The Dream I Dreamed (A Dean Winchester Love Story)

Chapter 27: But He Was Gone When Autumn Came

Castiel climbed slowly out of his cell, fixing Hannah with a cold stare. "Do you believe him now?"

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WAREHOUSE

Dean walked up to Metatron, who was sitting at the back of the warehouse, 'meditating.' "You can save the humble-pie Jesus routine for somebody who gives a damn."

Metatron shook his head sadly. "The problem with you, Dean, is the cynicism. But most people...even the real belly crawlers living in filth...or Brentwood...they don't want to be cynical. They just want something to believe in."

"And that'd be you." Dean said sarcastically.

The angel shrugged. "Why not me?"

"You've been working those people outside for, what, a day?" Dean asked. "They've already spilled blood in your name. You are nothing but Bernie Madoff with wings."

Metatron stood up. "So I'm a fake. Do you have any idea how much pan-cake makeup and soft lighting it took to get God to work a rope line? He hated it. And, you know, humans sense that. So they prayed harder and longer and fought more wars in his name. And for what? So they could die of malaria? Leukemia? And all the while, blaming themselves! 'Oh, if only I'd been more prayerful, God would have loved me! God would have saved me!' You know what?! God didn't even know their name! But I do. Because I've walked among them. And I can save them."

"Sure, you can." Dean said, looking at Metatron with disgust. "So long as your mug is on every Bible and 'What would Metatron do?' is on every bumper."

Metatron raised his eyebrows. "And? What, are you blaming me for giving them what they want, giving them a brand they can believe in?"

Dean began to unwrap the First Blade from the cloth that covered it. "I'm blaming you for Kevin. I'm blaming you for taking Cas' Grace. Hell, I'm blaming you for the Cubs not winning the World Series in the last one hundred freaking years. Whatever it is...I'm blaming you."

"The First Blade. Nasty piece of work, isn't she?" Metatron said. "Okay, Let's say you win, Dean, and I die. What's the world left with them, hmm? A herd of panty-wasted angels and you? Half out of your mind with Lord knows what pumping through those veins?"

Dean started closer to Metatron. "Yeah, you see, the only thing you've said that went into my ear is that you die."

"Oh, fine." Metatron sighed. "We'll fight. I don't know what you expect is going to come of all this. Unless...that's why you're stalling. Because you know nothing's going to come off this unless your pals succeed upstairs. Well, here's a news flash; Humpty and Dumpty are starring in their very own version of 'Locked Up Abroad: Heaven' right now." Dean's nostrils flared with anger and he threw a blow at Metatron with the Blade. The angel blocked it, but Dean managed to shove him away with his left hand. "Wow. That big blade and that...douchy tribal tat sure gave you some super juice. Whoo! Okay."

Dean rushed at him but was thrown into the air and hit the wall about ten feet up. He fell to the ground with a crash.

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HEAVEN

In Metatron's office, Hannah held Ingrid at bladepoint. "Where is it?" Castiel asked. Ingrid said nothing. "Remove her."

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WAREHOUSE

Metatron flung Dean back against the wall again. When he hit the ground Metatron viciously kicked Dean's right arm and the First Blade flew out of his hand. The angel stepped on his wrist with all of his weight. "So, you took Abaddon's scalp, then you figured you'd take on little old nebbishy me. What could go wrong?" Dean groaned in pain as Metatron crushed his wrist. "And you're powered by the bone of a jackass, and its just awesome, right? Here's a tip; next time, try to be powered by the Word of God." He kicked Dean in the chest.