Metatron, thanks to Sam and Dean, no longer had his grace. He was human. And he was homeless.

Oh how the mighty have fallen.

His stomach was rumbling, aching painfully from the emptiness. The familiar pang of hunger made him feel nauseous.

He hated this, he hated feeling like this.

Metatron shifted in his sleeping, letting out a quiet sound of discomfort as he clutched his stomach.

There was a noise, and when he looked up he was met with an angel blade. There was a time when the former Scribe of God would've fought anyone who challenged him. But now...?

He just wanted to die.