I'm really sorry, I got this sudden burst of inspiration that was extremely sad. Please feel free to cry....
"I really don't think this is a good idea, Dean," I protested as we loaded the car.
"We have to (y/n). Metatron might know how to get this fucking thing off me. That's what we want right?"
"Yeah... But I just think... Ya know... Confronting him like this... I've got a bad feeling about this," I tried to urge him.
"If you don't wanna do it, then stay home. But I can't let this opportunity get away from me,"
I sighed, I knew we were going to regret this... But I got in the car.
"Cas?" Dean prayed. Cas appeared in the back seat with me just as Sam climbed in the front.
We drove away from our current motel. The bad feeling I had grew worse and worse as we approached the warn down tenement building Metatron was rumored to be hiding in.
I shook off my bad feeling as we exited the car. I can't be distracted on a case, that's a good way to get hurt.
We creeped up to the building, and climbed the stairs. The place smelled of stale cigarettes, whiskey, and regretful anguish. We reached the door that could potentially have Metatron behind it.
I took a deep breath. And nodded to Dean, he kicked the door in.
The room, much to my surprise was full of books... Just piles and piles of them. New, old, popular, lame... Some in other languages...
In the center of the room, in plush chair, sat the Scribe himself. My blood boiled just to look at him.
"Hey guys," he said in a very casual way. "I was beginning to wonder if you had forgotten about me,"
"You fucking killed me. That's not something we forget," Dean growled.
"Are we still talk about that?" Metatron complained. "That was like one time,"
I rolled my eyes, "Cut the crap, you know what we want,"
"Of course I do, (y/n). But you know that I'm not inclined in any way to help you," he pointed out.
"Oh well hum, might as well go home then. No point in trying. He's not inclined to help," Dean mocked him coyly. Before advancing on him, and pinning him to the chair. "Are you inclined now,"
"No, now I'm just uncomfortable because you are breathing on me,"
Dean angrily shoved the chair. Sam Cas and I ran forward to help.
Metatron threw the chair at Dean, sending him backwards. I got distracted for only a second but in that second Metatron whipped out an angel blade and scraped in on my face. I shouted in pain.
Sam tried to shoot him to get his attention. I regained my concentration and got him in a choke hold. But he kicked me in the knee and snapped it out. I shouted again, letting go of him. Dean got back in the fight. I sat against the wall and shot Metatron again and again to distract him in anyway possible.
When I ran out of bullets I threw my gun at his head, konking it good and hard. In the second that he winced, Castiel plunged his angel blade into Metatron's abdomen. He cried out and began to flicker. But not before... He stuck Castiel right through the chest.
The whole room erupted in light and noise. I had screamed, so had Sam and Dean. Two pairs of scorched wings burned through the books, and over the leg of my pants.
The light ceased but the noise continued. Dean screamed in agony. Sam fell back against a stack of books and screamed. I couldn't make a sound for the first moment, then the realization hit that this had just happened. I slid over onto my side, still against the wall and let out a moaning sob similar to that of a dying animal.
Later that night, we took Castiel back to the bucker and made a platform fire for him. Dean took care of Metatron... I don't know what he did but I'm pretty sure it was not a respectful burning...
After Cas was burned, and the ashes collected... We placed them into two urns. One of them we put on one of the display shelves, and the other... Dean, Sam and I made the drive all the way out to Lawrence... A few years back we had made a second head stone for Mary and a real one from John and put them in the old graveyard... Now that's where we put Cas. Dug a hole right beside Mary's headstone and buried the urn...
In the days that followed, all three of us spent a lot of time at the bottom of a bottle of something strong. After the third day of being straight up hammered Dean grabbed the keys and ran out the door. I watched him go, he ran right by me. But I was still working on a bottle of scotch. Heaven knows where Sam is and his level of soberness.
At this point I didn't care. No one cared. I shouldn't have let them do that. I should've stopped them. It's my fault. I'm to blame. And even if Dean is going to a cross roads, what can he do? We burned him up.
Fuck it. I down the rest of my scotch.
