metatron walks into a random office in heaven and sees a dozen desks situated in a half-circle facing the door. it’s odd, though, because the large leather swivel chairs all have their backs situated to him.
“hello?” he calls out, hesitantly.
as one, the chairs swirl around, and metatron feels himself pinned with the righteous, furious gazes of nine people, all with their fingers steepled before them, all glaring at him.
metatron’s head turns slowly from left to right, taking them all in, feeling his spirits sink as his eyes slide past the cold fury in the faces of ellen harvelle, bobby singer, rufus turner, jo harvelle, linda tran, jimmy novak, mary winchester, jessica moore, and victor hendricksen.
the silence hangs heavy for a moment.
bobby’s gruff voice breaks it.
“heard you were fuckin shit up and messin with my boys.”