for him. Neither had the month before.

Castiel, the mighty and oh-so-well-intentioned Castiel, had got one over on him, and even if he had to admit it was a good move, he was insulted. Not to mention furious.

But mostly at himself.

He shouldn't have underestimated the Winchesters and their pet angel. It was his mistake; he knew it. And now he was stuck in a Heavenly cell, with nothing to do.

Except plan.

It had happened to countless heroes, right when you think they've managed to defeat the villain, something goes wrong; they get betrayed, or make some stupid mistake they should have seen coming, or the bad guy had an ace up his sleeve. They get captured. Often tortured. Sometimes killed. But the ones who survive, they never give up. They think of a way to get out, get revenge.

Just a minor setback. A plot twist to keep the readers on their toes, keep them interested. Let them know the hero's human, just like them. Not perfect.

He admitted it, for the first week or so he'd wallowed. He'd sulked. The monotonous prayers to 'Marv' were dull and only reminded him of his failure. All he heard from his insufferably chatty guard was 'Castiel this,' 'Castiel that.' Castiel had sent angels down to work minor miracles in hospitals. Castiel was focusing all his energy on bringing the angels back to Heaven. Castiel, brave, heroic Castiel, was working day and night (hello, angels don't sleep, you idiot) even though his Grace was fading and he was dying. Blah, blah, blah.

Boy, did it get annoying fast.

And there was all that patronizing guilt-tripping. For hours, Adriel had lectured him on how awful he was to steal Castiel's Grace, how ashamed God would be of him for sealing Heaven, how he really shouldn't have killed the Winchester boy since Castiel was so fond of him. How there'd been an increase in demon activity because – he had the gall to say – the angels were trapped. As though it hadn't been thousands of years since the angels gave a crap what those pathetic excuse for lifeforms did! Well, apart from the whole apocalypse thing, but that was really only because Lucifer was involved. Angels didn't care about demons, but would that stop him yammering on? Nope.

It was enough to drive him mad.

Luckily though, Adriel was only one of his guards. Sariel was far more interesting.

He'd started relieving Adriel early in Metatron's second week of captivity. At first, he'd been silent, staring covertly at the prisoner. Metatron in turn had passed hours happily scowling his displeasure at one of the angels who had deserted him, left him in this boring cell to rot.

When Sariel had finally spoken, his deep voice reverberating around the stone room, his words had surprised the former scribe.

"So you've given up, then?"

Metatron had conceded his staring contest with the section of the left wall that stuck out a bit more than the rest and turned his confused gaze to the angel. "Sorry?"

"Are you?"

"Am I sorry?"

"Giving up."

It wasn't until someone else had accused him of it that he realized just how repulsive the notion was. He was Metatron: he was the hero. Heroes didn't give up.

"Of course I'm not giving up," he said with petulant resolve and a dangerous smile.

Sariel stepped closer to the bars, his eyes boring into Metatron's. "You have a plan? You still wish to bring us back to our rightful place?"

"It's my raison d'être. And I will see it done."

Sariel smiled, a tight curving of the corners of his thin dark lips that did not reach his cold blue eyes.

Metatron stood up and come to stand before the angel. After a long moment spent calculating the look in Sariel's eyes, Metatron spoke, his voice low. "But I can't do it alone. Not from in here."

That had been the start of Phase Two. At first it was just Sariel, feeding him any and all pertinent information. When he wasn't guarding Metatron, Sariel stayed close to Castiel as a 'trusted advisor', according to him, and so he heard gossip few others were privy to.

For example, that surge in demonic chaos? That wasn't led by some ordinary Hellspawn, but Dean Winchester himself. Metatron had laughed himself silly at hearing this – he'd completely forgotten about the Mark of Cain. But Dean Winchester, the boy who had spent his life hunting the demon that killed his mother, now had black eyes himself. It was hysterical! And so beautifully tragic. Becoming his worst nightmare, how delicious!

Better yet, Cas and the younger one, Sam, had had some sort of falling out a week or so ago. He didn't know what the story was, but the idea of Goofy and Donald falling apart while Micky had gone darkside was just plain poetic.

And now, after weeks of careful observation and the shiniest of silver tongues, Metatron's ranks had swollen from one to twenty. Twenty angels who thought Castiel had the wrong idea. Twenty soldiers who believed Metatron's end justified his means. Twenty hearts devoted to him like never before.

He was careful. Whenever Adriel or any of the untrustworthy guards stood sentinel over his prison, Metatron draped himself in the guise of a repentant, defeated soul, meek and helpless. It was working perfectly. Even when Castiel had visited, trying (and of course, failing) to extract Metatron's knowledge of the Tablets, Metatron doubted the angel even suspected he was anything other than the depressed husk of the god he had once portrayed. It was perfect. He even threw in a hint of going senile from confinement.

All the while, he perfected his role as puppet master. He gave his angels small, seemingly innocuous tasks, reminding them all secrecy and subtlety were their greatest assets. They followed his orders like the mindless drones they were, and soon Metatron had his own angels on Earth, carrying out his own missions while Castiel was confident they were following his own orders.

It was a fine and tenuous balance to maintain, but under Metatron's careful instruction, his swelling army was slowly, inexorably, invisibly taking over Heaven.

It was all Metatron could do to not spend his days laughing hysterically in his cell.

A minor setback, that was all his defeat had been. Now he was closer than ever to fulfilling his mission. Never mind that Castiel 'rescued' more and more angels from Earth, returning them heroically to Heaven. Never mind that most of them still believed in their reluctant leader. In fact, that made everything so much easier. When he was ready to strike, every unfaithful angel would be sitting like fat, lazy pigs in a sty, helpless against him.

To be honest, the hardest thing for Metatron was hiding his broad grin whenever Adriel was around.