Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3206846.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage, Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence
  Category:
      F/M, F/F
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Dean/Original_Female_Character(s), Dean_&_Castiel, Sam_&_Castiel,
      Original_Female_Character(s)/Original_Female_Character(s)
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, Sam_Winchester, Metta_-_Character, OFC, Original_Female
      Character(s), Castiel, Crowley, Lucifer_(Supernatural), Michael_
      (Supernatural), Original_Non-Human_Character(s), Gabriel_(Supernatural),
      Original_Demon_Character(s), Cain, Arron
  Additional Tags:
      Angst, Smoking, Past_Rape/Non-con, Sexual_Abuse, Past_Sexual_Abuse, My_OC
      -_Freeform, Metta, I'm_Sorry_Dean, Rape, Crying, Drinking, Drepression,
      Anxiety, Suicidal_Thoughts, Milkshakes, Girls_Kissing
  Series:
      Part 1 of Loving_me_is_the_worst_thing_you'll_ever_do.
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-01-21 Completed: 2015-03-12 Chapters: 7/7 Words: 11734
****** The Worst Part. ******
by orphan_account
Summary
     A collection of all of their worst moments. Dean Winchester and his
     quiet guardian angel, Mettalise have a rocky relationship. From that
     bar in Mississippi to the Bunker. These are the worst parts of love.
Notes
     Thanks for clicking! Enjoy your angst.
See the end of the work for more notes
***** Left in The Dust (1) *****
When he had nightmares it took more than a few words to calm him. That’s how
she ended up out here, watching Dean pace the motel parking lot as a lungful of
smoke pasted her chapped lips. The air was frigid, the steam of her breath
mingling with the bitter smelling smoke as it was puffed out. The headlights of
passing cars would silhouette him briefly before leaving and casting the long,
dark haunting shadows, warping him into a dark nightmare against the pavement.
    The angel had no idea what the dream had even been about, but when she
tried to stop his thrashing he had shoved her completely off of the queen sized
motel bed. So now she had a sore ass and not enough nicotine. It’s not like she
was constantly smoking, but the little sticks of cancer did help relieve her
stress and the anxiety that would eat her alive other wise.  All she could see
was his hunched stature, body bent forward over the Mark of Cain, which she
could discern from where she sat, the curb next to the Impala. The violence
must have had something to do with its angry red pulsing.
    Having to deal with Dean was challenge enough, but the Mark added a
wildcard she could never predict. This time it wasn’t that bad, it had been
much worse not even two months ago. One time, when he was still a demon, Metta
had been woken with her angel blade pressed into her throat and his fresh set
of black eyes staring her down. She can still remember how, when he realized
what he was doing, he rolled away from her, grabbed his keys and left, motel
door slamming behind him, the force making the whole building shake. He came
back three days later, practically caked in cheap body glitter and smelling
like a strip club. Of course she was angry, but her yelling was muffled as he
pressed her face into the mattress and made her scream his name instead.
    Shuddering, she shed herself of the memory, carefully placing it back in
things she would never talk to him about. A drift passed by her as the ice
machine suddenly hummed to life. Turning her gaze, she saw the lights in the
room were on, Sam probably still awake from the scare Dean had given them.
Later, either when he was out, or if they had a moment alone in the car, Dean
would tell her what he dreamt of, not through words, but actions. If he was
gentle, making her come undone under him, his dream was of loss, of losing Sam,
or Castiel and his real family, but she liked to hope he dreamt about her too.
    On the other hand, if he was violent in his dreams, like when he
slaughtered those men, or what awful things he did as a demon; it was quick and
rough, often leaving her to finish herself off in the shower afterward. Judging
his actions so far, the angel wouldn’t be able to walk correctly for a couple
of days, causing another shudder to zip down her spine, into her core.
    Her toes curled inside her socks, pulling his large fleece jacket around
herself. Once again she raised the burning cigarette to her lips. As much as
she wanted to go back into the warmth of the motel room, she had to make sure
Dean was safe, that he didn’t run off and leave them grasping straws at his
location. It was still stupid to be out here, but she had quickly followed him,
only having time to grab her pack and lighter.
    So that’s how she ended up on the curb, in front of her boyfriend’s impala,
with no pants, watching him pace a parking lot of a motel somewhere in Indiana
and smoking like a goddamn paper factory.
    Another breathe pulled more air and sweet relief to her aching head and
heart.
                            This is the worst part of loving him.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
    Dean started towards her as she was the last drag of her third cigarette.
She flicked in to the pavement, letting him ground it in with his thick soled
boots. Metta herself was only in socks, looking like a lost hooker kicked out
of a room. He found the harsh fluorescent lights cast ghastly shadows, causing
her usually pale tan to become a sickly white, and the dark circles under her
bright eyes looking like they were applied with charcoal.
    “That’s a disgusting habit.” He mumbled, hands in his pockets to protect
them from the cold.
    “So are you. But as far as I’m concerned, I’m not quitting either.” She
shot back, smoothing back a strand of dark hair that had fallen forward into
her face. Apparently, she suddenly found her hairstyle unsatisfactory; she
pulled the elastic from her hair, letting the curls bounce as they hit the
middle of her back. With a quick gather and twist, her hair was back in a state
of somewhat order, pulled back into a high bun, which sagged under the weight
of her beautiful, dark hair. Sometimes he liked to give it a tug when she was
blowing him, relishing in the sounds she made.
    Offering a hand, he looked towards the door, then back down as Metta pulled
herself up, head under his chin, the curb giving her a height advantage. Dean
pressed a kiss to her forehead, before his hands came to rest on the pronounced
bones of her hips under his jacket. Under it he only found a thin t-shirt.
    “Oh baby girl…You’re probably freezing. Go inside.” The concern in his
voice sounded more like a brother than a lover. He ushered her forward, but she
refused to let go of his sleeve, lithe fingers holding on to the canvas like a
life line.
    “You have to come in with me.” The angel said, steel eyes meeting his,
searching for a sign he would go along with her, not leave her behind and never
look back, like he used to say, back when he was a…demon. The word itself made
a tidal wave of sickening memories wash over him, so much guilt from all the
horrible things he had done to Metta, who deserved so much more.
    “I will baby girl. I promise I will.” The older man said, throat tight and
tears brimming, threatening to spill over, guilt twisting the knife even
further as her delicate eyebrows turn up in the centre and a look of innocent
confusion, and somehow mature understanding replaced the desperation. When the
implications of his words hit her, the desperation came back, emotion throwing
her forward to pull him into a tight hug.
    “You can’t leave! Babe please, we can work through this! Sam and Castiel
are so close to finding something. Sam needs you! Castiel needs you! Ineed
you!” Metta pleaded, tucking her face into his scruffy neck and praying to
whoever the hell would listen to her. Her rising tone drew Sam out, his shaggy
head poking out the door, raising both eyebrows at the site before him.
    Dean looked at his brother pleadingly, running hands up the angels bony
spine, each vertebrae tangible under the scared skin. The younger Winchester
seemed to understand, coming forward to detatch the small girl, letting him
step away, towards the Impala. That’s when Sam realized what was going on,
stepping forward himself to argue, but it was too late.
    Dean had already jumped into the driver seat, slamming the door shut and
peeling out as fast as he could without crashing, tires screeching in protest
as he left the last of his family behind. He made the mistake of looking in the
rear view mirror, hating what he saw. Obviously, Sam had tried to chase him
down, standing in the middle of the lot, hands pressed against his head,
pushing the long chestnut locks back. Meanwhile, Metta was still on the curb,
but barely any emotion was shown on her beautiful face, getting to the point
emotionally where she had just shut down. He had seen it happen a couple times,
after a fight got physical at a bar, or an innocent had died.
Another breathe, air getting lodged in his throat as he speed away, to keep her
safe.
                                   This is the worst part of loving her.
***** Can't Leave *****
Chapter Summary
     Everything hurts, but how could you leave someone who loves you back?
Chapter Notes
     NON-CONSENUAL SEX BETWEEN ADULT AND MINOR! DONT LIKE DO READ!)
          His hands stopped being loving a while ago, his lips stopped kissing
a little while after that. Those lips were now twisted into a proud smirk, her
pleas falling on uncaring ears as she wept. The slick on her cheeks matched the
set on her thighs, blood and juices mixing to create a horrific smearing
artwork. He grabbed at her chest, nails biting into her skin, breaking the skin
over her hips and rips.
            The pain and humiliation presented itself in the taunt muscles
under her tattooed skin that fluttered when he pressed his calloused palm in
between her shoulder blades. The girl’s rear was up in the air, vulnerable to
his harsh hips and predatory hands. No matter how much she screamed, and cried
and thrashed, Dean didn't stop.
            He even had the audacity to whisper disgusting things to her, about
her body, how scrawny and tight she was, about how musical she screams sounded
muffled by the mattress. Stars exploded behind her eyes in the worst way,
blinding the angel in pain and unwanted pleasure. The crying and screaming
ceased as her body went limp beneath his, accepting the fate she had resigned
to. He pulled her face up by the usual loose bun she wore, pressing her back
into his chest and bit her again, owning her and making her feel soul-crushing
emptiness instead of the full hope he usually did.
            In took him hours to fuck himself out, pushing her ragdoll body off
of his, before pulling on his clothes and leaving. Metta couldn't move,
couldn't talk, everything single thing, inside and out burned with the exertion
of fighting him. She wasn't even able to cry; only dry sobs heaved out of her,
face contorted in pain and emotion that welled up from deep inside of her.
Anger, at herself, at her family, at Dean for breaking the fragile hand of
trust she had extended to him; the pain of betrayal making her lungs burn, lack
oxygen from the sobs.
                                                              ~~~~~~
When he came back, hours later, the blood on her thighs has dried to a dark
brown crust and she had lost touch with the waking world. She was light in his
arms, bony frame bruised and bloody by his hands.
            He stripped himself out of his clothes and pulled her into the
scummy shower with him. Metta woke as the warm water hit her back, jerking back
from him, also slipping on the wet plastic.
            “Whoa sweetheart!” The older man exclaimed, arms looping around her
waist to keep her from falling and hitting her head. “Shh…Shh…Let me help you.”
He said, pulling her closer and cupping her chin softly.
            She didn't have the gall to look into his eyes, instead nodding,
leaning her forehead against his chest. His hands once again became gentle as
he washed the blood off of her bruised thighs. The muttered apologies seemed to
wash over her as much as the water did, leaving a withered shell of the person
she was.
            It was a week before she let him touch her again, and still even
now, she would flinch if he moved too fast in her direction. Dean treated her
like broken glass; tip toeing around her for weeks after. She didn't sleep in
the same bed as him anymore, opting for the floor and sometimes in the back of
the Impala, covering in her thin military blanket and waking with pains in her
hips and tears in her eyes.
            “You know…you know I didn’t mean it…Those things I said.” Dean
would mumble across the pillow, when she was finally able to sleep in bed with
him. His tainted green eyes closed and body lax, arm carefully waist.
            Not one for talking, Metta just nodded, her own body strung tighter
than a violin next to him, trying to will away the pieces of love and trust
that still clung to her vision when she saw him.
            “Leave if you want to. Nothing is stopping you.” He said, false
causalities lacing his voice. “If I make you feel this way,” The hand on her
stomach flattening, feeling the tense muscles under the pale skin twitch.
            “I have to stay…You know that. I was absent for too long , and
nothing you can do can drive me away.” The girl whispered, not even turning to
face him. “Or what kind of guardian angel would I be?” She said, her delicate
fingers skating across his. “I’m not in need of protecting, you are.” Metta
continued, lacing their hands together.
            The demon pressed a chaste kiss to her shoulder before lulling off
to sleep, leaving Metta to deal with everything, crushed under the weight of
his arm around her waist and his words in her head. But she loved him, and she
couldn’t leave someone who loved her too.
***** Burning Bridges *****
Chapter Summary
     It's been a few months, but she still flinches if he moves too fast.
     The one time he does, they have company.
Chapter Notes
     I was kind evil with this...sorry guys.
 Everyone was in the kitchen: Sam on his laptop, researching some lore on the
Mark of Cain...something about rivers and biblical meaning; Castiel was
standing in the corner and bouncing ideas off of Dean about rivers as Dean
chopped carrots for the soup that Metta was stirring. She cast tentatively
flirting glances in his direction. All in all it was the picture of a domestic
family.
     Until his hand moved towards her hip too fast, trying to be cute and
surprise her. The result was the fallen angel clutching onto the wooden spoon,
flinching away so his hand barely grazed the knit wool of her sweater.
    Apparently Metta had made some form of squeak, because three sets of eyes
were fixed on hers. The green eyes were concerned, eyebrow arching in question.
The hazel were brimming with confusion, a question forming on his articulate
lips. However, the blue eyes held a protectiveness she couldn't place, never
having had any family-related emotions towards her Archangel brothers . 
    The angel released her white knuckle grip on the spoon, before quickly
excusing herself, tears pricking at her eyes. Embarrassment and painful
memories painted her cheeks crimson. The pain in her hips flashed back to her,
his quick movements and groping hands canvased her imagined exposed skin. 
    "Metta!" Dean had called out after her, walking out to follow his
girlfriend as she made her way to a safe spot. The angel had several throughout
the bunker, any place warm and relatively well lit, often seeking them out when
someone was being tortured or company was over. 
    Eventually, he found her, curled up in a pile of blankets Metta had
fashioned into a little nest in the corner of the library. Those pale, delicate
hands covered her face: red and large tears streaking her cheeks, her breathes
audible and panted. 
    Dean crouched down, getting in her line of sight and trying appear less
threatening. "Baby...tell me what's wrong..." He said, slowly reaching a hand
out, as if she were a wounded animal. 
    "No!" She exclaimed, scuttling further into the corner. "I'm sorry! I'm
sorry! I-I didn't mean to..." Her hands moved away from her face, as if to hold
him off. 
    The motion brought a flood of memories back for him as well: seeing her
trashing, hearing her screaming as blood painted her thighs. Dean tipped back,
guilt avalanching and landing him flat on his ass with tears in his eyes. 
    "Oh God...Baby...No, No! I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I-I...oh my fucking god."
He pleaded, covering his mouth, brows raised in shock at his own actions. The
trepidation she had shown after he was returned to a human suddenly made sense,
her hesitation to have sex, or her nervousness about sharing a bed with him on
a hunt a week back. 
    He had done the unspeakable, and yet she was still here. Why? Why would
this girl, who he had already been put through hell still by his side, fighting
his fight and more. The guilt was unbelievable, he would probably never be able
to look in the mirror without seeing the consequences of his actions written
all over his face. His gaze was pulled back to her, looking at him through the
slats of her fingers with glassy eyes, on the verge of a decision. 
    "Dean..." The warning in her tone began another blossom of pain in his
chest, no longer able to look at her, only able to see pale skin and blood. 
    "I didn't...how could I...?" The unfinished questions hung in the air
between them, filling the tense space tighter and making it hard to breathe.
Metta forgave him, she really did, no other choice in the matter, but he would
never forgive himself. It's like with Charlie, except it wasn't just a few cuts
and a cast. This was deeper, more intimate, tearing at her soul and pushing
emotional limits she didn't know she had.
    "I did forgive you. You remember? It's oka-" 
    "No it's not Metta! It's never going to be okay! What I did to you? I
deserve to be strung up six ways from Sunday!" Dean interupted, pressing his
fingers into his eyes, trying to force the images and mixed guilt-pleasure
attached to them. 
    Two more sets of feet were approaching, cautious on the situation they
stumbled in on, which was the two people, in the rubble of trust and
understanding. 
    "Uh...guys? Is everything okay?" Sam asked, obviously confused and very
concerned when he saw his brothers face. 
    "No...Not after I..." Dean's voice was gruff, tears threatening to spill. 
    "Don't! Dean please!" Metta said, leaning forward to reach out and touch
his arm. It was now his turn to flinch away, backing away even further. 
    "I raped her. When I was a demon...and drunk and stupid and, and I fucking
ruined it." He spilled, standing and walking away, knocking shoulders with his
brother. It hurt more when he said it out loud, charging the air with pity and
shock. Everyone was wide eyed, the two men staring at her and her eyes stuck to
a dust mot on the concrete. 
    "Mettalise...why didn't you say anything?" Castiel finally said, anger
laced together with concerned and disbelief. 
    "It didn't seem important! Ignorance is bliss after all..." She trailed
off, biting her peeling lower lip. 
    "Didn't seem...? What he did to you was inconceivable and unforgivable!"
The older angel voice edged closer to shouting, causing her to stand, squaring
her shoulders, immediately on the defensive. 
    "I could say the same about you! Don't you forget how you just stood there,
quiet and on-guard as Micheal and Lucifer literally ripped my wings off! You
have done so much more to me! To humanity! He was a demon and drunk!
I forgave him Castiel!" Her hands moved about, emphasizing the importance of
her words. 
    Sam just leaned his back against the bookshelf, covering his mouth and
thinking the entire situation through and tuning out the arguing angels. 
    "My actions in the past do not define me in the present! I wasn't the
person I am now!" Castiel argued back. 
    "Then shouldn't you grant Dean the same liberty? He was a demon for
fucksake!" Her anger was making her forget herself, because Metta only used
curse words when her emotions reached extremes, but she couldn't exactly place
a which of many were bubbling under her skin. 
    Her point pulled him up short, his mouth opening and closing like a fish
out of water. The blue of his eyes were clearly visible as anger made his
pupils pinpoints. Castiel couldn't come up with a rebuff, before huffing
angrily and storming off into the War Room. Metta stormed off as well, shooting
her brother an icy glare and stumping away to finish cooking. 
     Sam was still in shock, watching the young girl's pony tail sway with her
steps. This innocence sparked rage within him, causing him to seek his brother
out, wanting answers. 
    It took him a couple minutes to find him, with his headphones on and music
playing too loud. 
    "Dean!" The younger Winchester shouted over the music, jolting the edge of
his siblings bed, pointing a very dangerous look at him. Taking off his
headphones, Dean still didn't look at him. 
    "What the fuck man...You just...? You just couldn't keep it in your pants?
Was she asking for it? What the hell made raping her even an option?" Cold rage
sharpened the words into razors, cutting deep and he couldn't explain himself,
not in the slightest. 
    "Sammy I don't-" 
    "Only my brother gets to call me Sammy. And you aren't my brother anymore."
He pinched the bridge of his nose, huffing a breathe. "She's 15 Dean! 15! Even
you having consensual sex is too illegal for words, but then you take advantage
of her? You really aren't my brother. You're a monster!" 
    Dean couldn't deny his allegations, letting his hand scrub over his face.
The guilt was honestly going to kill him. He had been taught better, should
have known what he was doing was wrong, even in the altered state his mind was
in. 
    "Now either you get your shit together, or we take her and our bags and
leave you here in this godforsaken bunker to rot." Sam threatened, seething
before turning on his heel and lumbering out, going to blow off some steam at
the shooting range and leaving his brother to face the consequences of his
actions.
                                                                 •••••••••
    Metta really didn't want to see the two boys, and she knew full well they
wouldn't let her see Dean for a while. All she did was buzz the kitchen
intercom and skipped before they could arrive. Not one to be neglectful, she
had already set out three bowls and the necessary untensils. 
    People were infuriating, the Angel knew that full well, settling into
another nest she had made. It was in an old bathtub, found covered in a grimy
film and waiting to be used again. She had spent a whole day scrubbing it and
making it's off white porcelain gleam. The next step was bringing in almost all
of the blanks she could find, dumping them in the basin to cover the cold
enamel. It took her a few more days to slowly creating a collection of books
and one of her laptops. All in all a perfect little place to run away from her
problems, drink and order random shit off of the Internet to regret later. 
    No one else knew about this place, her little sanctuary. Metta might have
well taped a "No boys allowed" note to the door and called herself a teenage-
six-year-old. But her privacy was respected here. Unlike the last pass she was
at. Some half-way house for 'troubled youth', honestly she felt like she could
have be little orphan Annie and Mr. Warbucks was instead a demon who picked her
up at a bar. 
    He was all sweetness with a tang of sarcasm when they met. Dean didn't even
flinch when she brought up her age, just kissing further down her neck and
making her forget whatever protests she might have had. 
    The two of them had been a thing, much to Crowley's disliking, and she got
to sit in the front seat, which made her shoot the King of Hell a sly smile,
locking her fingers with Dean's as one still remained on the steering wheel.
    He treated her like a princess in and out of the bedroom and she loved him
in return, his shy, sarcastic second half. Metta was very neutral on things, a
fulcrum for his anger, letting it tip to either incredible acts of violence or
a binge involving karaoke and him drinking so much it made her feel sick. She
was always there, leaving a Gatorade and Advil for him to have in the morning.
These were the only times she ever woke up before him and she savored it by
jamming to her iPod in her underwear and dressing relatively nicely, maybe a
skirt or blouse, confident that he would compliment her. 
    He eventually would, after he got rid of his head ache and showered the bar
smell off of himself. It would happen mostly in public, with a gruff comment
and a pat on the ass the turned the pale skin under her freckles red and
Crowley roll his eyes, scowling.  
    She remembered how they got their, after a bar fight that left Dean with
blood on his clothes and the guy who slapped her ass, right in front on Dean,
had several broken ribs and probably wouldn't make it through the night. Metta
couldn't make him stop, ending up with a large bruise on her cheekbone from the
pull back of his elbow.
    Even after they left he was seething, very twitchy and giving her some
glances that made her skin crawl. He was too drunk, too riled up and she tried
to get into bed, to rest, but he had other ideas. 
    The strings of pain were plucked, the events reminding her of the other
things she's seen. Metta wasn't one to forget things, and his actions hadn't
been the worst thing to happen to her. She guessed that this was the reason she
forgave him easily. It wasn't in her nature to forget, and sometimes it was
hard to forgive, but after everything the archangel had gone through to get
here, what happened to her wasn't an issue anymore. 
                                                   •••••••
    She was on her laptop for the rest of the night into the early morning,
collecting research and just browsing. 
    At some point she ended up on some fanfiction site, scrolling through and
raising several eyebrows at what people actual paired. The forum was run by
a BeckyWinchester17  and she was apparently an adamant shipper of something
called 'Wincest'. After some more digging and an urge to throw up, the angel
discovered what that was. 
    She was about to leave the site when a name caught her eye, it was her own.
The link 'Dean/Mettalise' stared back at her. She hurriedly clicked it,
fascinated that she was in works of fiction. 
    So now it was 5am and she was in the kitchen, making something for herself
and thinking over what the writers thought of her. They made her seem childish
and naive, while others made her seem like the baddest bitch alive. Lost in her
thoughts, she didn't notice Sam entering, shuffling in for his coffee and
breakfast before he went out on a session in the bunkers gym. 
    "Morning." The much larger man said, voice thick with sleep, rubbing his
eyes and pulling his mug out of the cabinet. 
    "Morning sweetheart." She responded, term of endearments nothing new, she
said them to everyone. 
    Sam didn't speak again until half of his coffee was downed and she had put
a plate of eggs infront of him. "Where did you go after...?" His question
trailed off, those hazel eyes reading her every movement. 
    "That's a secret."
    "We're you with him?" He asked, gruff and accusatory. 
    "It's not like it's any of your business." She said simply, pouring a small
pancake into creation on the pan.  
    "After he-" 
    "Drop it Sam. Just drop it." The Angel warned, pointing the spatula
menacingly in his direction. 
    "But how can you even-?" He tried ask again. 
    "I waited an eternity for him. Nothing he does to me matters at this point.
Seriously." She said, flipping the pancake and rolling her eyes. Why was it so
hard for people to understand. It pissed her off all the time how thick-skulled
they were sometime. 
the next person to enter the room is Castiel, face swollen with sleep and a
bed-head that revealed a tumbleweed. His grunt was the only greeting before he
reached for the coffee she was holding out to him. The pancakes were infront of
him before long as well, leaving her to lean against the counter and sip her
own coffee in the quiet kitchen.
"Have you seen Dean since yesterday?" Metta asked over her mug, eyeing the
entrance to the room.
"He came in to eat a bit then grabbed a bottle and left." Sam said, standing
and putting his dish in the sink. "If you need me I'll be in the gym." And with
that he walked out, shaking his head. 
Nodding her own head, she ruffled her eating brothers hair and turned in the
opposite direction Sam, heading towards the bedrooms. It didn't take long to
reach their door and she knocked on it carefully, honestly not knowing what to
expect when the door was opened. He didn't answer after a minute, she pressed
inside, greeted with a very familiar sight: Dean passed out drunk, face down in
her pillow and snoring loudly. 
"Oh...sweetheart." Metta sighed, pulling a blanket over him and brushed his
hair off of his forehead, causing his brow to crease before returning to it's
relaxed state. His eyes moved beneath it's lids, showing him dreaming, hoping
they would be at least somewhat pleasant. "I'll get you that gatorade...check
up on you in about an hour." She said to her sleeping lover, sighing and
standing. She surveyed the room as she walked towards the door, noting the
books on the floor and broken chair sitting in front of the desk.
Turning back to him, she sighed again, flicking off the lights and closing the
door, hoping he would forgive himself, like she already had. 
***** Breathing. *****
Chapter Summary
     Michael and Lucifer cross a line, and Mettalise is unable to stop
     them.
Chapter Notes
     So this is the very beginning of Metta's story! If you're interested
     in more, just ask!
    There is fury in his eyes, he is angry at her devotion to them, the people
who will soon walk the earth. Father said to serve them; protect them at all
costs from the beasts that roam the churning planet.

    She cries out, the first clump of golden feathers flits to the stone of the
cell. "Michael, please!" Her words echo, bouncing back at her, mocking her
weakness. The archangel could hear Samuel's guardian cry out, sounding wet with
blood from the cell next to her.

    "Listen very closely, because I am only saying this once. This is for your
own good." Michael said in a stern voice as he put a securing hand on her pale
shoulder, his fingers running softly over the feathers of her wings. With a
sudden hand pulled a fistful of feathers out, a clump of skin detaching as
well. She screamed, bleed welling up in the chunk were the skin had previously
been.

                                                                               
 -------------------------------------------
    The pain continued for what felt like an eternity, her brother methodically
plucking her wings until there was just the bleeding skin and bone under the
feathers. Mettalise began crying the first hour, when not even a quarter of her
feathers had been stripped from her.

    The cell next her was full of screams, gasped breathes and begging. The
other in the same position as her wasn't taking their exile well. She probably
wouldn't last very long on earth, which would be a shame, leaving Mettalise
alone to wonder the earth for ever.

    In the corner of her eye, a movement grabbed her attention, giving her
something other than the pain to focus in on. The movement turned out to be an
angel, a garrison leader in fact, Castiel. The older angel alerted Michael of
his presence with a small cough, causing her brothers gaze to shift from his
handy-work to the new man.
  
    "You are required in the garrison headquarters with urgent business that
cannot be put off." He intones, as if an automated message, his bright eyes
fixed over her to Michael. The older archangel huffed indignantly, letting a
fistful of feathers fall to the bloody ground. She knew he and Lucifer had told
them to be left alone for the next couple of days.
    “Of course, guard her while I am away.” Michael seethed, storming out past
the other angel, leaving her suspended in the cell, silent tears flowed down
her cheeks and fighting against the chains as if the movement would help her
escape the pain.
     Castiel’s eyes focused in on her, as she looked back at him, watery grey
gaze shifting to him and tilt her head, curious. “H-Hello Castiel.” Her voice
was scratchy and thin from the crying.
    “Mettalise.” He stated plainly, walking into the cell and avoiding the
crimson coated feathers and turning to look at her.
    “Castiel…can you promise me one thing?” She asked, head tilting up, to meet
his eyes.
    “I don’t keep promises with prisoners.” The other states plainly, almost
accusingly, narrowing his eyes at her.
    “Just…Just please look out for them, both of them if you can. Dean and
Samuel, they need to be protected. I-I know it might be too much to ask but I’m
begging you. Please Castiel.” Mettalise pleads, leaning forwards towards him
and rattling the chains restricting her wrists. Her desperation seemed to cause
a shift in his expression and he could no longer meet her gaze.
    The tension was broke as Michael appeared again, his shadow cast long and
dark in the doorway. “I hope she didn’t cause a problem.” He mused, stepping
forward and allowing Castiel to exit the cell as he moved towards her again.
    The hours continued, wreathing her like a rock by water, and eventually she
realized it was futile to even speak, resigning herself to agonizing silence as
the other angel screamed bloody murder, until one scream cut off sharply and a
heavy thud echoed through the stone prison.
    They both stopped, heads turning to the dividing wall between the cells,
eyebrows raising. At this point, one wing was completely bare, and the feathers
of the sensitive skin had been stripped.
    Lucifer appeared in front of the grate, blonde hair spattered with blood
and an intensely concerned face. “Rid her of the wings, she needs to leave
right now.” The angel said, sounding surprising calm despite the look on his
face.
    “What did you do?” He asked, bright gaze accusing.
    “She’s dead. Just cut the wings off!” He said, gripping the metal of the
door, eyes intense. Michael did just that, picking up his angel blade and
gripped the bare wing, cutting where the skin of her back met the plucked flesh
of her wings.
    The blood poured out heavily, and she once again cried out in agony, the
nerves in her body on fire as the muscles of her back pulled taut. He did the
other one quickly, before pulling her down and handing her limp body over to
Lucifer, ushering both of them out of their quickly.
    As the two of them ran to the gates, Mettalise fought vainly, pushing at
her brother’s shoulders and cursing loudly. All of them arrived at the large,
golden gates, Michael opened them with a swipe of his hand, and Lucifer
scurried to the edge, to look down at the precipices down to earth. With a
toss, he through her over the edge, causing her to scream, reaching out to grab
at his hands, renewed tears shining her eyes. Then falling, everything whizzing
by and the new atmosphere lit her back on fire, cauterizing the blood.
    When the angel hit the rocky surface, her scrawny body caused a huge dent,
flames licking at her pale flesh, she lay there, still as the stone she was
laying on. Pain slammed her like aftershock, every nerve tingling with a pain
that went beyond physical, the emotion pain of familial rejection.
    As the flames died, she noticed that scars were forming, criss-crossing her
skin like a grotesque tapestry to remind her of what she had just lost. The
tears didn’t come anymore, just leaving her to sit quietly, lungs filling,
before they collapsed, releasing a choked groan.
    This was how her eternity would be spent. Breathing in, breathing out,
simply resigned to her fate as it was: lonely, pathetic and never ending.
                                                       It’s better this way.
***** The Executioner's Song *****
Chapter Summary
     Dean is fighting Cain, she knows the outcome but the thought still
     twists her stomach. Metta must face the fact that most of his battles
     he must fight alone. Also someone new steps into the picture and
     pulls the hot in hostile.
Chapter Notes
     So this is season 10 episode 14 'The Executioner's Song', but I did
     change it a bit to fit with the characters and story line.
Honestly this was going to kill him, which she was against entirely. She didn't
ride in the car with them, instead teleporting to Ohio and smoking a mom n' pop
liquor store out of all the cigarettes they had on stock. 
When they pulled up to the barn, Metta was laying in a field of dead wild
flowers, puffing smoke into the chilled air. Her jacket provided barely any
warmth, but she needed alone time. Too much constant chatter and hurt looks and
the debilitating sadness that followed the Winchester's was impossible to avoid
at this point.
 The two angels had a hard time with emotion sometimes, and she never liked
talking to Castiel because they always fought, but when he saw that black shiny
shrine to lost testosterone again she could tell he was afraid. Of what, she
wasn't sure. Her bet was on Dean, knowing most likely how this would play out
and what affected all of them if he didn't make it out alive. 
"Hey Cas." Dean greeted the tie-clad Angel as the two brothers exited their
vehicle. 
Castiel nodded at him, looking around for any sign of Metta getting out of the
car behind them. 
"She's didn't come here with us. Got pissy about the whole thing and flew off
while we were packing the truck." Dean explained, him and Sam following the
dying angel's gaze. 
 It definitely pissed Dean off. Metta had been growing distant as of late and
falling back into bad habits. She wasn't sleeping anymore, or if she did it was
brief naps in the car between 'Gas n Sips' and she rarely sat it the front seat
anymore. Metta used the excuse she wanted Sam to have more leg room, not that
Sam was complaining. 
In general she had become very drawn up and Angel like, which freaked both of
them out. She was pouring over old lore about angels and only stealing fries
from Dean's plate. With her sunken cheekbones and dark circles adorning her
eyes, the girl might as well have been a corpse. 
Speak of the Devil.  
All three heads turned when they heard a woosh of air. The only reason she was
able to teleport to the them is because she had hex bags sewn into all of their
jackets and used her own to transport. A fact they were all unaware of due to
her light touch and skill with a needle and thread.
"Here I am. Sorry I'm a bit late. Had to finish a cigarette." Metta pulled the
lame excuse. So what if she had been playing Russian Roulette with a bottle of
sleeping pills in the middle of a random ass field? It was none of their
business. She just lost track of time weighing her own existence verse the
guilt of the events to come.  
"No worries. Crowley is on his way." Sam said, bitterness coating the King of
Hell's name in distaste.
Her eyebrows inched up slightly, a bit shocked by his reaction. He had never
really presented that level of physical disdain for the demon, more of a burn
hatred that festered just under the younger Winchesters skin. It was rare for
him to show much he disliked an object, especially around his big brother, whom
he was handling like Dean was spun glass. To be completely honest, her patience
was wearing thin with everyone and she was wanted to put a bullet in her
skull. 
Instead of just grabbing her gun and doing just that, she turned her head back
to look at the barn in question. It was shabby, and she could hear the squeaks
of basketball shoes and the dull thud of basketball against the concrete. It
was very annoying, the sound bouncing around in her head and driving her
insane. She interrupted the middle of the conversation, "Where do you want the
kid? The bunker?" Metta looked and sounded just about as irritated as she was. 
"U-Uh...Yeah sure. No wait, take him to Jody's place." Sam stammered, looking
flustered out her outburst. Both Castiel and Dean had eyebrows raised at her,
but she just skirted their gaze.
Turning on her heel she marched into the barn and told the kid, 'I'm an angel,
don't let go of my arm if you want to live.' and she was off to Jody's. The
sheer amount of hex bags she has made still amazes her. She showed up,
explained that Alex, or Austin, whatever the kids name was would be staying
with this nice lady for the night, and she would be back to bring him home in
the morning. With that she squeezed the hex bag in the sleeve of her hoodie and
disappeared back to the shabby barn in Ohio. 
The light was fading fast, and from what she could see, Crowley had arrived and
the party had moved indoors. As she walked into the barn, the smell of damp hay
and fertilizer, it wasn't exactly unpleasant, but the air was also tainted with
magic and a weight of impending doom. 
"Hey Metta...you want to talk about whatever-" Dean said, approaching her
quietly with an hand reached out. 
"Please don't...just...okay Go talk you to your brother okay? I'm not important
right now. Get yourself ready. Know I love you." Her voice was small and she
grasped his hand lightly. In the end, he would always go to Sam, trust Castiel.
Long ago she accepted the fact, made peace with the harsh truth she wouldn't
ever be as important as them and honestly she was glad. She did't like the
constant attention, hated the fact that her movements were watched. It was a
slow burning rage, one that picked at her whenever she was with any of them.
But she knew, she just knew as soon as Dean was in trouble again she would get
sucked into this maddening cycle.
Nodding, the taller man pulled away, smiling and pressing a soft kiss to her
forehead. "Promise you won't get in the way. Just let whatever happen, happen.
I'll make a promise too. I promise I won't make you kill me. You got that baby
doll? I love you too. Always will." He said before walking away, stupid bow
legs bending and he looked cold without his jacket on. Metta tried not to
mother him, so she didn't comment of it, just sucked in a breath and tried not
to pass out. 
The anxiety was setting in. She felt hot all over, despite being able to see
her breath in the lights of the barn. The world tilted, and she felt her
stomach twisted, everything was shifting again and all headache was settling
in. Oh God this is not going to be fun. 
Half an hour later, Cain had arrived, threatening the little pill of amaranth
that looked like the kid. Castiel had some part of it, a distraction for the
final preparations to be made inside. It was her job to spray the devils trap,
meticulous and fast and the brown can rattled away against her palm. 'After
this I deserve a cigarette and a kiss.'  Metta thought, scowling as Dean waved
her to him, signaling the show was about to get on the road. More fear and
anxiety swirled in her gut at the look in his eyes. He was terrified. As much
as she wanted to get away from him, she couldn't instead pulling him down for a
tight hug, trying to convey want little strength she had left to give to him in
his hour of need.
The stairs barely even moved at her light foot falls, behind Dean's much
heavier tread. Tension was high as the it took about five minutes for all five
of them were standing in an awkward circle. 
Words were exchanged that she wasn't paying attention to, standing stiffly next
to Sam. Until the phrase 'Kill whatever comes out.' was said by Dean. Shaking
her head, she had to close her eye to keep from reaching over and smacking the
freckles off of his face. 
How could he be so arrogant? So self-centered and dim-witted to think he
wouldn't make it out of this. If he were going to die Metta would have him a
million miles away in less than a heartbeat. His self loathing and crippling
ability to underrate himself were starting to pick away at her nerves, one by
one fraying her to an unrecognizable monster. 
All the men around her sucked in a collective gasp as the blade slid into his
palm. His eyes darkened and his blade welding arm quaked before he looked up at
his brother, malice imperceptible if you weren't looking for it. 
But she was, and she knew, from that moment, how Sam's story would end.
Practically see the end of his life by Dean's hands, how unbalanced and out of
control the older Winchester would truly become. 
He made it up the stairs before she ran to throw up on the hay outside of the
barn, one hand gripping the door, the other over her stomach as she wretched.
The panic and anxiety only fueled the real reason she was letting her guts out
onto the ground. She would be one of the first to die. 
It was never her plan to be killed by Dean, and it wasn't going to be the end
for her, that she knew for a fact. But the same couldn't be said for the
others, his real friends and family the actually meant something to him, who
had been there for his long haul. 
She had to leave, and leave she did, quickly teleporting to a diner in some
random town they passed through a month ago on a hunt. Metta liked their
pancakes enough to meld a hex bag to the bottom step of the entrance. 
With frazzled nerves she wandered in, happily undisturbed, sitting down in a
booth in the far corner with a good view of the TV. Two other patrons and a
waitress were the only people visible, one a construction worker and another
was a girl with dark brown eyes looking directly at her, as if she just knew
Metta wasn't human. 
It was after she ordered a milkshake and a basket of seasoned fries did the
stranger stand. The woman looked about 20, tall, like 5'8 and curvy, with wavy
black hair and pretty brown eyes that looked like they could melt steel and
hearts judging by there intensity. 
"Are you an angel?" The mystery babe asked as she slid onto the padded faux
leather of the bench. 
"Was that flirting?" She shot back, the waitress setting the chocolate shake on
the table and offered a smile as she went to the counter again. Her brashness
surprised her, as she wasn't really one to be flirted with.
"No, I'm asking if you are an angel of the Lord. You know, harps and halos?"
The other asked, leaning forward on her elbows, both eyebrows raising. One
eyebrow had two studs in it, which somehow accented her gorgeous eyes and
complimented her facial features nicely. 
"Um...Who wants to know?" Metta asks, her own eyebrows, sipping her shake to
get the vomit taste out of her mouth. Now she was curious. To everyone else,
she just looked like a sickly teenager who essentially unapproachable. So how
could this woman even know?
All was explained when those baby brown eyes flicked to black. 
"Arron. Arron wants to know." The demon grins, resting her chin on her hands.
Her eyes return to normal as the waitress comes back with the fries, setting
them down in between then and hurrying off. 
"Well then, yes Arron. I am an angel. The names Mettalise, but please, call me
Metta." She smirks, popping a fry into her mouth. Looking at her watch she
freaked, knowing he would probably be done fighting with Cain any minute.
"Listen, I have to go soon, you're hot, finish my fries if you want to and call
me." The angel smiled, throwing a ten on the table and sliding a piece of paper
with her number on it across the table.
As she made he way out the door she shot the smirking demon a wink before
squeezing her hex bag and poofing out of existence. Crowley eyed her
suspiciously, clicking his phone off. The nervousness swirled in her stomach
again, and she felt tired, and anxious and panicked.
"Where have you been?" Sam hissed, eyebrows coming together and creases
appeared on his forehead. 
"Other than puking my guts out, right here." She lied through her teeth, before
they heard a shout, causing Metta's nerves to frazzle even more, and she rushed
towards the stairs on instinct, only caught by Castiel, who pulled her back
against his chest and put a hand over her mouth as she struggled to free
herself. Their eyes became alight with grace as he turned them away from the
other two and Sam walked away as Crowley watched on amused as the guardian
angel struggled to reach Dean.
With any other animal cry and the thud of a body against the concrete. Everyone
frozen, eyes wide in shock and some sense of relief that the suspense would be
over.
She broke out of the distracted angels grip and made her way to the bottom of
the stairs, seeing if Dean was okay. He was holding two blades, his face
scratched up and a glass shard sticking out of one of the cuts.
Dean's foot steps were heavy as he made his way down to the floor. The king of
hell had his hand held out to receive the blade,  only to glare offended when
he handed the first blade to Castiel, who took it hesitantly. Then there was
tight throats and reassurance that only his brother could give. The older
Winchester looked so tired, wrecked and lost. 
It was a surprise to everyone when Crowley grabbed her wrist, blunt fingernails
digging into the tender flesh on the inside of her arm. "Since you took
something important to me, I may as well do the same." He said before
vanishing, taking the angel with him. She put up a fight, trying to use her hex
bag to escape. "Don't even think about using that hex bag, love. I could smell
it on you from a mile away." The king seethed before throwing her into a cell
and shutting the cell down. "I'll have a friend check on you." 
She was left with her thoughts for a few hours, until the door clicked,
swinging open to reveal someone she couldn't really forget, and she gulped,
standing across for the taller figure.
"Torture time! Oh and...thanks for the fries."
***** Rocking the Boat *****
Chapter Summary
     Sometimes love isn't enough. Arron is causing a problem and Metta
     isn't saying anything. Dean is
Chapter Notes
     This is the chapter before the end. After this there are three more
     stories that complete the series. So stay tuned guys!
They weren't going to last longer at this rate. She wasn't going to last much
longer either. The two of them were sprialing and she was beginning to regret
her decision to make her existence known him. Events of their past together was
beginning to catch up to them. All she saw in his eyes now were guilt and
bitter contempt, fighting his own demons and the Mark. 
The fighting between the two was bad, but the silence after was even worse,
tense and she forced herself  to leave, go outside, stand in the outer
stairwell of the bunker to smoke her stress and scream her frustration. She
would cry herself hoarse, cursing herself and him and the ground she knew she
would be buried under one day. Metta's eyes held nothing but desperation,
desperation to feel something other than her skin crawling overwhelmed all
other feelings she kept bottled up. 
She still loved him, wanted to love him more, but she could barely be in the
same room with him now. They were trying make it work, like trying to make a
skyscraper from toothpicks. Dean was struggling too, his burden coming the
increasing difficult and his mental and physical health on the decline.
Everyone was strung thin trying to find a cure. Even Arron was working on it,
helping the Angel look into things and investigate. 
Metta felt close to the demon, her polar opposite at her side and that fact was
surprisingly comforting. Arron showed interest in her as well, and soon started
to get with her outside during her fits, just observing her as the girl would
vent. Leaning against the wall as the tiny angel ranted about nothing and
everything, sharing stories over cigarettes and tears. The two supernatural
creatures grew closer than they expected, hanging out when the boys were busy
and going out to eat. Metta began to trust her demonic partner in crime,
telling fake, petty secrets and watching her keep them. 
The first time Arron kissed her was in the back of the impala. Sam and Dean
were inside, questioning a professor about mythology that she already knew. It
was hard and fast and soaked in the sexual tension that had been growing since
they broke out of Hell. Metta didn't fight it, didn't push the girl off yelling
at the other.  
The exact opposite, actually. Instead pulled her back in and the two of them
made out like teenagers at a drive in movie. Their only warning was the sound
of the two brothers yelling at each other from across the university parking
lot. It was a scramble to sooth their finger tangled hair and tuck each other's
bra back under their shirts. When both men entered the car, Metta pretended to
be asleep and Arron had her headphones in.
Dean and Sam didn't suspect much, just shaking their heads at each other and
driving off. In the motel, they made eye-contact, Arron smirking dangerously at
her, causing the angel to blush darkly and look at the floor. Her and Dean
shared the room next to them, Arron slept in the room with Castiel and Sam
slept in the car. Another fight broke out between the two of them, this one
about Metta leaving her panties on the ground before going to take a shower. 
The yelling continued and everyone could hear them, nasty and unnecessary
things like fathers were brought into the mix and it escalated to things being
thrown. Cas almost broke the door down to separate the two of them. The room
was trashed and she was in tears, an event that was becoming more and more
frequent. When Metta was finally out of the room it was her and Arron in the
trashed motel room. The demon was laying on the bed as she ran around the room
crying, frantically trying to find her cigarettes. 
"Metta...let's get back at him. Show that bastard why he shouldn't talk to you
like that." Arron mentioned, smirking as her arms crossed behind her head.
"Why am I with him? Do you have any idea what he's done to me? He's a fucking
dick!" She ranted, finding Dean's keys next to her pack and lighter.
"We could...I don't know...steal his car? Go get Starbucks? Show that fucker
not to mess with you anymore." The demon sneered, getting up to pick up the
keys and twirling them around on finger. In her anger it made perfect sense,
and her tear stain face contorted in malice. 
While the three boys were talking, the angel demon duo crept outside, hopping
into the car and honking the horn as they sped out of the parking lot, Metta
flipping Dean the finger from the passenger seat as shitty pop music poured out
of the speakers. The look on his face was priceless and she knew she would
always have a picture of it ingrained in her mind. They hit the road, driving a
couple hours down the highway til they found a Starbucks, getting coffee and
making out against the wall in the alley, along with smoking about three packs
of cigarettes between them both. It was peaceful and she liked the break from
the constant stress and strain of her relationship.
When they came back, dawn was breaking over the snow capped mountains, both
were laughing, holding their third venti cappuccinos and Uptown Funk was on the
radio. Dean tore out of the room and stormed up to the car, pulling open the
door and practically ripping her out of the car. He growled vague threats as he
pulled her into a tight hug.
"I was so fucking worried. Never do that again..." The taller man mumbled into
her hair, rubbing her back. Metta sighed, nodding, casting a guilty glance at
Arron, who looked like she had just eaten a canary. 
This might be a problem.
***** Letting Go. *****
Chapter Summary
     Love is supposed to mean something.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
 
She didn't exactly know how they ended up in this position, or whose bra was on
the kitchen floor, but damn she didn't really care. The young angel was pressed
against the cabinets, jean clad ass on the counter top engaging in probably the
best make out to ever exist like ever.
Oh of course this had to be the moment Dean wandered in from doing research to
grab another beer. The empty bottle shattered against the ground, causing both
girls to whip around; Metta in fear and Arron with smug satisfaction. 
This was the worst time to realize the bra was her's, leaving Metta very
exposed with a demon standing between her legs. "I-I can explain..." The
blushing girl stammered, using the hands that were tangled in Arron's hair to
cover her exposed breasts. 
Arron was still standing in between the thighs she was semi holding.
"So...um...I'm guessing you haven't told him yet?" 
"Wait, this isn't the first time?!" Dean spoke for the first time, causing an
awfully awkward silence that made the angel cringe.
"Maybe...?" Metta croaked, voice turning up at the end. 
He looked like he was about to stab both of them, the mark flaring, clearly
visible due to his short sleeves. This was going to get ugly, she could feel
it. The emotion and tension built between all of them until Arron shifted to
help put Metta's bra back in place. 
"Touch her again and I'll kill you," the older Winchester seethed, stepping
forward a bit closer to the both of them. The demon put her hands in the air,
feigning innocence and stepping back, leaving her angel counterpart to face the
green eyed scrutinizing gaze alone. 
"D-Dean...p-please don't be-," she tried, only to have his hands slam down on
the counter, causing a whimper and flinch, the instinct to protect herself
kicking in. 
Arron's eyebrows came together, dark eyes moving between them before her eyes
widened and a hand came up to cover her mouth. 
The two didn't notice the demon's sudden realization. They were too engaged in
a heated stare as she reached for her shirt, like a person would approach a
steak in front of a starving wolf. The scrawny Angel brought the cloth back
slowly, backing down by breaking their gaze to put her shirt on, looking at the
ground ashamed. 
"I should have seen this coming," he said, still glaring her down. The
statement caused Metta to whip around, looking indignant and confused. 
"What's that supposed to mean?" 
"It means that you've been so desperate for a fuck that you'll honestly go
with anyone for a piece of ass!" Dean yelled back, the argument switching gears
fast.  
"Well maybe I wouldn't have had to if you would've actually payed attention to
me!" Metta shouted, hopping off the counter and getting as in his face as she
possibly could with the 8 inches of height difference. 
"You were the one picking fights and ignoring me! I guess now I know why; so
you could run off and screw this mouth-breathing demon bitch!" He gestured
angrily to the woman watching them fight like children. 
"It's called having a deviated septum you asshole," Arron muttered, eyebrows
coming together at the insult. 
Dean looked even more furious, glare shifting from the angel getting in his
space to the demon leaning against the kitchen table. "You shut your whore
mouth." 
Metta was fed up. She needed to go outside, away from the charged, heavy air
that had settled over the room. Pushing passed him, she walked out, tears
pricking her eyes and two pairs of eyes burning holes in the back of her
tshirt. 
"Don't think you can just walk away from this!" Dean shouted after her,
following the celestial being as their little procession of weird made its way
into the War Room, adjacent to Sam and Castiel who were sitting in the library.
All eyes shifted to the two arguing. The event was nothing new, but it still
carried the trainwreck aspect of one not being able to look away from the
carnage. 
"Leave me alone Dean!" She said, not turning around to look at him. Metta
stopped in plain view of everyone, their abusive past making her carefully
dictate her actions, hoping he wouldn't hit her infront of other people. "I
don't want to have this fight..." 
"Well too bad! You were the one sucking face with that demon!" Dean said too
loudly, making sure the other two men in the library could hear her
transgressions, shaming her even further. 
"You know, you keep saying it like it's the worst thing I could've done! Stop
trying to make me forget that you were a demon once too! At least she had the
courtesy to ask for my fucking consent." Metta raised her voice as well, making
a searing point to turn at the word consent. Shame and guilt flashed through
his eyes before it was replaced with rage at the fact that she would even bring
up such a topic. 
"Are you gonna hold that above me forever? I get it, I fucked up, but I didn't
cheat!" He yelled, as if his statement was logical and truthful. 
"That's a lie and you know it! Every other week you were off with some busty
waitress while I payed the tab! Maybe we should call Ann Marie to back me up on
the fact. You can ride in on your white horse to beat the shit out of someone
to 'defend her honor' while your real girlfriend is inside trying to remind
herself that the reason she's there is because she fucking loves you!" The
words left her mouth before she could stop them, volume loud and everyone heard
it. She said she loved him, screamed it at him actually, in front of everyone. 
"Well it's too bad that I don't love you!" 
Her world shattered. Who knew a sentence could hurt worse than a knife? She
wasn't prepared when he continued to speak. 
"I didn't need you then, I don't need you now! You were just there to keep the
front seat warm and to take out some aggression, it was you who was stupid
enough to stay when no one wanted you!" This wasn't him, she told herself,
tears betraying what his words had done. 
The room was dead silent. Glances were thrown around between Sam, Castiel, and
Arron, wide eyed looks of shock and slight fear, trepidation to intervene, not
exactly sure what either was capable of at this point. 
The small angel's breathing became somewhat ragged, cloud grey eyes shutting,
as she hung her head, breaking his gaze to look at cold ground beneath her
shoes. "Fine..." she whispered, cheeks painted with an angry blush, so dark the
freckles became hard to find. 
Slowly, almost mechanically, she moved her feet, walking past him to the room
they shared. Their little cut of paradise before their relationship got shot to
hell. Metta pulled her leather satchel out from the closet and began opening
her drawers. She needed to leave. He didn't love her, or need her. It was all a
lie and she was only in the way. 
More yelling came from the room she just left, the sound of a struggle and very
quick footsteps making their way over to the room. Her cheeks were wet and her
vision blurry as she began to pull her meager amount of clothes and knickknacks
into the tattered canvas bag. A head poked into the room, two dark eyes
settling on the angel packing to leave.  
"He didn't mean it," Arron said simply, leaning against the doorframe. 
"Yes, he did." It came out flat, almost emotionless, except for the crack at
the end, revealing her vulnerability. 
"He's furious, punched me in the face. As soon as you walked out he turned
and..." She mimed the punch, her nose trickling blood and cut across the
bridge. She looked, eyes drinking it what she had inadvertently caused, guilty
and shameful. "Listen, this is my fault, he's more mad at me. You guys can just
fuck each other senseless and make up right?" There was naive hope lacing the
fake sarcasm of her statement. 
Shaking her head, Metta picked up a small book, bound in cheap floral wallpaper
she got in some random town. Her tears started anew at the memories that were
inside; the words, cheesy letters, and pictures mocked her. She placed it
carefully on top of her clothes, wanting to keep a log of her time with Dean,
when she was happy and fufilled because she could protect him. Her angel blade
rattled in the drawer, drawing her attention the the piece of metal. 
It was kept in the nightstand for weak moments. When Dean was asleep Metta
would take it out, pressing edge into places she knew would kill her,
tentatively spinning it against her chest, heart beating heavy and fast as if
it was pulling the blade in, wanting to end itself. The item was staring her
down until she picked it up as well, shoving it roughly into the bag and
zipping it. She pulled her jacket on before slinging the duffel over her
shoulder and the satchel on top of that. 
Her grey eyes flashed to the other girl before she let an impluse speak. "Come
with me," the angel said quickly, knowing Arron didn't need to pack, just hop
in the car with her and drive. 
"Alright, let's go," she said with a small smile, pushing herself off of the
door frame and waiting, letting Metta go first. Both of them had to walk
through the War Room, where for all intensive purposes Dean was. It did send a
hint of fear through her, but her almost non existent pride spiked at the
thought that Dean would think her weak; tucking her tail between her legs and
running. He would know how much of a coward she was; how little he meant to her
if she didn't go out with a bang. 
With her chin tilted up, she walked into the main room, her gaze barely
shifting to see Castiel and Sam talking down a distraught Dean, his face red
and a glass in his hands. He looked up at her, standing abruptly, the heavy
wooden chair slamming into the floor, it was loud and the echo made it almost
deafening. "Baby! Wait, please I can explain!" 
"Who are you calling Baby? I don't see your car," Arron quipped, stopping with
her and crossing her arms over her larger chest. 
"I-I'm sorry, you...I didn't mean it, it was the Mark, but you still..." he
stammered, looking flustered and frustrated before his eyes zeroed in on the
bags. "Are you? No you're not leaving," he said, making his way forward a bit
before Sam's hand stopped him with a grip on his brother's shoulder. 
"You told me, you said I could leave, after that terrible awful thing you did
to me. You said I could leave and nothing was keeping me with you. Well nothing
has changed. You're worse than you were when you were a demon. Because I can
see the goodness of your soul and it had no effect on your treatment of me. I
have no choice," Metta said, trying to sound detached, but her voice kept
breaking, a white knuckled grip forming on the strap of her bag.
Metta continued to make her way toward the garage, hearing now two steps of
footsteps behind her, as well as hushed whispers. It irked her, causing her to
turn, looking at Sam and Arron talking quietly, stopping so abruptly that the
two almost ran her over. 
"What are you talking about?" The small angel demanded, arching an eyebrow. 
"I just wanted to know if you're coming back...if we need you." Sam said,
looking sheepishly at her for the first time, as if he was unsure she was safe
to approach.
"Then call. It's not like I'm about to plummet off the face of the earth. If
you need, pray, call, I don't care." She explained quickly before grabbing
Arron's hand and dragging her off to the garage, the demon shooting Sam a
sympathetic look and waving. 
Metta picked a newer car, a black Subaru with an arsenal in the trunk, Sam
stole it a while back. It didn't take her long to changes the licenses plates
and get her stuff into the back of the car, her demonic counterpart looking on
and her deft fingers worked quickly, wanting to get out quickly before the boys
got any ideas. 
The two slid into the front as soon as she was done, both silent as Metta
pulled out of the spot, letting Arron out in the front to open the door and
they sped off, leaving a chapter of her life behind, the little hobbity hole
she called home for the better part of a year. 
Everything was spinning and she flicked on the radio, switching it to a shitty
pop station and they both sang along to the songs they knew. Sure she was
feeling unbelievably empty and anxious inside, but the angel knew it was going
happen one way or another. 
Maybe this would be a better story, the next go around. One where she's in
control of herself and does whats right. But for now she keeps driving, singing
along to a Meghan Trainor song and forgetting her painful lives before, this
was a new one, and she wouldn't mess it up.
Chapter End Notes
     So this is the end of this part! I will have another story up in
     about a day of two! The next story is going to be a lot happier,
     trust me!
End Notes
     Authors NOTES: This is part 1 of Loving me is the Worst thing you
     could do. Enjoy! I'm taking suggestions as well, so message me! Also
     a kudos and comment are appreciated.
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