Heaven's Child ≫ SPN

14. The Non-Hero

Metatron || Douche's Headquarters

"Are you sure?"

"Are you questioning me?" Metatron challenged.

"Of course not, Sir. It's just—Bartholomew and Malachi want to kill you. When you tell them to come, they won't come alone. They will bring their factions along with them. Dangerous factions that everyone avoids. If you put them both in the same room, they're bound to kill each other."

Metatron's chair stopped swiveling. He looked up at his assistant with the smallest, slyest smile. "Would they?"

Eremiel understood. They would, and Metatron knew it. That was the plan.

He tried to hide how he felt about leading twenty of his brothers and sisters to their deaths.

"Oh, I know. You must think me something horrible. But a true leader must make sacrifices. Think of how many they killed, think of how many more! You know that a civil war is inevitable. I'm just...speeding up the process."

The angel composed himself. This was for the best. Soon they'll all be home. Soon.

"Send out the beacon now, Eremiel."

"Will you be joining them?"

"Shortly. I need to deal with another rogue one first."

"Castiel, Sir?" Eremiel couldn't help himself.

"Yes," Metatron sighed. "Castiel." He spat the name like it tasted bad in his mouth.

But that was Metatron's slip-up and Eremiel caught it.

Metatron always spoke nobly of Castiel in front of the angels—he needed them to believe that Castiel worked with him to cast them out, after all. But now, Eremiel's doubts were becoming realized. Castiel was telling the truth. Castiel was innocent.

"Excuse me, Sir." He rushed out of the room, unsure of what to do next.

****

"Sir, an Alec is here to see you."

"I'm busy," Metatron called back happily, looking through a few photos he got done, choosing the best one for people to paint on churches.

"I-I can't tell him that Sir," the angel's voice was quivering, but Metatron took no notice.

"Then have someone else tell him."

"He says his it is urgent, and that he has a few q-questions."

Metatron finally raised his head from the photos to study the angel. Eremiel was visibly trembling, his hands clenched to fists, his entire body stiff.

"Fine," he sighed.

"I'll let him in immediately," Eremiel bustled out of the room to nod once at the terrible creature from hell.

****

The pleasant young man that strolled into his office was neither an angel nor a demon. He was not a thing of purgatory, nor was he a god. Paganism wasn't in his blood and he looked far too western to be a part of the south asian deities. His breed was pure, he wasn't a Nephilim nor was he a Cambion.

But with a strong surge of dread, Metatron knew that the young man was a lot more powerful than he was, angel tablet included.

"Who are you?" Metatron demanded right away. Alec never spared Metatron a look. When he walked in, the bookshelf was what captivated him.

He traced his fingers across the line of neatly shelved books before flicking his eyes to Metatron for a few moments.

"A fan," Alec grinned just slightly.