#(the hot version not the other ones from spn and gomens)

[smilingformoney]

Rickmas 2023: Day 14. A Light in the Night | Metratron & Reader

Content warning: suicidal thoughts

Read now on Ao3 or below the cut:

Having a guardian angel was strange. Due to some godly magic you couldn’t quite understand, you never remembered that you had one or why until he appeared, and then it was like you’d never forgotten. So when you looked out of your window on Christmas Eve and saw an unusual light floating in the air, you thought it might be a drone or something until it came closer to you and Metatron appeared in your bedroom, and suddenly it made complete sense.

“Oh, what now?” you sighed.

“Merry Christmas to you too!” the angel retorted with irritation. “All the times I’ve saved your ungrateful arse from making another stupid decision, and all I get is what now?”

“Every time you show up, it’s never with good news. It’s always don’t do the thing you really want to do, [Y/n], or else there’ll be terrible consequences. Never you’re on the right track and good things are coming your way. Can’t you bring me good news for once? Or just a social call would be nice.”

“I don’t have time for social calls, and if I did they certainly wouldn’t be with you.”

“How can you not have time? You’re literally older than time itself.”

“You’re not my only ward, you know. But you are my most bothersome.”

You crossed your arms and huffed. You’d grown up in care after your mother died when you were a baby, and growing up in the system naturally meant you got yourself into a lot of trouble, but you’d always found that fortune brought you a way out of it.

Then, on your 18th birthday, you discovered that fortune hadn’t been a factor at all - it had been Metatron, your guardian angel, secretly protecting you. Once you became an adult he was able to reveal himself to you, and boy did he rip you a new one for all the shit you pulled. Once his rant was over, he’d revealed that the reason you had no idea who your father was was because he never existed - you were an immaculate conception, your mother being the last descendent of Jesus Christ of all people. You didn’t have any siblings, what with her having died when you were a baby, and so you were left to carry the mantle of being the last descendent of Jesus.

All this had been explained to you with many a weary sigh and quite a few expletives. If you were meant to be the last Jesus or whatever, weren’t you supposed to have the best of the best for a guardian angel? Why had God sent you this guy?

“Look, fine, I’m your last choice for new Jesus. Why are you here?”

“For the last time, you’re not new Jesus. You’re just his bloodline, which for some reason I agreed to protect. And you know perfectly well why I’m here.”

He nodded to your hand and the bottle of pills you were holding.

“That’s a one-way ticket to Hell, you know.”

“Sure, like God’s gonna let new Jesus go to Hell.”

“Which is why I’m here.”

“You’re just making me want to kill myself even more.”

Metatron sighed and sat himself next to you on the bed. He awkwardly patted your thigh in an attempt to be comforting.

“Tell me why. I can make your problems go away with a snap of my fingers, you know.”

“Can you fix my brain?” you muttered bitterly.

“What’s wrong with your brain?”

“Dunno. Just doesn’t work properly. Like… there’s something missing. Something I can’t quite place my finger on. And even when I remember all this — I just feel overwhelmed by it all. The pressure of being what I am…”

You sighed and turned the pill bottle over in your hand, fidgeting with it.

“At least in Hell I’d feel something.”

“Pain. Horrible, excruciating pain. Forever.”

You ran a finger down one of the faded scars on your forearm. “Pain helps sometimes.”

Metatron sighed. “Sometimes I don’t understand why He made you so…”

“Pathetic?”

“Human. Not just you, all of your family. You carry pain I could never understand.” You scoffed, and he said, “Do you think Jesus didn’t hurt too?”

You looked up at him then, frowning. “Wasn’t He meant to be perfect?”

“He was. So are you. Perfectly human and perfectly divine.”

“Too human.”

“…Maybe. But who am I to question God’s design?”

“You should always question authority, Metatron.”

“And that attitude right there is why you keep getting yourself into trouble.”

You closed your eyes and held the bottle up. “Go on. Get rid of it.”

“Is this your choice?”

“Yes, just do it.”

Metatron snapped his fingers, and suddenly your fingers were grasping onto thin air.

“I don’t want to come back again,” he said.

“Hate my company that much?”

“You are extremely irritating, [Y/n], and quite possibly the worst choice for ‘new Jesus,’ as you keep calling yourself, out of all of my wards. There’s a lovely farm boy in Tunisia, for example, if only he was a scion - hey!” Metatron winced as you hit his arm. “That would have hurt if I had pain receptors!”

“Well, there’s the difference between you and me, Metatron. That’s why God wants His scion to be human — because we know what life feels like. We know love and loss and fear and pain. We can see the beauty in the little things and the majesty in the big things. We know - I know - that life is horrible and beautiful at the same time. People are cruel and they’re kind and they can be both at the same time. We’re tiny and insignificant - and we’re giants.”

You looked up at him, and he had a strange look on his face. It might have been a smile, but you’d never seen him smile before, so you weren’t sure he was even capable of it.

Outside, the clock struck midnight.

“Merry Christmas, Metatron.”

“Happy birthday, [Y/n].”

“Will you stay a bit longer? I don’t want to forget yet.”

Metatron paused, then nodded.

“Alright. Maybe I do have time for a social call after all. Where do you keep your whisky?”