Summary: Metatron has sent you to kill Hannah, the angel you fell in love with in Heaven. And also the angel leading the opposing faction. Set in the later portion of season nine.
Warnings: angst, implied fight scene, implied character death
A/N: Just an idea I had. I know not a lot of people liked Hannah, but I really loved her character. I had a fun time writing this.
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The rain-soaked pavement glistens orange with the streetlights as you turn into the dark alley. In the night sky, clouds hang over the city as if waiting for chaos to ensue on the ground below.
Testing loyalties, Metatron called it. He saw how close you grew to her in Heaven, how she and you shared a bond, a sinful, un-angelic, imperfectly human love.
Light footsteps pad on the concrete behind you.
"This is getting old, Hannah," you call out. "Fighting on opposite sides of the same war."
Your voice echoes off the walls as you turn around. She clutches a blade, identical to the one up your sleeve, in a halfhearted stance.
"Join us," she pleads. "Can't you see? Metatron is not trying to help anyone other than himself."
"You know it's not that simple," you say.
You take a hesitant step toward her. She raises her blade higher now, but you can't bring yourself to let yours drop into your hand. "Kill me, if you must."
"No. There's still time. It doesn't have to be this way, (Y/N)."
"But it does." You nod to the blade in her hand. "Better me than you, my love."
She holds it with a shaky hand, letting it linger over your heart.
You meet her eyes, finding a more stunning blue than you would have thought possible. She chose a beautiful vessel, though Hannah's grace, you believe, could make anyone radiant.
You let your eyes drift to her lips, in spite of your good sense. You shouldn't, you know. It will only make her task more painful. But you think of your last few minutes of existence, how you long so badly for them to mean something more than the fleeting cause of war.
She doesn't resist when you tilt the blade away and bring your lips to hers, letting months of absence wash away. You reach a hand up to stroke her soft brown curls, your other hand on her back, pulling her closer.
In spite of herself, she kisses you back, melting against you with parted lips. You feel her hand on the back of her neck. Neither of you make a move to retrieve her blade when it falls to the ground.
You feel her tense in your arms before you feel him behind you. A familiar presence, an old friend.
"Hello, Castiel," you say, only nodding your head to the side before turning back to Hannah.
She blinks at you, sending tears down her cheeks. "I'm so sorry," she whispers.
"It's okay," you say, though the tremble in your voice threatens to give you away. You swipe her tears away with gentle fingers. "Don't watch this."
You wait until her back faces you before turning to Castiel.
"I don't want to do this, sister," he says, and you can tell he means it.
"Neither do I," you admit, releasing your angel blade into your grip. "But we must."
You know Castiel well enough to know he would never kill you without a fight. And he knows you well enough to know your clumsy swings and slow blocks are intentional.
You see the regret and sadness in his eyes as his blade pierces your chest.
