Chapter Text
The impala pulled up to a nondescript building, plainly labeled as the Central Mucipal Power Corp. The brothers regarded the building skeptically. They had gotten a vague call from Cas that morning asking them to come meet with him as soon as they could. Of course Sam and Dean had agreed immidiately, but this was a little odd, even for their eccentric angel friend.
"This the address?" Dean asked.
"Yeah."
Sam got out of the car and trudged up to the door behind Dean. He was about to knock when it swung inward, and a snobby-looking angel appeared.
"If you'll follow me, the Commander will see you now," the angel said.
"Commander?" Dean whispered disbelievingly. Sam just shrugged and followed the angel inside.
Sam quickly found that the building's drab outward appearance was incredibly deceiving--which might have actually been on purpose. The brothers were led into a large room equipped with state of the art technology. It was filled to the brim with angels, typing on keyboards and tracing patterns and generally seeming important.
The angel who had greeted them at the door showed them to a glass-walled office, where they could see Cas analyzing a map. The angel opened the door. "Sir," he addressed Castiel.
Sam and Dean walked in, and Cas gave each of them a hug. He looked over at the angel, who was still standing in the doorway. "Um...dismissed." The angel nodded and left. Cas turned to the brothers. "He can be a little stuffy."
"So...Commander?" Dean raised an eyebrow skeptically.
"Yeah, not my idea," Cas said sheepishly. "They had no leader, and they insisted on following me."
"Yeah. No, we get it. You're a rock star."
"Bartholomew is dead. Malachi was murdered by Gadreel, and with Metatron as powerful as he is now, I needed to do something," Cas said defensively.
"So this war between angels is really gonna happen, huh?" Sam asked.
"Not if I can find a diplomatic option for getting rid of Metatron."
"Good luck with that," Dean scoffed.
"Dean, this angel-on-angel violence--it has to end. Someone has to say 'enough'," Cas insisted.
"And that someone is you?" Sam knew Cas only had good intentions, but just last year he'd been mind controlled by Naomi and manipulated by Metatron. Frankly, he wasn't sure the angel could pull it off.
"That brings me to why you're here," Cas said, smoothly changing the topic. "We have a prisoner. It's an angel from Metatron's inner circle. I need to know what they're planning, but so far, he's revealed nothing."
"So, you're done with the rough stuff, and you want us to be your goons?" Dean asked, crossing his arms.
"Well, you've had success at these situations before. If you don't want to do it, I understand."
Dean's eyes glinted and his mouth twisted slightly. "Who says I don't want to do it?"
Sam and Dean entered a cell that looked--and smelled--like a cleaner version of their dungeon back at the bunker. An underwhelming angel in a sweater vest sat chained to a chair in the center of the room. He appeared smug, but the fix of his gaze suggested that his confidence came from stupidity, not experience.
The angel--Cas had called him Ezra--smiled and leaned back in his chair. "You're wasting your time. I have nothing to say."
"We disagree," Dean said menacingly. His blade gleamed in the dim light.
"There's no use torturing me. I am a trained commando. It won't work," Ezra said.
"Wow. Well, you just asked me to dance," Dean growled, surging forward with the angel blade.
Sam quickly stepped forward and put his hand out to block Dean. "Dean!" The older hunter looked up, about two seconds away from stabbing Sam if he didn't move. Sam was distantly reminded of Roger, how Dean had slowly shoved his own knife into his heart. Of the look in his eyes that had scared him then, and never seemed to leave now.
Sam grabbed Dean's shoulder and dragged him to the front of the room. "He won't be telling us anything dead," he murmured.
Dean was still holding the angel blade in a vice grip, and Sam was relatively certain that if he didn't think of something fast, Ezra would stop breathing sooner rather than later. He raised his voice and glanced over at the captive angel. "Besides, you know, I'm really starting to realize that he probably doesn't know anything."
It took Dean longer than it should've to catch on--just another thing to add to Sam's growing pile of concerns. But that didn't matter just then. What mattered is what they could get from the dim angel, which turned out to be a hell of a lot.
"No wonder he got bumped," Dean muttered once they left the cell.
"Yeah. 'Ground forces'? 'Elite secret squad'? What's Metatron gearing up for?" Sam wondered aloud.
"I don't know, why don't we shove somebody through the back door of heaven and find out? Oh, wait, no. It's portable and can't be found," Dean said sarcastically. Sam shrugged and followed his brother towards Cas' office.
"And he said the door to heaven is portable?" Cas asked disbelievingly. Sam nodded, but he was only really half listening. Most of his attention was directed at Dean, who had started twirling his blade and watching the angels through the office window about ten minutes ago. Suddenly Dean stiffened, and Sam turned just in time to see a dark-haired angel burst into the office. She cast Sam and Dean a look that bordered between suspicion and fear as she pulled Cas aside. They exchanged a few heated words in some ancient language Sam couldn't identify, clearly debating something.
The angel finally backed down, and schooled her features before turning to face the room as a whole. When she spoke her voice was flat, but her eyes sparked with accusation. "I went to check on the prisoner, and found him dead from a blade to the heart. The chains were untouched and there was no weapon in the area."
The shocked tension in the room was palpable. Sam and Dean exchanged looks. Sam knew his brother had been...more impulsive than usual lately, but there was no way he could've done this; Sam was with him the whole time.
Cas finally broke the silence. "Thank you, Ruth. You may leave us now." Ruth nodded curtly and left.
"It's unbelievable. I mean, he was fine when we left him," Sam said immediately.
"I barely touched the guy," Dean added.
"Still shackled, no weapon. It wasn't suicide," Sam mused.
"No. This was an angel kill," Cas said.
"Okay. Well, I'm gonna say it. Maybe your operation's been hacked. You know, Metatron's got somebody on the inside," Dean said. Sam had to admit, it seemed like the only possibility at this point.
Cas lowered his head. "I was sure everyone here was loyal. Finally united by a common cause."
"Well, that's the problem. See, you don't think anybody's lying. I think everybody's lying." Cas looked up at that. "It's a gift." Dean turned to Sam. "Let's do some nosin' around."
Sam furrowed his brow. He remembered a time not too long ago when Dean trusted much too easily. Trusted to the point of inadvertently putting their friends in the line of fire. Now...now, Sam wasn't sure. He wasn't too sure of anything concerning his brother anymore.
Sam looked around the compound for clues half-heartedly, unable to keep his mind on the task. Thoughts whirled endlessly and uncontrollably in his mind, cycling from one unsolvable problem to the next. He finally gave up and went to see if Dean had been any more successful.
Sam found his brother sitting in one of the unoccupied offices. Dean was grasping the Mark on his forearm, gaze holding an intensity that made Sam uncomfortable. He didn't even flinch when his phone began buzzing loudly on the desk. Sam waved his hand in front of Dean's face.
"Dean. Dean! What's wrong with you? You hear your phone?"
Dean blinked and picked up his phone without glancing at his brother.
"It's about time. Where the hell have you been?" Dean snapped. Crowley, then.
"Where are you?" Dean asked. He nodded once, then hung up. He looked up at Sam. His eyes held a passion, an energy that Sam hadn't seen in much too long. But it seemed twisted, somehow.
"We've got her."