Saints or Sinners | {BOOK 3}

71| Meeting Metatron

"We should be taking you to the ER," Dean said as we moved down the hall.

"They can't do anything for me," Sam dismissed him. "You know, I've been remembering things, little things, so clearly-"

"What, donkey rides?"

"You used to read to me, um, when I was little, I- I mean, really little, from that- from that old, uh... Classics illustrated book. You remember that?"

"No," Dean admitted, looking over at me like I'd be able to help.

"Knights of the Round Table," Sam continued as if Dean hadn't spoken. "Had all of King Arthur's knights, and they were all on the quest for the Holy Grail. And I remember looking at the picture of Sir Galahad, and, and, and he was kneeling, and- and light streaming over his face, and- I remember... thinking, uh, I could never go on a quest like that. Because I'm not clean. I mean, I w- I was just a little kid. You think... maybe I knew? I mean, deep down, that- I had.... demon blood in me, and about the evil of it, and that I'm- wasn't pure?"

"Sam, it's not your fault," I pointed out.

"It doesn't matter. Because these trials... they're purifying me."

We came to a stop at the end of the hallway, and Sam looked around, spinning frantically.

"They were here, the- the- the books, the boxes! They- they're gone."

Exchanging a look with Dean, I pushed open the door we were standing in front of. Inside, there were thousands of books piled on every inch of the floor and on countless shelves further back. As we rounded the corner of one of the piles, a mousy man with dark curly hair aimed a rifle in our faces. I took note of the black wings on his back.

"Who're you?" the angel asked.

"Metatron. This is Metatron?" Dean looked at Sam. "This is Metatron?"

With a flap of his wings, Metatron vanished and reappeared behind us.

"Sit down."

We did, Sam sitting in a hard chair while Dean sat in a plush one and I perched on his armrest.

"Who sent you?" Metatron demanded.

"We came on our own," Sam half shouted. "We're the Winchesters."

"I'm Dean, this is Ellie and Sam."

"You work for Michael? Or Lucifer?"

"What, you really haven't heard of us?" I raised my eyebrows. 

"What kind of angel are you, we're- we're the freaking Winchesters," Sam added, still shouting.

"Michael and Lucifer? T-those- those dudes are in the deep fryer," Dean informed him.

"Yeah. We put them there ourselves," I said.

"What about Gabriel?" Metatron asked. "And Raphael."

"Dead."

"You really don't know any of this."

Metatron shook his head.

"I've been very careful."

"Hey, can you-" Sam shouted, "can you turn that down?"

"Turn what dow- oh," Metatron's eyes widened and he lowered the gun. "You're resonating."

"Resonating?" I repeated. "What- what do you mean, resonating?"

"You've undertaken the trials. You're trying to pull one of the great levers, aren't you? You're pretty far along, too. You get that far along, you start resonating with the Word. Or with its source on the material plane. With me."

Metatron was still staring at Sam curiously.

"You said you were being careful," Dean recalled. "Careful how?"

"I'm not one of them. I'm not an archangel."

"Yeah, your wings are black, not white," I nodded.

Metatron paused, giving me a curious look before continuing.

"Really more run-of-the-mill. I worked in the secretarial pool before God chose me to take down the Word. Anyway, He... seemed very worried about his work, what would happen to it when he left, so He had me write down instructions. Then, He was gone. After that, the archangels took over."

He grabbed another hard chair like Sam's and pulled it over.

"And they cried, and they wailed. They wanted their Father back. I mean, we all did. But then... then they started to scheme. The archangels decided if they couldn't have Dad, they'd take over the universe themselves. But they couldn't do anything that big without the Word of God. So I began to realize, maybe they would realize... they needed me."

"So you get a ruffle in your feathers and just decide to disappear?" Dean scoffed. "Go stick your head in the sand, forever? You have no idea what's been going on out there."

"Nope. That's the whole point."

None of us could believe what we were hearing.

"So you have been holed up here, or, or, or in a wigwam, or before that in some cave, listening to stories, reading books?"

"And it was something to watch," the angel grinned. "What you brought to His Earth, all the mayhem, the murder. Just the raw, wild invention of God's naked apes... it was mind-blowing. But really... really, it was your storytelling. That is the true flower of free will. At least as you've mastered it so far. When you create stories, you become gods, of tiny, intricate dimensions unto themselves. So many worlds! I have read... as much as it's possible for an angel to read, and I haven't caught up."

"You know what?" Sam paused a beat. "Pull the frigging trigger."

"What?" Metatron asked, confused.

"Pull the freaking trigger, you cowardly piece of garbage."

"Sam. Hey!" Dean protested.

Sam ignored him, getting up and grabbing the end of Metatron's rifle to point at himself.

"All the time you've been hiding here, how much suffering have you read over? Humanity's suffering! And how much of it has been at the hands of your own kind?!"

"C'mere, hey," Dean pushed Sam back away from Metatron and I helped him sit down in Dean's chair while Dean addressed the angel. "You want a story? Try Kevin Tran's story. He was just a kid. A good, straight-A kid, and then he got sucked into all this- this angel crap. He became a Prophet, of the Word of God. Your Prophet. Now, you should've been looking out for him, but no! Instead, you're here, holed up, reading books."

"He's dead now. Because of you," Sam spat and I swallowed hard.

I had assumed that's what had happened when they told me Kevin sent a message and that Crowley got him, but hearing one of them actually say it made it so much more real. There was a long pause as Metatron stared at each of our expressions. And then he raised a hand, causing it to glow. When it stopped, Kevin was slumped in one of the chairs with bruises around his neck.