33. Operation: Spring Lucifer
"I can't be a prophet," Donatello insists in the backseat of the Impala. We're on our way back to the bunker. "I'm an atheist and a chemist! I-I believe in molecules, not God."
"Well, aren't you in for a shock," I mutter under my breath.
"All right, well, we're pretty sure that prophets don't even know they're in the game until they've actually been touched by God, so..." Dean trails off.
"I-I was touched by God?"
"Or possibly his sister, Amara," I say.
"He has family?"
"Yeah," says Sam. "She wants him gone so she can annihilate the universe. That's the headline."
Donatello's face loses its color. "What?"
"And since you might have a hotline to her, we're hoping you can help us find her," Dean adds.
"W-why would you want to find her?"
"We got to rescue this guy she's holding," I say, looking out the window at the blurs of the scenery we pass.
"Who is it?"
"Lucifer. Her nephew. Who's possessing an angel at the moment." The angel who I love and who is about to be a father in a few months' time.
"Oh." Spooked, Donatello attempts to tuck and roll out of the moving car by jiggling the handle. He looks at the other door, which I'm guarding. I give him an attempt-I-dare-you look.
"Both are locked," I say proudly. "Sometimes we keep the monsters in the back."
"I—I—I can't do this!"
"Yeah, you can."
"No, I promise you I can't."
"Look, we can't force you to do this," says Dean. "You've got to want this."
"It—it's like asking me to believe in Santa Claus."
"Oh, well, actually—"
"Dean, not now," Sam cuts him off.
"Okay, look, we—we're not asking you to believe that this is true, just as like you do. People do it all the time."
I watch Donatello curiously as he stills. I see his body shudder. "What?" I ask him.
"I—I-I don't know. I—I think I'm sensing something. Something big."
"Like Amara?"
"I don't think so. Although, how would I know? Could it be...Him?"
Judging by the fact that we're back at the bunker, it's safe to assume that Donatello felt Chuck's presence, not Amara's, which brings great relief to me.
Dean and I step into the bunker first to find Chuck in the war room, watching TV via Dean's laptop. He's also eating takeout, which makes me crave any food we've got running around (not literally, of course) in the kitchen here.
"Hey, Chuck," I greet him. "We, uh, found someone. We think he's the next prophet."
"Neat-o."
"Is that my computer?" Dean asks.
"I've never seen so much porn. Not in one sitting."
"Okay," I say awkwardly, looking away from the screen before my eyes are imprinted with pornographic images.
"It's—I'm gonna..." Dean stammers, flustered, as he closes the laptop. "So, uh, listen. He—he's—he's a little nutted out about the whole booga-booga of it all, so maybe just dial back the—the God stuff." We hear the door open.
I shake my head. "No pants." Chuck's in his boxers. I turn to the staircase. "Sam? We're good."
"All right, you're safe," I hear my little brother say. "Come on." Sam and Donatello walk down the stairs.
Chuck stands from the table. "Donatello, good to see ya," he greets the prophet. "Sorry about your cat."
Donatello looks in shock. "You—you know me?"
"I made you. I made all of you, even the ones who aren't born yet."
For some reason, I feel my cheeks heat up. As if to prove Chuck's point, the being inside of me nudges.
"Oh, my God. It's you. G-good to meet you, Sir! Your—your celestial magnificence, your—"
"Hey, hey, hey, it's okay."
I cough awkwardly. "He—he just kind of goes by Chuck."
"So, we good? Y'all signed up?"
"Uh....I-I-I guess you know that I was an atheist, until ten minutes ago," Donatello stammers. "Is that an issue?"
"Not for me. I mean, I believe in me. But your skepticism is to be expected. I did include free will in the kit." He clicks his tongue. "Welcome aboard."
"You two can get acquainted, Jo, Sam, and I got a thing," Dean says. "We won't take long." I look at him in confusion but he beckons me to follow him. "Did you forget we still gotta see Metatron?"
I blow out a breath. Right. On our way to Donatello, Metatron had called, said that he had something that required us to meet in person. If this is some kind of trap, I'll be more than happy to kill the wingless bastard. Killing him won't be so hard compared to before.
He's got a lot to answer for.
* * *
We meet the former Scribe of God in a bar. I recognize him right off the bat, he stands out pretty easily. We take our seats, occupying both sides of the bar.
"All right. We're here," Sam says to him. "Don't try to pull any crap."
"And what variety of crap could I possibly pull? I've lost my grace. Look at me. I got nothing."
"Okay, why did you have to see us?" I insist. "What's so urgent?"
Metatron sighs. "So, I, uh, notice you've been in touch with Chuck. Aka, you know who."
I hold back my Harry Potter reference in my throat. "Is this going anywhere? Yes, Chuck agreed to take on Amara."
"He said that? Used those words?"
"Pretty much."
"Huh."
"So, what—he's not confronting Amara?" asks Sam.
"Oh, no. No, no, no. He's—He's going to—He's gonna...meet with her. He's just not gonna take her down. He's gonna...sacrifice himself. Let her do whatever she wants with him."
I snort. "Do you really expect us to buy this?"
"No. Of course not. Here. Buy this." Metatron throws a huge stack of paper our way, and it lands with a loud thud on the bar. "Ignore the typos, but read it. It's in his own words. It's not an autobiography. It's a suicide note."
I grab hold of the manuscript first. My mind corrects the typos that my eyes see. At first, I think Metatron is feeding us a bunch of bullshit. But the more I read, the more I realize that the Scribe of God isn't joking.
Chuck plans to pull a Winchester move and sacrifice himself.
* * *
"You know, you're doing a better job than I'd give you credit for," I tell Donatello. I'm back at the bunker with him and Dean. Sam's run off to fetch Metatron, the annoying former angel and scribe. He's been blowing up Dean's phone with all kinds of things (nothing naughty, just annoying), almost getting on my brother's last nerve. Metatron's reasoning? He wants inside of the bunker. "You're taking it well compared to most people."
"Kind of hard to avoid what's in front of me." Donatello's voice is shaky a bit. The nerves are still getting the better of him.
"I got you a beer," Dean says, entering the war room of the bunker. "I don't know if you drink." Sam's abandoned bottle still sits on the table. I've been tempted to sneak a sip, but Dean's got hawk-eyes on me, and I know Donatello would squeal to my brother if he caught me.
"I do now," says our prophet.
"Well...I don't know...if Chuck is leaning our way."
"You don't know?" I ask. I know Dean had disappeared earlier to talk with Chuck. Basically, since being back in the bunker, I've been mostly with Donatello. We haven't really bonded much though.
"If we do get Lucifer for the added muscle, then...maybe he'll play ball."
"I thought they hated each other," says Donatello.
"Yeah, they do." We all hear the door open. Must be Sam and Metatron. "Wow. I so miss being an atheist."
"Don't let Chuck hear you say that, although he somehow probably already did," I say.
"All right, Metatron," says Sam as he leads the scribe into the room with the rest of us. "Make it quick. Don't touch anything."
"Fine," Metatron mumbles. "Dean! Thanks for inviting me."
"Inviting you?" Dean retorts. "You've been circling the building all night. You sent me two-hundred text messages with dumbass emojis. You got three minutes."
"Oh. Donatello! Pleasure to meet you. Metatron, Scribe of God. I was there when you were designed. I wrote your name on the inside of the angels' eyelids."
"He's freaking me out," Donatello squeaks.
"Don't worry, that's normal. Pretty soon you'll start to hate him," I tease, throwing Metatron a glare.
"I see you haven't lost your hate for me, Josette," the scribe says.
"Never will."
"Okay," Dean cuts in. "You said you wanted to help. Besides world-class douchery, what do you have to offer?"
"Oh, nothing," Metatron says nonchalantly. "I just transcribed the Angel Tablet and know all the spells. And I know what makes Amara tick. And I had a relationship with the big guy for eons. Shall I keep going?" He reaches for Sam's bottle.
"Ah!" my little brother says, snatching the bottle away from Metatron. "That's mine." Sam turns to Dean. "As much as I hate to admit this...he kind of has a point."
"I don't know," Dean says.
Metatron scoffs. "You need all the help you can get—even douche help."
"And since when did you jump on the God wagon?" I ask the scribe. "You never used to give a damn."
"Well, I didn't—at one time," Metatron admits. "Now that he's gone all kamikaze, leaving us with the Darkness, I..." He sighs. "I was by his side since the creation. He believed in me. If there's something I can do to help save him and his creation, then...uh, it seems like I should."
"The plan is to rescue Lucifer from Amara," I say gravely. "Then he teleports us out of Amara's hideout and we convince Chuck to use him to fight her."
Again, the scribe scoffs. "That's your plan? Do you even know where Amara is?"
"Um, I think I might know where she is," Donatello speaks up. "I've been getting this vibe. Uh, it's like a ping in my cerebral cortex."
"Oh, so either Amara or a stroke. And how are we supposed to keep Amara busy while we're...liberating Lucifer?"
"That's where, uh, Dean comes in," I say awkwardly. "We've got that covered. He'll distract Amara, and the rest of us are gonna spring Lucifer from wherever she's got him strung up." I look at Donatello. "Ready to be our GPS?"
**Guys, Donatello is all of us if we ever legit found ourselves in this world.**