Weeks passed, the army I helped command now easily outnumbered any other in the game. We had state of the art equipment for essentially spying on the entire world. Doing everything we can to find other angels willing to convert, and track Metatron.
Meanwhile, as usual, I was mostly in the field, staying away from the commander. It seemed to help keep him more focused if I wasn't around. That, and all that sad, wishful thinking of his was enough to drive any psychic mad.
And I was technically already mad.
He recalled me after I lead a capture on an angel named Ezra, who was apparently bragging about having close ties to the Scribe at a bar.
Castiel didn't want me interrogating. He felt that I was incapable of using wit, rather than force. Which was not true... but he called my brothers instead.
And so I waited, just outside the door of his office, a stance in which I claimed for myself as my "post" unless I was needed elsewhere. Watching as one of the guard, Benjamin, escorted my brothers across the front room and toward the stairs.
"Lieutenant, " Benjamin greeted respectfully, putting astonished looks on the boys' faces. He then ushered them into the office, with me in the rear, addressing Castiel to announce their arrival, "Sir?"
I pushed on past the the four of them to stand off to the side while Castiel hugged each of my brothers. I went rigid and slightly annoyed when the giant one pulled me into an embrace, which I did not participate in. He looked at me curiously as he pulled away, as did Dean. They didn't know that I wasn't Love.
"Um, dismissed, " Castiel said to Benjamin, "sorry he can be a little stuffy..."
"So...Commander? Lieutenant?" Dean mocked in good humor, flicking the same concerned eyes at me again breifly.
"Yeah not my idea," Cas sighed, "they had no leader and insisted on following me...and Hazel, well..."
"They saw me as second, without encouragement, miraculous isn't it?" I said without holding back the ironic attitude, "my would-be murderers, wetting themselves when I walk by."
They just chuckled, still not sure why I looked and sounded so different.
"Yeah no, we get it, you're rockstars," Dean said.
"Bartholomew is dead," the Commander explained, "Malachi was murdered by Gadreel, and with Metatron as powerful as he is now, I needed to do something."
"So this war between angels is really gonna happen, huh?" Sam said unenthused.
"Not if I can find a diplomatic option for getting rid of Metatron," Cas corrected.
"Good luck with that," Dean scoffed.
"Dean, this angel-on-angel violence... it has to end. Someone has to say, enough," the angel insisted.
"And that someone is you?" Sam concluded a bit skeptically.
"That brings me to why you're here. We have a prisoner," he continued on topic, "It's an angel from Metatron's inner circle. I need to know what they're planning, but so far, he's revealed nothing."
"Meaning he won't let me beat it out of him," I grumbled, arms crossed.
My brothers raised brows at the dark tone and sincerity of my words.
"So, you're done with the rough stuff," Dean snapped attention back to Cas, "and you want us to be your goons?"
"Well, you've had success at these situations before. If you don't want to do it, I understand."
"Who says I don't want to do it?" Dean heartily asked with a smirk.
He stepped out, expecting the brother to follow, but Sam lingered, exchanging concerned faces with the Commander and I. Both for Dean, and myself.
