Title: Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap
Summary: Dean is finally back… or is he? 14x02. Coda to "Gods and Monsters". Hurt/Comfort. Protective!Dean. Possessed!Dean.
Warnings: Rated K+. Spoilers for everything up to 14x02. Bad language. Possession. Mental torture. Mentions/Threats of violence and death.
Disclaimer: I don't own the show or the art.
Dean feels the shift like a riptide tearing through his soul. One second Michael's step is full of purpose, hands shaking with the kind of power that can never be human and then his whole posture changes, his expression goes soft and his step falters. A feeling of helpless panic bubbles up inside Dean when he hears his own voice say "Sammy".
No. No, no, no, no, no… You bastard! Stay the hell away from them! Dean is raging, slamming his fists against the powerful force Michael contains him with. But it's useless. Dean's fury is probably well expected and it doesn't even scratch the surface of the power Michael holds over him.
'You wouldn't obey, so this is how it's gonna go, Dean,' Michael's voice reverberates through Dean in ways that can't be described. He feels the archangel's voice surge through his very core and knows that there is no way Michael hasn't planned this from the very beginning. He's gonna play pretend. He's gonna infiltrate Dean's family, posing as Dean. He feels a surge of helplessness so fierce it strangles his airways and makes it hard to breathe. Sammy, don't you listen to him! That's not me, you hear me? It's not me!
Michael is completely unfazed by Dean's anger as he leans against a pillar, pulling his cap off as part of his scheme because he knows Dean would never dress that way. One of the first things Dean would do if given back his body would be to shed the damn 20s clothes and light them up in a bonfire. But Michael owns all of Dean's memories, his thoughts and emotions. He knows just how to act and what to say to make this work. Just like he knows that Sam's name would be the first thing to tumble off Dean's tongue.
Sam's expression shifts from skeptical to relieved in a second flat. Mary and Bobby lower their weapons, following Sam's lead and a wave of bitter defeat washes over Dean, damn near drowning him as he squeezes his eyes shut in despair. Don't you do this! I swear to god, Michael if you hurt them—
'God's not gonna help you, Dean.' Michael says. 'When has he ever?'
It's a blur from there. Michael pushes him back so far in his mind that Dean loses all sense of time and orientation. He picks up figments here and there, like the familiar rumble of the Impala's engine and the smell of their mom's perfume and Bobby's voice. What comes through the strongest, though, despite Michael's obvious efforts to shut him out, is Sam. Sam's voice and touch and the relief in the kid's tone come off so strong as though there wasn't a super-charged brick wall of archangel grace between them.
They bring him clothes and food and talk to him in hushed voices. There's Cas and Jack and a whole bunch of others, hunters, family. But very little of it truly registers with Dean until he's back in his room and Michael lets him off the leash.
You're dead. I'm gonna smite you, you lying, backstabbing son of a bitch, you hear me? I'm gonna rip every feather from your wings and douse you in holy oil before setting you on fire if you touch one hair on their heads!
Michael is in front of the mirror, wearing one of Dean's favorite flannels. He props himself up on the basin and just watches his reflection, allowing Dean's awareness to resurface from the depths of whatever dark corner he'd had banned Dean to earlier. 'Did you see the look on their faces, Dean? The pure elation at having you back? Their love for you makes them blind. It would be endearing if it wasn't so disappointing.'
Why are you doing this? Dean demands, fingers curling into fists by his side. He's breathing heavily now, his expression turning into a sneer. Just go back to torturing people, recruit new freaks for your monster show, whatever you want. But leave my family out of this.
Michael turns on the faucet, runs his hands beneath the stream of water and brings a cupped handful up to wash his face. It's cold like a thousand tiny needle pricks to the skin and Dean shivers when Michael moves back up, a calculating glare in his eyes. 'Now why would I go and do that? I got a whole bunker full of valuable artifacts. A library filled with some of the rarest lore on any monster gracing the face of this earth AND I get to keep a close look on that family of yours. Never heard of the phrase keep your friends close but your enemies closer, Dean? Your group of pets out there has been a serious nuisance in the past few weeks, crossing me at possible opportunity and thwarting my carefully drafted plans. But now that they have you back,' Michael smiled. 'We can finally go back to working peacefully and they'll be none the wiser.'
Water is dripping from Michael's chin as he unfolds a towel and brings it to his face. Dean gets it now, what Sam was going on about all these years. How awful it was to have even the simplest tasks taken from you, to be forced to watch as someone else controlled your every move. It was invasive and humiliating and it cut a chunk out of Dean's soul that was likely to never return. To think that Dean has forced Sam through this with Gadreel... it makes Dean hate himself on a whole new level, makes him despise his own reflection for more than the archangel who currently hides behind Dean's own smile. Being intruded by another being that way is far worse than death. It is torture of the mental kind. The kind that makes every passing second feel like eternity.
Dean is about to say something when a knock on the door causes Michael to turn around. "Come in!" Michael yells in Dean's voice, tossing the towel into the basin.
The door pushes open, revealing Sam and Dean's heart kicks up with instant fear. Michael had stolen Dean's senses earlier and that had been terrifying. But being able to see Sam as he stands in the doorway and not being able to talk to him, to warn him and shake him and tell him to get a bloody angel knife to stab that lying bastard in the face, is somehow even worse.
"Hey, I… uhm." Sam holds up a bag of what looks like greasy takeout. "I picked you up a couple of cheeseburgers. Extra onions, extra bacon, just the way you like them."
Michael just stares at Sam for a moment, which seems to make Sam even more nervous than he already is. "Right, uh. So I wanted to drop these off. I saw Bobby give you the leftover stew but uh…" Sam smiles and ducks his head. "His cooking isn't exactly Michelin star level and I figured you might need a bit more—"
"Cholesterol?" Michael guesses with a teasing smile on his lips. "With a side of heart attack?"
Sam snorts out a soft laugh. His shoulders relax a little and Dean wants to strangle Michael so badly.
"Yeah." Sam looks so young and lost, standing there. He looks like he used to when he would come to Dean's bed after a nightmare as a child. "Listen, I know you've had a long day and a terrible couple of weeks, but if there's anything you wanna get off your chest—"
"I'm good, Sam," Michael says in a gruff voice, denying the offer to speak about what happened. It's completely in character with how Dean would act. He would brush Sam off just the same, would try to carry the burden of what happened all by himself, until the weight of it eventually crushed him.
Sam presses his lips together and Dean can see the way his mind is racing to come up with a different approach, a different way to get Dean to open up about what happened. The kid has lost weight and there are dark circles beneath his eyes. And yet he's standing there, trying to help Dean in whatever way he can. Eventually Sam lets out a soft sigh. He knows Dean well enough to wait him out.
"Well, you know where to find me if you change your mind and I just wanna say that…uhm," Sam looks up at Dean again, this time with that boyish, pleading look that Dean always mocks him for. The one that makes him look like a lost puppy. "Nobody knows what being possessed feels like better than I do, so whenever you're ready to talk, I'm here, Dean."
And Jesus Christ, could you maybe not, Sam? Could you stop being so damn caring and open and trusting for one damn second? Dean can't breathe, he is so overwhelmed by emotion. This conversation isn't meant to be heard by anyone other than him. This is Sam offering to talk about one of the worst things to have ever happened to him. And Michael shouldn't see Sam like this, vulnerable and hopeful and so damn pure in his intentions. Sam's whole damn guard is completely down around one of the most powerful beings in the universe and Dean can't – he can't breathe. He needs for this whole thing to end. Needs for Michael to be as far away from Sam as possible.
"Alright, I should let you catch some rest," Sam clears his throat, holding out the bag with Dean's favorite food. When Michael takes it, Sam turns to leave, but Michaels other hand shoots out to wrap around his wrist. Dean is allowed to feel his brother's skin against his own and he revels in the faint beat of Sam's heart beneath his fingertips. He realizes that Michael is enjoying this. The bastard is letting Dean feel every little detail, allowing him to look up into Sam's slightly confused expression, into the depth of Sam's hazel eyes and see it all so clearly. He knows that this makes things worse. Dean's still out of control, completely helpless and forced to watch as Michael parades around in his body. Only difference is that now Dean's got a front row seat to the show.
Confused, Sam raises an eyebrow. "Dean?"
"C'mere," Michael says, barely above a whisper.
Before Sam gets a chance to say more, Michael tugs on his wrist and pulls him in for an embrace that comes as unexpected to Sam as it comes to Dean. Sam stumbles forward, but finds his balance quickly enough. He's stiff in Michael's arms for all but one second before he practically melts against Michael's chest, lowering his head so his chin is nestled against Michael's shoulder and bringing his arms up to wrap around Michael's back. Sam's breath is warm against the side of his neck. He smells of fire and gunpowder and old books. He's soft and pliant and home and Dean can feel himself choking up with helplessness as he roars out a scream for Sam. Wake up, Sam! Snap the hell out o fit. It's not me, damn it. It's not me!
'He can't hear you, Dean,' Michael chides. 'And you should really stop this sort of behavior. I'm getting tired of your rambunctiousness.'
Get the hell away from him, Michael! NOW! Dean seethes.
Instead of letting go, Michael lifts one of his hands to cradle the back of Sam's head like Dean used to do when they were younger. His fingers slide through Sam's hair and brush against his scalp in a mockery of affection. Dean's heart stutters to a sudden halt when he feels Michael's powers relocated to the tips of his fingers. 'It would be so easy to snap his neck, now. Just one flick of my wrist. That's all it would take. But you don't want for that to happen, do you?'
No. Dean damn near chokes on the word, shaking his head. He isn't above begging when it comes to Sam. Please don't hurt him.
'So you'll be a good boy, won't you?' Michael mocks. 'You'll put an immediate end to this unruly rebellion of yours?'
Yeah, whatever you say. Just get the hell away from my brother.
And Dean stops fighting, then. He uncurls his fingers and forces his lungs to draw in another shaky breath and just kind of slides down into the depths of his own awareness, lax and helpless and so damn tired. He's not sure if he's crying or if he's even still capable of crying when someone else is wearing his face. Desperation is not so much gnawing at him as it is tearing him apart with its sharp teeth. He has never felt so damn hopeless, so out of his damn league and for the first time ever, he wishes they hadn't come this far. He wishes he hadn't killed Lucifer or allowed Michael to use him as a vessel. Not if this is the outcome.
"I'm glad you're back, man," Sam says and pulls out of the embrace with shiny eyes and a warm smile and Dean just wants for it all to stop. He can't imagine what Michael's gonna do to his family if they somehow find out. Doesn't want to think about how he might be forced to watch Michael use his very own hands to take them all out, one by one, when the time has come. The thought takes his voice away. It numbs him down to a point where he can barely think straight.
Michael smiles at Sam and squeezes his shoulder. "It's good to be home."
The End.