Invalid (Supernatural)

18. Double Agent

"Well, I could get a new face," Metatron replied lamely.

"You'd still be you though...a nerd trying to be one of the popular kids."

"Do not speak to him with such disrespect," Barachiel ordered, frowning unhappily at Gadreel who still held him back.

"Oh yeah, the archangel. I heard of you," Tyrus smirked. "And I don't give a rat's ass about it. I don't care if you're friggin' God. I'm not joining any sides."

Barachiel glared at Gadreel, daring him to keep holding him back with his arm. Gadreel didn't move.

"Okay," Metatron said unhappily. "Time for the hard sell."

"Please," Tyrus laughed. "You knife me, and all my guys will go running to Castiel. Even you're not that stupid."

Metatron looked down, embarrassed.

"But I'll tell you what," Tyrus continued. "You out bowl me, and we'll talk?"

Metatron looked up excitedly and smiled. "Okay."

Metatron walked over to Tyrus near the lane. He retrieved a bowling ball from the machine that appeared to produce balls from somewhere in the ground. Barachiel wasn't really sure how it worked. While Metatron prepared to bowl with some awkward little steps, Barachiel and Gadreel took a seat in the booth-like observance chairs. They were hard and an ugly shade of white plastic.

Metatron bowled first. The ball spun and wobbled halfway down the lane before it veered quickly into the gutter.

Metatron frowned. "Just warming up."

The hooded machine with the arm-like projection where the balls rolled out onto made a noise. Metatron glanced at it to see his ball roll out and tap the other balls on the line. Metatron picked up his ball once again and Tyrus watched, amused, as he waddled awkwardly up to the lane. He adjusted his grip on the ball and swung his arm back like a pendulum. It swung forward just the same and the ball dropped hard onto the wood, rolled aways, and then once again veered into the gutter.

Barachiel could tell Metatron was angry by the way his jaw tensed up. He didn't speak as Tyrus picked up his much heavier ball from the magic ball machine. He bowled it down the lane with fluid-like grace and all ten pins were struck down with a large crash. Tyrus smiled as Metatron's expression soured.

The game went on like that for ten sets. Metatron occasionally got lucky and knocked a few pins down. He had even managed one strike and one spare. Barachiel was shocked enough at that. However, it was no match for Tyrus, who had only missed one strike. The one he missed had been a spare.

Barachiel knew they would not be getting Tyrus to join them anytime soon. Especially when violence was not allowed.

Metatron sulked away from the lane and onto the gray carpeted portion of the bowling alley. Barachiel and Gadreel followed him.

Tyrus walked after him and called humorously, "Better luck next time."

"Thanks," Metatron replied sarcastically.

While they were talking, Barachiel's eyes narrowed at an oncoming angel. He looked wild eyed and determined at the same time. His blonde hair was unusually messy for an angel and his light shirt had specks of blood on it.

"Metatron!" the blonde haired angel called out.

Metatron turned to him as he ripped his shirt open to reveal the origin of the blood specks. His chest was covered in deep gashes arranged to form a kind of symbol. Barachiel wasn't sure what it meant. Regardless, his first reaction was to tackle this unknown threat. The angel took his blade and placed it over his chest as Barachiel ran at him. Tyrus looked over at the newcomer wide eyed.