A bright light rose up out of the barren brown earth and began consuming everything its path. It didn't discriminate between plant or animal, between adult and child. It plowed through everything, leaving destruction in its wake as it searched for one single soul. This soul, who the light could not touch in normal circumstances, has now been made available for it to seek out. The soul has fallen asleep, and the light knows where to find it. It barrels forward on an invisible path before stopping abruptly in Kansas. There's a barrier between the light and its target, but since the light is only energy, it can pass through it and into the sleeping mind of the soul it has been searching for for years.

As the light enters its target and reveals itself, it sees a man standing by a lake blackened with evil souls meant to be in purgatory. The man is leaning over and picking up a dirty, wet trench coat and folding it up. But as he does this, he seems to sense the light and the scene of the lake disappears. The man now stands in a white room and turns to look at the light, but that isn't what he sees. He sees the form of his half-brother, Adam, standing in the room with him.

"Michael," he states plainly.

"Dean," Michael replies, "do you know why I am here?"

"I would guess I'm dreaming, and this has something to do with the angels being cast out of heaven."

"You are correct."

"So where do you come into all this?" Dean asked, picking up a bottle of beer that appeared on a table that hadn't been in existence but a moment earlier.

"I can open Heaven again for the angels," he began, "but I need help."

"You? All powerful Michael, who, by the way, a mere human managed to cage up for eternity, needs help?" Dean looked at him incredulously.

"Yes. I need to get out of the cage," he paused, "and I need to use my vessel. This one is now only operational for something as simple as dream walking."

"Forget it." Dean practically growled, slamming his drink down on the table. The once white room darkened to an almost unfathomable black, where only Michael and he were visible against it.

"Listen, Dean, if you want the angels off your precious Earth and back where they belong, you're going to need help only I can give. There's no other way to put them back."

"There's no such thing as only one way to do things," Dean grumbled, "Remember how the only way to end the apocalypse was letting you and Lucifer battle it out? It didn't end that way! Sam, my little brother, defeated you both."

"Dean, I'll bottom line it for you." Michael reached out his hand and placed it on Dean's shoulder, forcing him to look him in the eyes. "If you don't release me and let me in, I will drag Sam back down here and I'll join in this time on Lucifer's fun. Believe me, Dean, I'm much more creative than he."

"I'm done with this conversation."

Dean woke up with a start, sitting all the way up and gasping for air.

"Dean, you okay?" Sam asked. He had forgotten that he fell asleep in the sitting room on the couch.

"Yeah," he trailed off, still a bit spooked by his dream. What if it really was Michael, and he had to go through everything again with telling him to shove off? He couldn't do it again, he didn't have the energy, the will. "How you feelin', Sammy?"

"I'm not as weak anymore, and I can stay up longer."

"Good. How long was I out?" He felt like he hadn't slept in a month, and in a way that was true.

"Maybe a half hour?" Sam looked up from his book and really took in the image of his big brother. He seemed gaunt and tired with bags under his eyes and the way that it seemed to take everything out of Dean just to get up. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing," he answered, as Sam knew he would. He knew Dean wouldn't want Sam to worry about him while he was still recovering from the trials, but it pissed him off that Dean wouldn't let him in on what was wrong with him.

"Dean, you've been having nightmares worse than I've ever seen, your drinking is at a whole new level, and you look like you've been run over by a truck, twice."

"Yeah, I've been having nightmares, and that's all they are. It's nothing to worry about."

"I think it is, because you wouldn't have had to say that's all they are if you really thought that. What are they about? And when's the last time you had a proper sleep?"

"Not for a while, and it doesn't matter what they're about." Dean grabbed a bottle of whisky and drank straight from it, not bothering with a glass. Sam knew it would be gone before noon.

"How long is a while?" He pushed.

"Since the angels fell," he replied. Sam knew then that something big must be up, not because of the amount of time, three months, that passed between the angels fell and now, but by the fact that Dean would tell him this, that he would let Sam in on what's going on so easily. Usually getting information out of Dean when it's concerning him is like pulling teeth.

"Why?"

"Like I said, nightmares." He took another swig, "That's why I came out here. I figured maybe sleeping with someone else in the room would help, but I guess it didn't." He paused, looking around, "Where's Cas?"

"He's taking a shower, I think."

"How's he?"

"Dean, you know how he is, and you're just changing the subject. What are your nightmares about?"

Dean looked like he was about to lie again, to say they were about nothing, but something must have changed his mind, because he looked at Sam directly, and then looked away, almost seemingly out of shame. What could Dean be ashamed of? "They're about Michael."

"Michael? Like The Michael?" He asked, sitting up a little straighter.

"Yes, The Michael."

"What happens in these dreams?"

"You sound like a freakin' psychiatrist, would you stop?" Dean stood, finishing off another quarter of the bottle. Sam could tell he was losing him and that he wouldn't get much more information, but he had to try. If his brother was dreaming of Michael, then something bad was coming.

"Dean, sit down. What does Michael say?"

Dean continued standing, but he didn't walk off like Sam had expected. "A bunch of nonsense. It's nothing. Just let me deal on my own."

"But you don't have to, Dean."

"Yeah I know, you're here for me, whatever." Dean replied with a voice dripping in sarcasm. He knew that this is how Dean copes, he makes jokes and shuts everyone out, and Sam hated that. He wanted to slap Dean and tell him just to let him help, but he knew that would get him nowhere but a broken nose and loose teeth. Before Sam had a chance to try to get him to explain, Dean had left and staggered into his bedroom.